In the Right Place: Familiar Visitors

Yesterday morning was mostly overcast and there was little wind, but we had three coastal cruisers enchanting Great Cove: “Angelique” and “Lewis R. French,” both of which overnighted from the previous evening, and “Mary Day,” which stopped by for a visit just before mid-day. We’ll show “Angelique” and “Lewis” in this post and maybe get to “Mary” in a day or so.

“Angelique’s” red tanbark sails and unusual profile are unmistakable to Cove watchers. Launched in 1980, she’s 130 feet long overall and the only Maine windjammer that is configured as a gaff-rigged topsail ketch.

This is “Angelique’s” fifth visit here that I’ve seen in the four summer months and she may be back before her season ends on October 7.

The 101-foot “Lewis R. French’s” well-sheared gray hull and schooner configuration also are familiar to us. She’s one of the oldest cruisers in the fleet, having been launched in 1871. She needed a push from her yawl boat to get going in yesterday’s light air.

This is the third time that I’ve seen her visit this year and her season also ends on October 7.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 28, 2023.)

In the Right Place: State of the Woods Report

It’s overcast early this morning, but there’s still a chance that the clouds will break today. That’s okay; we’ve just had a four-day spate of sparkling Maine weather – big blue skies, wincingly-full sun, temperatures at the thrill point. Those days mostly have dried up the pooled water and mud in the woods from many prior rains.

In the mixed wood portion of the forests, the leaves of a few of the deciduous trees are starting to turn color and there usually are one or two early-sailing leaves to track on erratic journeys to destiny. Things are looking good. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 27, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Good Grief

It’s time that we take a look at one of the specimen trees that I monitor here regularly. This is the iconic Weeping Beech at Amen Farm. I’m told that it was planted there about 1950 and it still seems very healthy.

Judging by tree-weeping standards, its grief seems inconsolable. Some might say it’s because it’s gotten a bad haircut; they don’t like that horizontal under clearance pruning technique. However, the tree has sported it for many years without apparent incident. As with many weeping beeches (Fagus sylvatica, 'Pendula'), this tree is wider than it is tall. My very rough estimate is that it is about 80 feet wide and 45 feet tall. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 22, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Top of the Pecking Order

I had the pleasure yesterday of watching this young male Pileated Woodpecker at work. As usual with this species, he was not delicate about what he was doing, which was hunting for insects in dead conifer tree trunks.

As you see, he worked in a haze of self-created sawdust (“peckdust”?), and often stripped off long lengths of wood and tossed them aside as if they were paper packaging.

Pileateds are Maine’s largest woodpeckers at almost 17 inches and, if the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker is extinct, Pileateds are the Nation’s largest woodpeckers. They’re residents (nonmigratory) here. They’re easy to identify by their size and pointed red feathered caps (crests), which often are flexed up on end when the birds get intense:

The male’s red cap is a full one, worn pulled down to his beak, while the female has a smaller, almost beany-like, cap worn at the back of her head. (The male also has red-feathered war paint streaming back from his beak, making him look fearsome.) The cap is the characterizing feature of the birds and the reason it has a Latinized name.

“Pileated” is derived from the Latin words for conical felt caps. Thus, this bird is a capped or crested bird.  (By the way, the similar word “pileum” is the name for the area on any bird from the top of its head to its nape.) There is a debate, however, as to how to pronounce “pileated.”

The world seems to be divided between pie- eaters and pill-takers when it comes to pileated. That is, some say “PIE-lee-Ay-tid” and some say “PILL-ee-Ay-tid.” Both pronunciations seem to be well-accepted by birders, but English teachers will say that the pie people are technically correct. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 25, 2023.)

In the Right Place: It’s Not That Simple

Here you see two handmade boats for sale at the WoodenBoat School last week. At one time, I simply would have called these two vessels “rowboats,” although they are quite different. However, I’ve learned that boatbuilders here prefer greater specificity when it comes to describing their creations.

The red boat in the image is listed by WBS as a19.5’ “Chamberlain Gunning Dory.” That is, it’s a big dory based on a design by respected boatbuilder William Chamberlain. He reportedly wanted to create a strong, sea-going boat, but one that was light enough to be hauled up on the rocky shores of sea islands by duck hunters. This one also has a sailing package.

