JOURNAL
This image of a broad-winged hawk nestling accompanies my monthly column in the current Ellsworth American.
To read the column about the month of June being baby bird time in Maine and how to properly find and observe birthing nests, click here: https://www.5backroad.com/montly-column
Here you see the Schooner American Eagle in Great Cove yesterday morning with her sails down, her weather tarp up, and her passengers ashore exploring the WoodenBoat School Campus on a fine sunny day:
Soon the passengers descended the WoodenBoat pier and rowed themselves back to the Eagle, two boatfulls of them:
Almost as soon as the Eagle’s passengers re-boarded her, a massive rogue fog wave lurched in from the southwest and engulfed everything before it, including the schooner and her passengers. Sometimes, a little sunlight was able to leak into the fog; sometimes a swirl of air would reveal parts of the schooner.
Nonetheless, the Eagle had a schedule to keep. Her crew and passengers raised her mainsail and foresail in the fog, sometimes disappearing from view from the shore:
Then, she sounded her fog horn and headed off into Eggemoggin Reach, disappearing and reappearing as the sun slipped through gaps in the fog. For awhile during her departure, the only trace of her was the sound of her fog horn every few minutes. Then, nothing but silence and shifting fog.
The Eagle is a 90-foot, high-riding schooner out of Rockland, Maine. She was launched in 1930 as the Andrew & Rosalie, the last fishing schooner built in Gloucester, Massachusetts. In 1941, during World War II, she was renamed American Eagle. She fished until 1983 and then went through difficult times until she was totally renovated in 1986 as a tourist schooner. She has since become a National Historic Landmark.
As she was departing Great Cove yesterday, the Eagle passed behind another historic vessel, the 20-foot pocket cruiser Martha, once owned by New York- and Brooklin-based author E.B. White:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 12, 2024.)
This and other yellow flag iris plants (Iris pseudacorus) have started their short blooming period here in our damper areas. They’re reportedly the only completely yellow, large wild iris now growing naturally in North America.
They’re not native to North America; they’re the progeny of garden escapees that are not on anyone’s Most Wanted List. They’ve naturalized themselves into perennial wildflowers that are spreading rapidly in Maine and elsewhere, according to the reports. That’s not good; these handsome little devils are extremely invasive.
The Maine Department of Agriculture, Conservation & Forestry states that they may be controlled with chemicals or by digging them up (wear gloves to protect against their sharp leaves). It’s best to bag and dispose of them with the garbage. Note, however, that special rules apply to using herbicides to control plants in or near wetlands and water bodies in Maine. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 10, 2024.)
Here you see the schooner “Stephen Taber” in Great Cove near sundown on Sunday. She overnighted and departed early yesterday in still air. Her schedule indicates that she is on a five-night trip that features live band music.
She has no motor, so her yawlboat was attached to the stern as an outboard motor and she left the Cove with her mainsail up to increase steering stability.
The 110-foot “Taber” was built in 1871 and is a National Historic Landmark that hails from Rockland, Maine. Curiously, she was named after a once-famed, but now forgotten,19th Century New York politician. As with many coastal cargo cruisers in the 1800s, the “Taber” was built with a flat bottom to “ground out” and discharge her cargo without the need for a pier. She has a centerboard to lower as a keel during cruising. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 10 and 11, 2024.)
Here you see high tide at the mouth of Patten Stream in the rain on Saturday. However, while editing this image, I discovered that I apparently had photographed a very rare species – the illusive Maine Alligator. (Let your imagination off its leash, look closely, and see if you can find it.)
Well …. Maybe I at least captured what I aimed at: apparent examples of common orange lichen (Xanthoria parietina) growing along the rocky shoreline. The growth also is known as maritime sunburst lichen. It often grows on walls, hence it has the scientific epithet “parietina,” which means “on walls.” This lichen was chosen as a model organism for genomic sequencing.
(Image taken in Surry, Maine, on June 8, 2024.)
It’s been a very good year for Blue Flag Iris (Iris versicolor), such as this one and those in its colony:
It’s also been a good year for versicolor’s wild and wiry cousin, Slender Blue Flag (Iris prismatica), shown below,. Perhaps the abundance of these wild beauties is a result of our very wet spring.
The distribution of the slim cousin (prismatica) in Maine is described online by our Department of Agriculture, Conservation & Forestry as follows: “This rare plant has been documented from a total of 6 town(s) in the following county(ies): Sagadahoc, York.” I”ll have to report that slim usually is an annual sight here in Hancock County, if I can figure out how you make such reports.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 4 (versicolor) and 6 (prismatica), 2024.)
It took patience and determination to get close and stay there as this apparently young great blue heron hunted for about 30 minutes without snagging a fish.
But, I had to feel admiration for him as I realized that it took MORE patience and determination to BE that young heron and keep trying to snag a fish.
