In the Right Place: What’s In a Name?

This is one of the more interesting (some would say disgusting) fungi. A colony of them appeared here in the warmth of the first week of November and then disappeared.

Its most common name is Netted Stinkhorn, although it also is called a Wood Witch in some areas. It grows to about three inches and is one of a number of different stinkhorn fungi, all of which are more or less pungent. This one is in the “less” category; but, if you get very close to it and sniff, you’ll get the idea.

The scientific name of this Netted Stinkhorn is Phallus duplicatus, which translates from the Latin into “double penis.” It’s obvious why it would be classified in the family of fungi that look like penises (the Phallale family). Why it would be described as the species with a double penis reportedly has to do with how it uniquely reproduces.

The mushroom’s pitted cap is covered with odiferous gray-green slime that has reproduction spores imbedded therein. The slimy spores stick to insects that are attracted by the smell and they carry off the next generation of the fungus for growth elsewhere. There are indications that small mammals also like the slime and lick it off, which may have happened with this fungus after a few days:

Thanks to David Porter for pointing out the stinkhorn colony and identifying the species. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 4 and 6, 2023.)

In the Right Place: ‘Tis No Longer the Season

Most of our fishermen seem to be calling the 2023 lobster season history and bringing ashore their traps for storage.

One senior Captain’s assessment of the season: “It was far from a banner year, but the price was better than last year, which was helpful. It still wasn't a great price, considering the way inflation is going, but a small improvement over last year's price.”

Some boats in the local fleet will be hauled out of the water and stored “on the hard” for the winter. Some will be converted into scallop-fishing vessels. That mollusk season starts in December. The winter scallop fishing vessels will be equipped with a sturdy mast and boom to lower and raise their heavy “drags” (dredges), which are dragged along the sea floor to scoop up the tasty mollusks.

Temporary wooden “shelling huts” also will be built onto many of the vessels’ decks behind their cabins. These shelters help protect crew members from the elements when they shell and sort the scallops. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 15, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Still Standing Still

This is one of the local landmarks that I monitor in all seasons and weather conditions, as you may have noticed. Here, a light rain tempers the bold statement in Conary Cove.

Time, as well as the wind, sometimes seems to stand still there. (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on November 4, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Dam It!

The road shown on the right (basically, east) side here is the only access road to the famous WoodenBoat Publications and School campus.

That pond to the west of the road is the WoodenBoat lily pond, which is fed by local streams that flow under the road through a large culvert located just about at that telephone/power pole.

The boats are part of the effort to resolve the latest phase of a recurring problem that at times has caused the road to flood and begin to washout. That problem is beavers. They think that Mother Nature wants the pond-feeder streams to flow over the road, not under it. Until a solution was found last year, the furry engineers kept trying to dam up the culvert with mud and sticks and WB founder Jon Wilson and others had to keep digging it out.

Last year’s solution was to install a Beaver Deceiver™ system on both sides of that culvert. It fences-in the culvert openings and channels the flowing waters through the system’s own flow pipes. This allows the beavers to build dams on the system’s wood and wire housing to their hearts’ content, but the dams never stop the water flow. Here is the apparatus on the east side:

The system worked so well on the east side of the pond that the beavers stopped even visiting that area. HOWEVER, they held a family meeting and decided to go across the pond to its west shore and dam up the outflowing water, causing the pond level to rise to threatening levels.

This summer, Jon and sometimes his wife, Sherry Streeter, boated over to the new beaver construction site and tried various landscaping methods to thwart the eager engineers.  None of the summer solutions worked well and winter would not be a good time to continue the repairs. So, very recently, another Beaver Deceiver™ system was installed over there.

The new system seems to be working, according to Jon. He says that the animals seem totally confused and have decided to spend their time fixing up an old beaver lodge in the pond. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 13, 2023.)

In the Right Place: November Woods

The November woods here are in their transition to winter. Now is the time when their mysticality is mostly in the streams of low light that increasingly penetrates the various populations of woody creatures, seemingly searching for something or someone.