A “dory,” generally speaking, is a small, shallow-draft rowing (aka “pulling”) boat with high sides, a flat bottom and two pointed ends. The red boat is a dory, the unpainted one isn’t quite a dory. That unpainted vessel is listed as a “John Karbott Semi-Dory Skiff.” That is, its design is by John Karbott, also a respected boatbuilder, but the boat is a skiff, which would be shorter than most dories, have lower sides relative to oarsmen, and a rectangular stern.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 22, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Death in the Wetlands

The wetlands are now places to ponder the natural deaths of plants that we’ve enjoyed all summer. The green cattail blades are stiffening and spotting and turning yellow, brown, and gray; they’ll die obstinately standing. The petals of the white fragrant water lilies silently slid into the water and disappeared a while ago, but their “pads” remain and are breaking out in multicolored rashes, tearing,  and dissolving.

The arrow arum, the corps de ballet of the ponds, deserve special attention, as always. These plants are named after the large arrowhead-shaped leaves at the end of their long stalks. Those leaves try to fly in the wind like paper airplanes and cause the plants to dance in unison.

But, as the arrow arum stems weaken with old age, the weight of their large leaves bends them closer and closer to the water until the water gently takes the leaves:

Then, as the leaves sink, the plant stems curve gracefully like swans feeding:

More specifically, arrow arum (Peltandra virginica) grows to be about three feet in length and its leaves can be up to 18 inches in length and about 6 inches wide. Its spring pods contain large, green seeds that wood ducks and black ducks love. Some Native Americans cooked these seeds and ate them like peas. Arrow arum also is known as green arrow, tuckahoe, and duck corn.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 20, 21, and 23, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Working Waterfront Report

Things have been calm in Naskeag Harbor. Here you see a bored Judith Ann having a little fun by hovering above the water while no one was watching. (Well …, maybe she’s just resting on her keel, which is in shadows).

Below, you’ll see Running Blind, a distributor’s service vessel, alone at the convenience raft in the center of the Harbor:

When asked yesterday how the lobster season was going, a veteran captain replied: “Pretty slow. We're in the ‘September slump’ right now.” Let’s hope things pick up now that fall is officially here. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 12 and 22, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Confusion and Caution

Horse Chestnut Tree leaves are doing their fall furling now, revealing their seed/fruit “capsules,” which look a bit like the ancient spiked ball-and-chain weapon aptly called a flail.

The Horse Chestnut Tree (Aesculus hippocastanum), although fairly common here, is a European introduction named under the questionable belief that its seeds are good for panting and congested horses.

Confusingly, this import often is called a Buckeye Tree, but we have native Buckeye Trees of the genus Aesculus. Both of these chestnut tree species have nutlike seeds that look like a deer’s (buck’s or doe’s) eye. (For Big 10 fans: Ohio State University sports teams are known as “Buckeyes” because Ohio was named the Buckeye State due to the prevalence of its Buckeye Trees when the territory was settled in the late 1700s.)

To add caution to confusion, there also are American Chestnut Trees (Castanea dentata) in a different family that look similar and produce sweet, edible seeds. By the way, don’t try to eat a Horse Chestnut seed; it’s toxic to humans. As for edibility, if there’s doubt, throw the chestnut out or give it to a panting horse. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 19 and 20, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Poignant Puzzle

I bet that most people who have not been here would be puzzled by the object in this image:

Despite its bright colors, it’s actually a poignant sight for some of us. It’s also an imaginative “misuse” of a piece of equipment.

The piece of equipment is a red kayak trailer with colorful plastic foam wrapped around its racks to protect the kayaks. Here it is in proper use last year:

Leighton Archive Image

But, instead of the usual cargo of six or eight kayaks, there are sailboat masts, booms, and other removable boat parts being loaded onto the trailer for later transportation to storage. That’s where the sadness comes in.

The WoodenBoat School is winding down this year’s classes and gradually bringing in its small boats. They get washed and stripped down, and soon will be tucked under cover for the winter.:

It’s all part of the pathos of letting go of summer here. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 19, 2023, unless indicated otherwise.)

In the Right Place: The Mystery Tree

American Mountain Ash Trees are now bursting with their outrageously orange berries. These trees (Sorbus aucuparia) are the subjects of considerable mystery and misconception.

For one thing, Mountain Ash Trees aren’t especially fond of mountains and they’re not ash trees; they’re members of the rose family. (Their name reportedly derives from the Old English word “aesc,” meaning “spear,” because the wood of their English cousins was used for spear and arrow shafts.)