Great Blues are our largest herons (they’re “great”), but they’re considered to be a “Species of Special Concern” by Maine wildlife officials. That’s primarily because their coastal breeding populations have shown significant declines in recent years.
This loss appears to be at least partly due to a significant increase in predatory Bald Eagles and proprietary human beings deciding to reside along the coast.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 6, 2024; sex and age estimated.)
Here’s a pleasant surprise that was anchored in foggy Great Cove yesterday morning and that many of you will recognize immediately:
It’s our old flame “Angelique” and she gets the prize for being the first windjammer to visit the Cove in 2024. Her schedule says that she’s on a six-night cruise that will focus on Acadia National Park and other sights on nearby Mount Desert Island.
“Angelique” is a 130-foot topsail ketch that’s easy to recognize by her unique dark red (“tanbark”-like) sails and large overhanging fantail. Her size is more apparent when she passes by conventional sailboats, such as “Martha,” a pocket cruiser that’s almost 20 feet (19’9”) long:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 6, 2024.)
June is the peak of bird nest activity here. Here are reports on two nests that I’m monitoring from a distance.
First, meet Wendy, the black-throated green warbler, via an enlarged image. Her cupped nest appears to be between 2 and 3 inches in diameter and she has decorated it with strips of white birch hung here and there. She snuggles down low in her nest with head and tail protruding up and appears to be incubating eggs.
Second, it’s been a frustrating 10 days for me at The Osprey Nest, the summer home of Ozzie and Harriet. Every now and then I’ve seen parts of Harriet’s back while she was lying low in the nest. Sometimes, I’ve just heard her calls from there. I think (and hope) that she is incubating eggs or brooding over chicks.
I can’t figure out Ozzie’s schedule for feeding her; I haven’t seen him for weeks. For those who are having trouble remembering him, here’s a Leighton Archive image of Ozzie at his finest:
(Primary image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 5, 2024.)
Wild water lily pads are rising and collecting into jostling crowds, seemingly waiting for the parade of the plant’s own beautiful flowers, fragrant water lilies (Nymphaea odorata).
Only a few of those water lilies are in bloom now, looking like candle-offerings to Astraea, the goddess of purity. Soon there will be hundreds of such offerings.
Although stunning in appearance, our native water lilies perform critically important functions in ponds, lakes, and slow-moving streams. Among other things, they’re a source of nectar for many unusual pollinators, provide shade and shelter for fish and other freshwater denizens, and prevent or retard high water temperatures that would encourage smothering layers of gooey algae. (Images taken at the WoodenBoat School campus in Brooklin, Maine, on June 4, 2024.)
Here you see one of the wild mustard plants in our field at day’s last light, a time when they seemingly become incandescent.
Here’s a closer look at the plant’s flowers in the early morning light:
Wild mustards are controversial native plants. They can be seen as beautiful wildflowers / they can be seen as invasive weeds; they are loved by many pollinators (especially bees) / they are hated by some gardeners; they can be intriguing additions to the diet / they can make some people gag. And, the various species can drive me crazy trying to tell them apart.
The plant shown here, I think, is Rape or Field Mustard (Brassica rapa), although it just might be one of several other New England mustards based on some field guide descriptions. Rape reportedly is not only a quintessential mustard, it also is a “model organism” for biological research along with the fruit fly and house mouse. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 1 and 2, 2024.)
That great old song tells us that “Jeremiah was a bull frog.” Maybe so, but I’m here to tell you that Ezekiel, shown here, is NOT a bull frog. He’s a friend of mine who lives in our pond and happens to be a green frog.
The two species of frogs – greens and bulls – often are difficult to tell apart, unless you can get close to them and apply the little-known “dorsolateral folds” test. I’m about to reveal that test, which is less scientific than it sounds and won’t threaten the livelihoods of herpetologists who specialize in amphibians.
Those dorsolateral folds are ridges of skin that appear on both bull frogs and green frogs. The ridges extend behind the eyes and curve around the ear drums (the “tympanums”) of both species. However, they stop at the eardrums on the bulls, while their top lines/folds continue on the greens all the way to the green frogs’ butts. That is, the bulls only have something like inverted Nike Swooshes® around their eardrums; the greens have those Swooshes plus racing stripes along their bodies.
Of course, a bull frog also can be twice as large (up to 8 inches) as a green frog (up to 4 inches). But, it’s unlikely that the two will appear side-by-side for long before the bull eats the green. (Both these frogs will eat any live thing that they can get their mouth around.)
If you’re viewing a single frog and aren’t any better than I am at mental measurements, that size knowledge probably won’t help much. Besides, there are small bulls and large greens that can complicate computations. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 1, 2024.)