For the most part, we have “mixed” woods, a combination of hardwoods (e.g., leafy oak and maple) and softwoods (e.g., needled spruce and balsam fir) with leafy deciduous undergrowth. Now, most of the hardwoods and undergrowth have let their leaves go; I often can see patches of sky when I look up through their sparse crowns. Thus, in many areas, the November woods are brighter than the August woods.

The light can change the “mood” of the woods. If it’s a dark, gray day, the woods can feel somber; if it’s a bright, sunny day, they often feel cheerful to me. When the sharp cold comes (if Climate Warming allows), another dimension will be added to a walk in the woods.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 6 and 11, 2023.)

In the Right Place: November Fields

Here you see a recently-mowed field eagerly absorbing November sunlight. The field is still sodden from autumn rains, which means that most of the falling water flows down into the pond and then it spills over into a stream that flows to the sea.

That pond is 14 feet deep at the center and could serve as a fire pond if need be. (This rural area has no fire hydrant system.) But, mostly, the pond is a place for waterfowl, muskrats, frogs, and painted turtles – and sometimes ice skating. 

The double stone wall is a restoration and expansion of one that penned in sheep in days of yore. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 6 and 11, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Veterans’ Day

Here’s to a meaningful moment for my fellow military veterans and a nod to those who preceded us.

(Leighton Archive image taken in Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Virginia.)

In the Right Place: Cold-Plated Change

This image of a cursing black-capped chickadee is featured in my monthly column in the current print and digital version of the Ellsworth American.

If you want to find out why the Maine state bird is cursing, click here to read the column: https://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Good Gags

The various berries that wildlife depend upon for winter survival are especially abundant this year, including native red chokeberries such as these. I think that the large numbers of fruits have more to do with this year’s warmer and wetter weather so far than with the old yarn of a prediction about “the more autumn berries, the more winter flurries.”

Red chokeberry (Aronia arbutifolia) is a shrub in the rose family that is native to eastern and central United States. Its name (“chokeberry”) describes what you’ll probably do if you eat the little, highly-acidic fruit raw. However, those berries reportedly can be used to make delicious jellies and jams. (The berries look like cherries, but this is not chokecherry [Prunus virginiana], which also has very bitter fruit that will make you gag.)

Wildlife don’t gag on these berries. They’re a winter favorite of American robins, bluebirds, and other thrushes; grosbeaks; woodpeckers; blue jays; catbirds; kingbirds; grouse; mice; voles; chipmunks; squirrels; skunks; foxes; white-tailed deer; bear, and moose. The deer reportedly also browse on the shrubs’ branches.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 6 and 8, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Ah, Vincent

Yesterday was overcast and gray – until the sun decided that its last act of the day was worthy of an audience. We witnessed a classic battle between the sun’s last light and the clouds’ drifting vapers in our ever-changing vista.

And, we came a smidgeon closer to understanding what poor Vincent Van Gogh could have felt about the sun “en plein air.” (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 7, 2023.) Click on image to enlarge it.

In the Right Place: Storing Up

Here you see a muskrat taking food to cache it in the rodent’s  burrowed den this weekend. That den is hidden in the bank of our pond with an entrance that apparently is under water. I can’t tell what the reddish-orange food is; it’s not an apple, but may be a root.

Muskrats (Ondatra zibethicus) don’t hibernate. They have dense fur and, during extreme winter conditions, they’ll remain underground in their dens or floating lodges where they’ve stored food. The lodges look like small-scale beaver lodges surrounded by water.

When the pond surface freezes, the muskrats often chew access holes into the ice a good distance from their den or lodge entrance so as not to disclose their home’s location. They cover the holes with vegetation and other organic matter to prevent refreezing. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 4, 2023.)

In the Right Place: The Larch Joke

The timid larch trees seemingly hide from tourists among our big spruces and balsam firs all summer. When you look their way from a distance, it looks like you’re seeing all evergreens. Then, at this time of year, the larches seemingly get up the nerve to spring their joke with a dramatic visual “Surprise!”

Their needles quickly become an incandescent greenish yellow, and the trees suddenly stand out brightly among their stolid dark green neighbors. Soon, they’ll drop all of their needles and become bare wood, disappearing from easy view again after they’ve admitted that they’re not evergreens. (They are, however, conifers [cone-seeders] like spruce and fir.)

