In the Right Place: Changing for the Better

Sometimes important changes look like they’ve been in place forever because they’re so right. I think that’s the case with the projection into Naskeag Harbor that you see below alongside the Town Dock at high tide yesterday.

It’s a tie-up float that was installed this week. Our fishermen (and others) finally will have a suitable place to park the small boats that they use to get to and from their vessels moored in the Harbor. Here it is at low tide yesterday:

On the other hand, some important changes look like they’ve destroyed the present, which sometimes needs destruction. I think that’s the case with our Town’s massive efforts to remove big trees that have taken over road shoulders and otherwise have been encroaching on our roads:

Recent vicious storms have been toppling too many of these trees onto the roads and bringing down power and wi-fi lines. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 24 and 15, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Celestial Blossom

The May full moon rose here out of our southwestern ocean horizon yesterday evening. It was a cloudy and foggy evening at first, as you see here.

But it cleared up by the time that the craggy old moon was lighting up Great Cove. (See the image in the first Comment space.) The moon’s ascendance last night was complete with an extended performance by our coyote tabernacle choir that kept us awake.

The May full moon usually is called the “Flower Moon,” which reportedly is a Colonial translation of what our Native Algonquin Americans called it. It’s an apt name. Around here buds are bursting into blossoms everywhere, especially in the old apple trees. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 23-24, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Form and Function

I’m proud to say that a young beauty made eyes at me yesterday, as you can see:

She also made ears and a nose at me and even gave me a come-on Mona Lisa smile:, but don’t tell my wife about this:

Of course, the senses of white-tailed deer are made for more important stuff than attracting admiring old men. The deer are major prey and they have major sensual organs to help even the odds. Form very much follows function in these deer, according to research that I’ve read, some of which is summarized here.

The pupils in white-tail deer eyes are, proportionately, 10 times larger than human pupils and can help provide extraordinary sight in low light. The eyes are angled so that the deer have a 310-degree field of vision, compared to our 180-degree field.

The ears also are proportionately enormous and can be rotated independently and almost 180 degrees. They’ll often move around in different directions like two radar disks while the deer’s head and body are still.

A white-tail’s nose (“olfactory bulb”) follows the same pattern. It’s about four times larger than the average human nose and can have up to 297 million scent receptors compared to our 5 million and dogs’ average pf 220 million. The deers’ sense of smell is estimated to be nearly one-third better than that of wild and domestic canines. Both deer and canines have moist snouts to catch the tiniest of scent molecules and dissolve them for receptor cell analysis.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 23, 2024.)

In the Right Place: One-of-a-Kind

The WoodenBoat School is alive with the sound of staff and alumni – cleaning, fixing, and – finally – putting boats back into Great Cove. The alumni will be volunteering through June 1. Classes are scheduled to begin June 2 – boatbuilding, sailing, marine diesel mechanics, seascape painting and photography, and much more is taught at this one-of-a-kind summer school.

Above, you see preparations this week at the boatshed and near the shore. Below, you’ll see one of the School’s fleet of small boats being put back where she belongs yesterday:

It looks like another unique summer is going to happen. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 20 and 21, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Angles

Sometimes in the woods we see something and think, “That can’t be right!” (Maybe we see an apparent yellow flower growing in a distant young spruce tree.) Then we look again, closely and from a different angle, and understand that it is right. (Maybe we step to the side, look through a long lens, and see an eye looking back at us.)

This eye belongs to a female black-throated green warbler who is building a nest only about three feet from the ground and about 1½ inches in diameter. It’s wedged in the crotch of a limb and the slim trunk of the spruce. She went about her business while I kept my distance.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 19, 2024.)

In the Right Place: New Leaves

The appearance of new leaves that are full of spring’s vital juices has for centuries been an inspiration for appreciating life. The pristine beauty and freshness of new leaves also can be dazzling. Here are the leaves of a red maple tree erupting into colorful life:

Below, you’ll see the gymnastic new leaves on a just-grown branch of an American mountain ash (aka rowan) tree:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 12 and 18, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Familiar Change

It’s time to publish the May view of the iconic Conary Cove boathouse for the record. Here you see this landmark in the mysterious light of a May morning that can’t decide what kind of a day she wants to be.

The boathouse was damaged slightly during one of this year’s vicious winter storms and has been repaired, but not repainted yet, as you can see.

The scene simply cannot be ignored by any passerby who is not eye-dead. To many of us, it’s one of those familiar, but paradoxically ever-changing, sights that just makes you feel a little better while on your way to someplace else. (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on May 16, 2024.)