Speaking of English cousins, the American trees also are called Rowan Trees because our settlers from the British Isles mistakenly thought that they were the same as the similar European Rowan Trees.

Nonetheless, Canada gets the prize for the most interesting alternative name for their American Mountain Ashes: “Dogberry Trees.” (The reported Old English etymology here dates to the 1550s, when the bitter Rowan Tree fruit reportedly was considered inferior – “only fit for a dog.”)

The Celts (and some of America’s colonists) thought Rowan trees warded off witches and had other magical properties. But, it’s a traditional Ojibwa Tribe legend about the trees that gives us pause, as we look at our multitudes of orange orbs. The legend is that, if there are many Mountain Ash berries in late summer and fall, the winter is sure to be very, very harsh.

It doesn’t help much to know that the ancient Ojibwa couldn’t conceive of people who were so selfish as to create global warming that makes winter predictions impossible. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 19, 2023.) See also the image in the first Comment space.

In the Right Place: Winged Wonders

Fall dragonflies are very active here lately when their flights aren’t cancelled due to rain. They arguably are the world’s best flyers. Their four wings can work independently or in tandem. They can fly fast or slowly; up or down; forward, backward, or side-to-side; not to mention that they also can hover in place. The relative lift, load-bearing capacity, speed, and maneuverability that they get from their unique wings seem to be unmatched.

White-Faced Meadowhawk (Sympetrum obtrusum)

The structure, composition, and interplay of those wings are being studied by researchers who are associated with developing “micro air vehicles” (MAVs) for military and other uses. MAVs are tiny “unmanned aerial vehicles” (UAVs, such as drones). There are reports of current workable MAVs that are less than 2 inches in length.

Dragonfly wings are composed primarily of veins and membranes. They have complex designs that contribute to the insect’s flying abilities in ways that are yet to be fully understood. The vein structure is held together by a very thin film of a starch-like substance called chitin (“KITE-in”), which often is glassy looking.

Seaside Dragonlet (Erythrodiplax berenice

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 14, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Color Me Wet

Yesterday was sunny, as you see, but today it’s raining again as this is being written. We don’t need more rain.

Atlantic Storm Lee not only filled up our ponds to the brim, as you see here, it filled some of our bog areas, making them unusually wet for the fall season:

Our streams also are flowing strongly:

What this precipitation and moistness means for fall leaf coloration is being debated, with no consensus. We’ll have to do what we always do – we’ll wait and see. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 17, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Eerie & Cheery

As far as I can tell, the skirts of Hurricane/Tropical Storm Lee caused no major damage here yesterday. Part of the reason was that many protective measures were taken by residents and business owners along the Maine coast. We’ll use two images from the two sunny days prior to yesterday to illustrate and commemorate those measures.

Above, you see the almost eerie image of chrysanthemums and fall asters that were stored for protection inside shelters at Surry Gardens Nursery, like hidden jewels. Below , you’ll see the cheery images of a few of the many small boats that were brought ashore for protection at the WoodenBoat School, like displayed jewels:

(Images taken in Surry and Brooklin, Maine, on September 15 and 14, 2023.)

In the Right Place: So Far, So Good

We’ve experienced several short power outages and we’re subject to all sorts of weather alerts – wind, rain, flood, etc. We’ve had continual rain, but wind gusts generally have been under 40 miles per hour. So far at least, Hurricane/Tropical Storm Lee has not committed any outrageous act here in Brooklin, although at least one tree has come down across Naskeag Road:

The first image below is of Naskeag Harbor; the second is of Center Harbor. Both were taken within 10 minutes at about 8 a.m. today.

Note that there are no significant whitecaps. Fortunately, both Harbors are protected reasonably well from North winds, which is what we’re getting, and the tide is low.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 16, 2023.)

In the Right Place: A Short, But Fair, History

Here you see oxen in a distance-pulling contest at the Blue Hill Fair. The image appears in my monthly column in the current Ellsworth American.

To read the column about “country fairs” in Maine, click here: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: A Moment

Here are a few thoughts about one of the many moments of fog and rain that we’ve been having lately. I’m on the rain-swept waterfront where the fog was rolling in steadily.

The weak sun was trying to pierce the fog, but all it was able to do was produce an almost fluorescent glow. The scene was silent and there was a sense of solitude -- I and that fast-disappearing herring gull on the hoist were the sole signs of warm-blooded life.