These magical trees also are known by their Native American names as tamaracks (Algonquin Tribe) or hackmatacks (Abanaki Tribe), both names reportedly meaning in English “wood used for snowshoes.” The wood is hard, durable, and rot-resistant. It also was used by Native Americans for canoe parts and sleds.

Today, larch wood has many uses, especially in boat building and structure-cladding projects. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 5, 2023.)

In the Right Place: WTD Status

The local white-tailed deer seem prepared for winter. They appear to have put on a few pounds and their new, double-haired coats seem to be in good shape.

They should do well during the next quarter, if the predictions for a mild winter hold up.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 4, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Typicality

Many people have a preconception from the media about what a “Typical Maine Lobster Boat” looks like. In these people’s minds, the coastal lobster fishing vessel seems to run about 22-45 feet long; has a big, sweeping white or black hull, and is powered by a big, inboard diesel engine.

Well, it’s true that many, perhaps most, inland Maine lobster boats fit that description. However, in Maine, you usually don’t have to go far to see something that’s not “typical” for its kind, including a good number of lobster boats. One is shown here.

How many people from the Midwest think of Maine lobster boats that have purple hulls, and that look to be only about 14 feet long, and are powered by long-mounted gas outboard engines? Yet, there are a good number of smaller lobster boats here, and we have no shortage of people who experiment with colors on boats and other things.

Small lobster boats can be perfect for fishermen who need to limit the number of traps they haul, including beginners and recreational license holders. (Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on November 1 and 3, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Come and Get It!

As it gets cold and the leaves shrivel and fall, winter survival food for our wildlife becomes startlingly obvious to us and the birds and mammals that are about to go through their most difficult months. Here you see the shiny rose hips of a multiflora rose bush:

Below, you’ll see a resplendent winterberry bush, a species that is having an especially good year here:

These fruits are eaten by many birds, chipmunks, mice, rabbits and hares, white-tailed deer, and the occasional insomnia-suffering black bear. Rose hips, which contain significant amounts of vitamin C, are especially nutritious. Winterberry is one of the least nutritious winter berries and, therefore, usually is among the last to be eaten. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 2, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Glad Tidings

Here you see a lowering, but still very high, tide in Blue Hill Bay yesterday afternoon. That’s Blue Hill in the distance, a near-mountain that usually isn’t blue.

Yesterday, the reported high tide level there was 11.3 feet (above the average height of the daily lowest tide observed over a 19-year period -- the Mean Lower Low Water mark used by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration for tidal charts).

The tides here lately have been exceptionally high due to the lingering effects of the Hunters’ Full Moon, which rose at its fullest on October 28. As you probably know, the moon’s gravitational pull exertsa tidal force that causes the Earth’s waters to bulge out on the sides nearest and farthest from the moon.(Image taken in the Town of Blue Hill, Maine, on November 1, 2023.)

October Postcards From Down East Maine

This October will be remembered for its skies, I think, especially its cloud races and its fabulous moon. So, let’s begin with some clouds and build up to the moon.

Of course, to many people who live south of us, October in Maine means “Spectacular Fall Foliage!” Well, this year, it was more like a “Pretty Good Fall Foliage.” To be sure, there were spectacular, vibrant colors, but they were scattered for the most part — that tree up there, those leaves here, those berries down there.

Most disappointing were our blueberry fields. They usually cool to the deep red of a hearty Burgundy wine; this year, they mostly reached only the pink of a pleasing rosé:

There also were those trees that we rely on to make a spectacular showing every October, but this year many prematurely released their leaves before I could photograph them:

Nonetheless, October in Maine is much more than colorful leaves. It’s one of the the best times to walk on mosses and fallen leaves in the woods and release their scents, and to take booted steps in fast- moving streams and change the tempo of their music, and to hunt the many mushrooms that suddenly appear in the cool and sometimes wet month. (But don’t eat any of those fungi unless you’re certain they’re edible — especially those that look like the white one below, which is a deadly destroying angel mushroom.)

For some of us, there also is the pleasing option here of strolling or driving along lonely country roads on a cool October morning and remembering when we used to commute in big cities:

October also is the month that we say goodbye to some of our wildlife, including musical hermit thrushes that migrate here for the spring and summer, white-faced meadowhawk dragonflies that are born here and will die here, and resident garter snakes that usually go into an underground torpor during the month. This October also was when a resident red squirrel made sure that we read an important reminder that a neighbor has posted.