In the Right Place: O’ Nest Report VI

It’s been another week of tedious waiting and infrequent sightings at the Osprey Nest, the summer home of Ozzie and Harriet, a local osprey couple. This image is the most of Harriet that I saw all week; she’s been lying very low and moving very little. I suspect that she’s incubating the family eggs, which will hatch in June.

At least I had a good opportunity to study this summer home. It’s a fortress built decades ago and added to each subsequent year. It was constructed in the space left by a blown-out top of a 100-foot spruce on the shore of Great Cove.

I saw NOTHING of Ozzie all week. That’s zero sightings of our hero. Zilch. Nowt a feather! I can’t figure out his schedule for delivering fish to Harriet.  I went to the nest at least once a day and at different times this week: no sign of our able fisherman coming home with a fat fish that’s still flipping.

But, here’s one of my archive images of Ozzie doing his duty as a reminder:

Note that ospreys almost always point the fish’s head forward when flying with it because it is aerodynamically efficient and easier to get a secure grip that way. (Primary image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 17, 2024.)

In the Right Place: A Sure Sign

It must be getting close to that time, that wonderful time: summer by the sea. Here you see a sure sign: “Vulcan,” Brooklin Marine’s moorings vessel, setting moorings in Great Cove yesterday. Soon a summer fleet of varied and colorful sail, power, and rowing/pulling boats will be hooked to those moorings out there, bobbing and swinging in between flights of salty-scented freedom.

Basking nearby were some small sailboat mooring gear – metal mushroom and rotary anchors that will be chained to the roped buoys.

They’re being readied by the WoodenBoat School to be set in the Cove, where only the buoys and some of their rope will be visible until fall.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 15 and 16, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Double Dapples

Dappled light often makes it difficult to notice this naturally-dappled, five-inch warbler that recently arrived from the south. It’s a Magnolia Warbler (Setophaga magnolia) and a male judging by the broad white “arm band.”

He’s not in a magnolia tree, which he doesn’t especially find attractive, nor is he colored like a magnolia. In fact, he usually prefers evergreens in the spring.

These birds are apparently misnamed. The story is that Alexander Wilson, the “Father of American Ornithology,” collected one of these warblers from a magnolia tree in Mississippi in 1810. The species had not been officially named, so he gave it the common name of “Black-and-Yellow Warbler,” which was appropriately descriptive.

However, Wilson also gave the warbler the scientific species name “magnolia,” apparently based on the incorrect assumption that the bird was attracted to magnolias. “Magnolia Warbler” was easier to say than “Black-and-Yellow Warbler,” and the birds’ common name officially became “Magnolia Warbler” after being used for decades.

In fact, to confuse things further, in the spring and fall you might see a birder look up toward the top of a spruce tree and hear him say: “There’s a magnolia!” He would not be referring to a magnolia flower growing on a spruce tree. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 13, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Sunny Beam

It’s not every day that you see a yellow-hulled lobster boat. ”Sun’s Up,” one of the smaller-but-brighter local fishing vessels, is back bringing sunshine to Conary Cove. Judging from her deck, she’s eager to set some traps.

Our inland (state) water fishing vessels usually start to return to the trap lines in June. (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on May 11, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Color Me Short

It’s time to publish the May view of Blue Hill for our year-round visual record. As usual, this image is taken from our favorite Hill-watching cove, where we can get a good idea of any cloud activity and see the clear, greenish water of high tide or the muddy bottom at low. High tides isolate some of the little islands that are accessible by land during low tides.

As you may know or infer, at some atmospheric times, the Hill takes on a blue cast. The massive mound is one of the major local landmarks. The town at its foot also was named Blue Hill, as was the Bay seen here. It’s a big hill, but it is 66 feet short of 1,000 feet high, which was the height requirement to be called a “mountain” when Blue Hill was officially named by Europeans. (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on May 11, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Enchanted

Purple leaf plum trees (Prunus cerasifera) are starting to bloom. The buds create galaxies within the tree’s universe of dark leaves. When they open into delicate flowers and are found by dappled sunlight, they seem enchanted. (See also the image in the first Comment space.)

These are on an ornamental plum tree that produces only a few small plums a year. It’s not an agricultural/orchard tree that produces large plums that are grown for fruit or for drying onto prunes.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 10, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Happy Mothers’ Day

We salute caring mothers wherever and whatever they are, from beach strollers to barn swallows and beyond.

In the Right Place: O’ Nest Report V

It’s been mostly a week of tedious waiting at the Osprey Nest, the spring and summer home of Ozzie and Harriet. I hardly ever see Harriet, who seems to be spending virtually all of her time lying low and unseen in the nest. Occasionally, she’ll stir and briefly raise her somewhat untidy head and shoulders so that I’m able to see her.