Naskeag Harbor was summer-bright during yesterday’s almost perfect day. The seasonal residence on Harbor Island is now partially obscured by new leaves on young trees and the hill that the house was built on is now June-green. If you closely observed (through squinted eyes) the two fishing vessels seemingly guarding the Island, you might have notices an example of marine seasonal change.
FV “Tarrfish,” in the foreground, has already had her winter scallop fishing (“dragging”) mast and boom removed in preparation for her summer lobstering. The other boat, FV “Captain Morgan” (I think), still has her mast and boom attached. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on June 1, 2024.
May was gentle here, which unfortunately wasn’t always the case elsewhere. She performed a brilliant opening act for Summer, leaving us eager for the rest of Maine’s most famous show. Part of May’s job is simply to freshen up everything, turning browns and grays to greens, bringing billowing clouds on sunny days, releasing the scent of balsam in the woods, and providing the warmth to do spring maintenance.
Our resident wildlife prospered during our winter, despite several vicious storms. Among the mammals, the deer and red squirrels were shedding their winter coats and the muskrats were exploring the ponds to build nests and lodges. (The one shown below had lost part of his tail, perhaps in a close call with a bobcat or coyote.)
Of course, May is the beginning of courting time of our resident wild turkeys, with the Toms flexing their feathers all over the place. Feathered summer tourists came early to nest, including Canada geese, ospreys, robins, greater yellowlegs sandpipers, and Eastern phoebes.
As usual, the Mallard ducks came up early and created families that were learning to swim in May. Warblers continually swept through during May, including a black-throated green warbler that was barely visible nesting in a spruce and a magnolia warbler that appeared to be looking to rent a summer place.
Finally for fauna, the painted turtles rose from the depths of their winter tombs in May and the early dragonflies, including Eastern amberwings, began to flit and whir over our ponds.
On the working waterfront, May is the time to take down the booms and masts of winter scallop fishing and to get the lobster traps in shape for the summer. Specialized vessels roam the waters returning floats to piers and setting heavy moorings in place, while the lobster boats are made ready.
On the recreational waterfront here, May is when the WoodenBoat School alumni return for two weeks to spruce up their renowned alma mater for the classes that begin during the first week of June. The class rooms are readied for boatbuilding and other marine-oriented classes, the sailboat mooring gear is cleaned, and the School’s fleet of small boats is returned to Great Cove, where other sail boats have started to appear. The alumni work hard and enjoy it.
As for flora, May is known as the bringer of flowers. But it’s also when you can see how fast spruce and balsam trees grow and how larch (tamarack) trees regain their needles that were shed in the fall. Of course, May also is pink and white apple tree blossom time, red maple tree leaf time, and white horse chestnut tree pyramid time..
We’re far from done here, flora-wise: May is when the vibrantly green leaves of mountain ash (rowan) trees spiral out and the red leaves and white blossoms of shadblow trees mingle; when plum tree blossoms and buds create purple galaxies, and when yellow magnolia tree and white star magnolia blossoms reach for the sky.
Wait! There’s even more around the houses. May is when forsythia bushes form yellow tidal waves, lilac bushes erupt in bursts of white and purple, crabapple trees become bundles of buds and flowers, rhododendron bushes try to upstage everything, and daffodils are everywhere.
Not done yet! Back on the wild side, May is when star flowers begin to appear in the darker woods with bunchberry ground covering. In the sunny fields, the blues are played: bluets, Eastern blue-eyed grass, wild blue flag iris, and wild blue lupines with their starburst leaves. Of course, we dare not forget the mighty yellow dandelion, many of which have turned to seed pappi in May.
In the bogs and ponds, skunk cabbages are well on their way to becoming immense in May; lily pads are rising, and arrow arum is starting to form its green arrow heads. We could go on and on with the May flora, but we’ve done more than enough, don’t you think?
Finally, we end with May’s full moon. It will not surprise you to hear that it is known as the Flower Moon. This May it rose through a fog which soon lifted so that we could see this very old friend’s craggy features.
(All images in this post were taken in Blue Hill and Brooklin, Maine, during May 2024.)
It’s the last day of May, a month that was mostly gentle and kind to us, but wild and cruel elsewhere. For some unknown reason, I especially remember the May moment shown here:
The sun suddenly disappeared, the wind was still, and the pond water turned polished black. It was then that the boulders briefly became rising moons, the cattails turned into raised spears, and the pond’s primeval life stirred in the sudden chill.
Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 13, 2024.
Mallard ducklings usually are among the earliest waterfowl to hatch and start being cute around here. At first, I didn’t see this proud mom and her fluffy sextuplets yesterday among the reflections in a local pond. But (of course) the youngsters can’t sit still the way Mom can.
When she knew that I had seen her family, she calmly guided them to the other end of the pond, where they disappeared completely among the cattails.
