In the Right Place: Blurs and Sharpness

Here you see two skipper butterflies seemingly making rascally plans atop some nasty spear thistle (aka bull thistle or common thistle). Don’t ask me what species the skippers are; I find them to be one of the most intimidating groups to study and get straight.

There are about 275 species of these big-eyed butterflies in North America, mostly about an inch long and usually seen as fast (up to 37-miles-per-hour) brown blurs. They fly erratically, or “skip” from spot to spot somewhat like a skipping stone on water. Even experts have trouble identifying them. It was only recently that they were placed in the superfamily Papilionoidea (butterflies).

The thistle (Cirsium vulgare) is native to Europe and parts of Asia and Africa. However, it is invasive and has naturalized itself in North America. The reason that it is called “spear” thistle is obvious from its appearance:

The reason that it also is called “bull” thistle is that it thrives in pastures, although I doubt any self-respecting bull or cow would snack on it.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 26 and 27, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Jettisoning Absurdity

Here we have the July iconic view of Blue Hill and Blue Hill Bay. It’s a time when both are green, as is much of the Town of Blue Hill at the base of the Hill. This is an inspiring view that can get you thinking. Sometimes in strange ways.

Strange thought: If that Hill had been a flat apple orchid, would the green bay and green town have been named Green Bay?

Stranger thought: If that Maine town with the apple orchid were called Green Bay, would its major sports team be called the Green Bay Pickers instead of the Green Bay Packers, as in Wisconsin?

Strangest thought: If there were such a team in seafaring Maine, would its fans be called “Fish Heads” instead of “Cheese Heads,” as in dairying Wisconsin?

***

Sorry. I needed to jettison some absurdity. (Image taken in Blue Hill Maine, on July 12, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XII

It was a bit foggy when the schooner “Heritage” anchored off Babson Island in Great Cove Wednesday afternoon:

She was on a six-night cruise along the Down East coast and this was an experience that the her website describes as follows: “We will sail to a beautiful uninhabited Island and row ashore for a lobster cook-out on the beach with hors d'oeuvres, hamburgers and hot dogs, corn on the cob, and of course, lobsters with melted butter. After enjoy watermelon and then smores roasted on the fire.”

The cook-out seemed to go well, and the Heritage moved closer to shore as the weather started to turn nasty. By yesterday morning, she was being engulfed with fog and drenched with episodic rain:

Even so, her intrepid passengers rowed themselves ashore in a longboat to explore the WoodenBoat School campus and rowed back to the schooner to hunker down in the Cove. I don’t know when the Heritage left.

The Heritage is one of the larger windjammers in the Maine fleet. Her reported overall length is 145 feet, with a 24-foot beam (widest part) and a 5200-foot sail area. For stability, she can drop an 18-foot centerboard. She has no internal motor, but maneuvers nicely when using her yawl boat as an outboard engine. Launched in 1983, she hails from Rockland, Maine. Here’s what she looks like when she puts on plenty of sail:

Leighton Archive Image

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 24 and 25, 2024. except for Leighton Archive Image.)

In the Right Place: Cats or Caps?

Tiger lilies are on the prowl now. Some of these spectacular garden imports from Asia have gone wild and naturalized themselves in sunny areas here. (They’re reportedly called “tiger” lilies due to their orange color and small dark spots; last time I looked, orange tigers had stripes, not freckles. But I digress.)

Tiger lily flowers (Lilium lancifolium) look very similar to the orange, dark-spotted Turk’s cap lily flowers (Lilium superbum). The Turk’s cap plant is taller than the tiger and is native to the United States; however, apparently it’s uncommon (if not rare) in Maine. A quick way to distinguish the two similar plants is to look for black bulblets in the leaf axils. If they’re there, you’re looking at a tiger, not a turban, so to speak. Look closely at the leaf axils in this image:

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

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XI

Here you see the schooner “American Eagle” entering Great Cove in the lowering sun Monday afternoon. This was her third visit this summer. She’s on a nine-night Down East waters cruise, according to her schedule.

The Eagle is not large as coastal cruisers in the Maine fleet go. The red-sailed boat in the above image provides perspective: that’s “Crackerjack,” a 12.5-foot Haven that is part of the WoodenBoat School classroom fleet. The Eagle’s overall length is 90 feet. However, she rides high and has a very clean, sweeping gunwale line from fore to aft that can make her look longer. She now hails from Rockland, Maine.

The Eagle overnighted in the Cove and awoke to torrential rains and drifting fogs yesterday. She kept her weather tarps up and her sails and passengers down (below deck) all morning, as far as I could tell:

She departed into rainy and foggy Eggemoggin Reach in that condition about 1:30 p.m. yesterday.