Although it seems a bit early for her to be laying eggs and/or incubating them, I prefer that interpretation to inferring that she’s injured or otherwise ailing. It usually takes about 40 to 45 days to complete incubation. So, I’m assuming we’re in that waiting phase of family founding.

I haven’t seen a lot of Ozzie this week, either. I can’t figure out his schedule, if he has one. Above, you see him doing one of his fly-overs while I’m there. I have seen him deliver fresh fish by unceremoniously plopping it into the nest. He does that after posing with his scaly prize and gulping down his share of it in an old birch tree that’s near the nest. That posing-gulping-and-plopping routine seems to be part of his daily activity.

In the birch, as you see above, it’s easy for him to keep his eye on me and vice-versa, when I’m there at an opportune time. He seems comfortable seeing my car with the big lens sticking out of the window, which is a sight that he’s probably seen for years.

Most important, Ozzie appears to be acting as if all is going the way it should go, and he would know better about that than I would. I think that we both may be sharing the hope of seeing three or four featherless, red-eyed nestlings in June. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 3 and 7, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Not Time for Tree Party (Yet)

This image of a towering Maine pine tree appears in my monthly column in the current Ellsworth American.  To read the column about Maine’s unique Arbor Week opportunities relating to planting and celebrating trees and other flora, click here: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Slow Sweeps

Greater yellowlegs (Tringa melanoleuca) and their half-sized cousins, the lesser yellowlegs (Tringa flavipes), are arriving here. These sandpipers are easy to identify as yellowlegs at the beach, when they’re using their disproportionately long and disturbingly yellow limbs to wade in the shallows. But greater yellowlegs pipers, such as this fellow, also work the marshes alone, where it’s a different story.

It’s not that greater yellowlegs are hard to identify in marshes; it’s that they’re almost impossible to SEE when they stand still there. Their yellow legs can seem to be dead vegetation and their neutrally-checkered bodies make their familiar shapes dissolve into the complex backgrounds.

Fortunately, greater yellowlegs seem to find it impossible to stand still when they’re secretly watching you looking for them. They’ll often teeter-totter in place, flit nervously, or fly off fast and low. That’s when you’ll notice them most.

Nonetheless, when you’re slowly sweeping a big lens along a marsh edge and your viewfinder suddenly finds a yellowlegs that’s standing still and secretly watching you, it can be one of those slightly-creepy-but-delightful discoveries. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 5, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Records Division

Here’s our monthly photographic record of this iconic view from Brooklin’s Amen Ridge, with a semi-hidden bonus: a bald eagle hurrying home that you might have missed on your first glance.

As you probably know, this scene is one of the views to the east from our peninsula across Blue Hill and Jericho Bays to the western mountains on Mount Desert Island. MDI is Maine’s largest island and is accessible by bridge. It contains most of Acadia National Park and Bar Harbor, MDI’s largest town. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 3, 2024)

In the Right Place: Seasonal Wardrobes Department

American red squirrels, also known as pine squirrels, are easing out of their grayish winter coats and slipping into their reddish summer jackets here. They soon will be mostly red with dark stripes along their sides, sort of the rodent version of racing stripes.

This one also has something going on near the shoulders. I wonder if those patches might be a case of mange from mites, which I’m told is not unusual in red and gray squirrels.

Nonetheless, this little fellow seemed chipper and normally nasty when cursing me out Saturday. Red squirrels (Tamiasciurus hudsonicus Erxleben) are one of our most unsociable, aggressive, and territorial mammals, notwithstanding their size. They usually don’t even tolerate their own mate or any other squirrel species in their territories, except when breeding.

Some of them will take food handouts from humans when they invade human territory, but when we invade their territory, most get angry and sputter, growl, and deliver curses in squirrelese. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 4, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Surf’s Up!

Many forsythia flowers are peaking here now with bright yellow blooms that probably will last about two or three weeks. The bushes are in various shapes. The ones that have been allowed to grow without restraint often form waves of bright yellow that seem to be arriving like surf.

Those that are pruned often look like yellow explosions erupting unexpectedly. Some larger plants along the sides of structures often become huge yellow barriers.

As you probably know, the buds for the plant’s tiny four-petaled yellow flowers are on last year’s branches; they bloom before the leaf buds on the new wood. When the flowers fall and the bush becomes fully leafed-out, forsythia becomes a dense green bush.

The plant is native to China, but has been a favorite in the United States for many years. It was named after the Scottish horticulturist William Forsyth (1737-1804). (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 4, 2024.)