The geometry of the Town Dock and Landing – its rectangles and rhomboids, cubes and columns – became dominant when the harbor and its boats vanished. The stolid shapes seemed to be the only things holding the moment together. There can be stability within change. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 11, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Fog-, Rain-, and Chill-In

The 34th annual Maine Windjammer Association Sail-In happened yesterday afternoon at WoodenBoat despite the fact that the weather converted it into a Fog-, Rain-, and Chill-In.

Nine windjammers and their remarkably happy passengers appeared: American Eagle (launched 1930); Angelique (1980); Grace Bailey (1882); Heritage (1983); J&E Riggin (1927); Ladona (1922); Lewis R. French (1871); Mary Day (1982), and Stephen Taber (1871).

American Eagle

American Eagle

Angelique

Angelique

Grace Bailey

Grace Bailey

Heritage

Heritage

J&E Riggin

J&E Riggin (Lewis R. French in background)

J&E Riggin and Mary Day

Ladona

Ladona

Lewis R. French

Lewis R. French

Mary Day (Lewis R. French in background)

Mary Day

Stephen Taber

Stephen Taber

Stephen Taber and Heritage

By mid-afternoon, the coastal cruisers were selecting anchorages and putting passengers ashore for a celebration:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 12, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Crop Predictions

Here you see the state of some of our “wild” (abandoned) apples on an ancient tree. This wild fruit usually has been a rough predictor of the annual cultivated apple crop from Maine’s well-tended orchards. And, the prediction from what we see is not good, nor are predictions from University of Maine specialists.

A late-August report from one of those specialists indicates states that extreme cold in February and late frosts in May have done serious harm to this year’s apple crop (and even more damage to the peach crop). One specialist estimated that the May frosts precluded more than half of the state’s expected apple crop from maturing, even though there were some orchards that suffered little or no damage.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 9 and 11, 2023.)  

In the Right Place: Imposters

Well, if you don’t have many Monarch Butterflies, maybe you’ll settle for Monarch mimics. Here you see a Viceroy Butterfly (Limenitis archippus) that visited us last week. It’s a mimic of the Monarch (Danaus plexippus) that also protects itself by signaling its toxicity. Both have colors and patterns that are virtually identical.

The Viceroy is smaller than the Monarch, but that may not be obvious when the two are not seen together. However, there is one small, but easily-observable, difference. As you’ll see if you compare the circled areas of this Viceroy with those on the archive image of a Monarch shown below it, only the Viceroy has a thin band across its hind wings.

The mimic is well-named. A “viceroy” in diplomatic circles is a replacement ruler that is exercising authority on behalf of a sovereign (e.g., monarch). The Viceroy Butterfly is known as a “Müllerian mimic” (named after scientist Fritz Müller) because it’s one of two or more toxic (or otherwise dangerous) species that mimic each other’s warnings of toxicity (or danger) to predators.

There also are “Batesian mimics” (named after scientist Henry Walter Bates), which are harmless species that mimic warning signals of harmful species. Before extensive research, the Viceroy Butterfly was thought to be a Batesian mimic, and some reports wrongly describe it as such. (Primary image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 8, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Cult Items

It seems that improvements to mobile homes have been continuing steadily since horses dragged Native American tipis and wigwams around. Among the latest developments are miniaturized, often relatively luxurious, two- person mobile campers. They’re about the size of a two-person tent and are more wind-, rain-, and bear- resistant. However, they can cost anywhere from $5,000 for a basic to $20,000 for a luxury model.

The one that you see here is a T@B Teardrop camper with New York license plates that has been lighting up a WoodenBoat School campus field for a while. These well-designed two-person RVs, manufactured in Ohio, reportedly have become cult objects in some regions. They’re as compact as a pocket cruiser sailboat.

This Teardrop is 15’3” long, 6’8” wide, and 7’8” high, according to the manufacturer’s website. Among the many items listed in the “Basic Package” for the camper are a wet bath with a built-in sink, refrigerator, two-burner stove, outside shower, and an expandable split bed. Among the luxury options are air conditioning, central heat, and a Bluetooth® Media Center with a 19" TV.

Henry David Thoreau might be aghast (as am I, a little), but developments such as these may be allowing more and more people to enjoy and understand the importance of the outdoors. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 8 and 9, 2023.)