On the waterfront, the American Eagle cruised into Great Cove in early October, the last of the tourist schooners until next year. The last of the WoodenBoat School fleet went the other way — it was taken out of the Cove and tucked into winter storage during the month.

Meanwhile, our fishing vessels continued to haul lobster traps in the coastal waters and pose for portraits when they were idle. (The lobster industry is facing some difficult challenges these days. We tried to help in October by letting our daughter buy live lobsters and roast them, then serve them to us over linguine in a beurre blanc sauce. It’s tough, but we like to pitch in when needed.)

We noted above that the October foliage this year was not spectacular. However, October made up for that by providing several moon experiences that were as celestially spectacular as celestial spectacularism gets. At mid-month, October delivered a slim, waxing crescent moon that provided the perfect, delicate touch to complete a fine sundown scene:

The moon showed us more and more of herself as the month progressed. Near the end of the month, on the day before October was scheduled to deliver the full hunters’ moon, there was a virtually full moon behind scary, fast-moving clouds that would qualify for a Stephen King movie:

The next day, October 28, there was a layer of thick cloud several thousand feet above Acadia National Park, when the full hunters’ moon was supposed to rise there in the murky dusk. The moon rose on schedule: big and rough and orange-red in that murky atmosphere and then disappeared into the cloud layer:

Hours later, as it arced above the ocean, the full moon escaped our dingy atmosphere and became a brilliant white orb that proudly displayed its asteroid-created craters like battle scars:

That should be our dramatic end to this post. But, of course, October ends with our weirdest holiday of the year, Halloween. This year there were plenty of creative attempts to join in the weirdness:

It was a good month.

(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine during October 2023.)

In the Right Place: Happy Halloween

Here are a few of the enjoyable holiday displays from our area.:

Historians trace Halloween customs back to a Celtic belief that on November 1 the souls of the dead returned. This became associated with the holy eve (“hallow” “een”) of the Christian All Saints Day, when saints and other dead are supposed to be remembered.

Costumes were worn, bonfires and Jack o’ lanterns (made of turnips) were lit and skeletons exhibited on October 31 to scare off any evil spirits that might take the opportunity to return with the holy dead. (Images taken in Blue Hill and Brooklin, Maine, on October 28 and 27, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Red Plague

Here you see gobs of beautiful, ripe, red Asian bittersweet fruit. I think that I’ve seen more of these berries (Celastrus orbiculatus) this October than I have in any prior year.

Stated another way, these are the gorgeous beginnings of a disaster-in-the-making.

The birds love this fruit and disseminate it widely in their droppings, starting new bittersweet vines all over the place. Those vines, in turn, survive by strangling to death their host trees and bushes to assure that they can steal light and nutrients. Asian bittersweet even attacks and severely damages mighty spruce trees:

State efforts to control this invasive killer have been relatively ineffective; private efforts to get rid of the plants have helped somewhat, but the plants apparently are propagating faster in Maine than they can be removed. It’s plague-like. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on October 27, 2023.)

In the Right Place: Full Moon Rising

Here you see the rise of the October full moon yesterday over Acadia National Park during a dingy dusk:

Below, you’ll see that moon as it climbed above our dirty atmosphere, where you could clearly see some of its basaltic craters and plains that were formed by ancient asteroid impacts. It was more than 231,000 miles away yesterday.

This moon was called the hunters’ moon by Native Americans who stocked up on food at this time of year, especially deer that had fattened for the winter, according to the Farmers’ Almanac records. We usually continue to call the October full moon the hunters’ moon, but once every four years it rises in November. (The word “moon,” itself, is derived from ancient words for “month.”)

As for the moon’s surface, that little “belly button” in the moon’s southwest (lower left) is the little crater Tycho, if I’m reading my lunar map correctly; immediately above it to the left are the dark seas of moisture and of clouds, among others; to its right in the moon’s southeast and east, are the seas of vapors, of nectar, and of fertility, among others. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on October 28 and 29 (12:34 a.m.), 2023.)