Mallards are the most numerous and most heavily hunted ducks in the country, according to Vickory (“Birds of Maine”). However, although native to America, they’re not native to Maine. Vickory reports that they were raised by state wildlife officials and introduced for hunting here beginning in 1940. They liked what they saw and prospered despite the presumptuous invitation. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 29, 2024.)
All is well: “Martha” is back in Great Cove. She’s one of the local legends and good luck charms that just HAS to be moored in the Cove so that we know that at least part of the summer will be right. She comes with a rich history and an interesting lesson about sailing terminology.
Martha was built here in 1967 by the famed Brooklin naval architect Joel White for his even more famous father, the New York- and Brooklin-based author E.B. White (“Charlotte’s Web,” etc.). She was named after Joel’s daughter, the granddaughter of E.B. (who was known by many around here as “Andy”). That’s the very short version of the history.
The short lesson has to do with the type of boat that Martha is. She’s reported as a sloop-rigged Crocker pocket cruiser that is almost 20 feet long overall (19’ 9”). A “cruiser” is built to sail on multi-day trips; that is, it’s not just a “daysailer.” Among other things, cruisers usually have at least one berth to sleep in, a stove to cook on, and a head (toilet) to sit on.
But Martha is a “pocket” cruiser. That is, she has all of the above attributes, but she’s miniaturized, which requires extraordinarily well-designed accommodations. The “pocket” designation derives from the practice of applying that term to objects that have been miniaturized to carry (e.g., “pocketknives”). When applied to the miniaturization of large vessels, the term can seem extreme (e.g., the World War II “pocket battleships”).
There’s more: Martha is a Crocker pocket cruiser. That is, she was inspired by the designs of naval architect Samuel Sturgis Crocker, who specialized in small and stout cutters with sharply sweeping bows. (Take another look at Martha’s magnificent bow.)
After E.B.’s death, Martha was sold by the White family to Rich Hilsinger, the former Director of the WoodenBoat School here. He promised to keep her in Brooklin where she belongs. Here’s a Leighton Archive image of Rich sailing Martha:
(Primary image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 26, 2024.)
Here’s a rarity: a bob-tailed muskrat. The sight provoked memories of ghastly stories about muskrats gnawing off their own legs or tails that have been caught in traps and tales of coyotes or bobcats catching muskrats by the tail, swinging them around, and ending up with just a wriggling appendage as prey.
The muskrat’s tail is part of the reason it has such a nasty name. It’s also an aid to its identification in the wild. It’s virtually hairless and proportionally very long like the tail of a brown (Norway) rat, which makes muskrats easy to differentiate from flat-tailed beavers. But it’s an important part of the muskrat’s life.
Normally, the muskrat’s tail is almost half the length of the rodent (e.g., about 9 inches on a 10- or 11-inch body). It’s “laterally flattened” (deeper than wider), which allows for its use as a combination sculling oar and rudder. The appendage often is swished back and forth when the muskrat is swimming to aid power, balance, and maneuverability.
The tail on this little fellow just bobbed in the air, back and forth stiffly, while it swam in a pollen-flecked pond checking out potential nest sites. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 25, 2024.)
Here you see part of the last journey of Lt. Col. Donald Green, USMC, Ret., in Arlington National Cemetery. That was almost 10 years ago, but it remains vivid for me. Don was a friend and colleague whom I think about often, especially on Memorial Day.
Technically, today is the day to honor those who died while serving in the Armed Forces of the United States. For many of us, however, it’s also another opportunity to honor those who are now serving or have so served, even though Veterans Day in November is set aside to do that.
It seems to be an old-fashioned thing, this honoring of someone who died while performing what used to be considered a service to our country. Such service was once considered a moral obligation – a “duty” – for men. It’s not required anymore, and that’s probably a good thing.
But, I sometimes worry about the consequences of diluting or abandoning some traditional senses of obligation – to country; to spouses or other personal partners; to children; to those in need; to political constituents; to abiding by the Constitution; to simply telling the truth…. My fear is that, if and when any of these once-recognized senses of obligation is fully discarded, its void will be filled with cynicism, selfishness, and/or autocracy. History tells us that can be the beginning of the end of a society.
Nonetheless, I feel no embarrassment in being old-fashioned and giving our military a snapping salute today. (Full disclosure: I’m a veteran who mostly enjoyed my service and benefitted greatly from its lessons on teamwork and diversity.)
It’s apple blossom time here in our little town on the coast of Maine. It’s an event that involves hundreds of old, gray, gnarly, lichen-scabbed trees that mostly have been “let go” to live wild and bend under their burdens.
They apparently conspire when we’re not watching and then – now – do a magic trick: They collectively turn into soft mounds of vibrant green leaves, clustered pink buds, and delicate white flowers that are eager to offer their yellow centers to ecstatic bees.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on May 24, 2024.)