She was launched in 1930 as the Andrew & Rosalie, the last fishing schooner built in Gloucester, Massachusetts. During World War II, she was renamed American Eagle for patriotic reasons. 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. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 22 and 23, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Getting an Earful

When I looked quickly into the viewfinder to take this image, it appeared for a second that I had got me a four-eared fawn:

But, no; it was just the usual playful twins that come through here with their mom at about dawn every three days or so:

Research indicates that older white-tailed does usually birth twin fawns and sometimes triplets. Yearling does usually give birth to one fawn. Fawns average about six to eight pounds at birth, and will weigh about 60-70 pounds by their first winter. Does nurse their fawns about 4 times a day as newborns and will continue nursing them for about 4 months, according to state wildlife reports.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 15, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Full Time

This is yesterday’s July full moon, shown here rising over Great Cove; it traditionally is called the “Buck Moon.” This name reportedly was given it because male deer (bucks) in full antlers are often seen at this time. It’s a bit misleading, at least with respect to the white-tailed deer that we have around here.

Modified image: moon inserted lower to fit in frame

Every report that I’ve seen, not to mention what I’ve witnessed, indicates that white-tail antler development usually is not completed until late August or early September, when blood stops flowing to the antlers and the protective velvet there is sloughed or rubbed off.

Nonetheless, as with all full moons, they appear to the unaided human eye to be full a day or two before and after the official date, when scientifically-measured luminosity is virtually 100 percent (e.g., 99.8%). This year, that apparent fullness was significant because Saturday, the day before the official full moon, was the 55th anniversary of the first mission that humans landed on the moon, the Appollo 11 lunar landing.

On that Saturday, July 20, the moon appeared full and rose into a Halloween sky filled with racing clouds that were back-lit by the moon. It was quite a dramatic anniversary for the Appollo 11 mission:

During the past few days, the moon has been a little more than 230,000 miles away. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 20 and 21, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Sneak Preview

The renowned Brooklin Boat Yard is doing sea trials on this virtually completed custom-built luxury yacht. Named “Syntax,” it’s a 55-footer commissioned by the Wheeler Yacht Company of Chapel Hill, N.C. The expectation is that the vessel will be christened and launched officially before August.

This vessel is designed to be a high-tech version of the famous Wheeler luxury vessels of the golden age of yachting in the first half of the 20th Century. (You may have heard of Ernest Hemmingway’s beloved “Pilar,” a Wheeler 38’ on which he wrote “The Old Man and the Sea” and revolutionized sport fishing. She was built for Hemmingway by Wheeler in 1934.) It also will be an example of outstanding American workmanship.

According to the Yacht Company, this new Wheeler 55’ is a cold-molded wooden vessel featuring African mahogany, with Douglas fir structural elements and teak decks. It will be driven by 850 HP i6 MAN engines (with the option to upgrade to MAN V8-1000 engines) and twin straight shaft propellers; the yacht will cruise at 25 knots. Features like the synchronized joystick controls with bow and stern thrusters will ensure easy docking, while the Seakeeper gyro stabilizer and Zipwake systems will provide a smooth and stable ride.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 18, 2024.) See also the image in the first Comment space. Thanks to Barbara Wyeth for the tip.

In the Right Place: To Bee or Not to Bee

Look closely and you’ll see a hoverfly (and its shadow) showing why it got that name:

These insects also are known as drone flies and flower flies. This one appears to be a green lucent fly (Didea alneti) that’s less than one-half an inch long. It’s in the process of deciding whether to visit the working parts of a poppy. These are true flies (Diptera) that have interesting characteristics.

They can hover virtually still except for their high-speed wings; they apparently can hold an in-air position better than all or most other insects and even hummingbirds. This may be part of a complex defensive system that makes it difficult to notice them.

But, if noticed. most hoverflies are designed to scare – they’re banded to mimic bees, hornets and other insects that can sting. Yet, hoverflies can’t sting. When they sense danger (like a looming photographer), they also can buzz like a bee or hornet. Most significant to the big nature picture is the fact that hoverflies are very important pollinators in the propagation of flora. 

As a bonus, I’m adding below an image of another important banded pollinator approaching a favorite food source, common milkweed:

It’s a tri-colored bumblebee (Bombus ternarius). And, it can deliver not only a painful sting, it can sting repeatedly. Unlike honeybees, bumble bee workers’ stingers have no harpoon-like barbs at their ends that remain imbedded in a victim, which disembowels the stinging honeybees. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 15 (bee) and 17 (fly), 2024.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch X

The Schooner Lewis R. French entered Great Cove at mid-afternoon Wednesday, which was a hot and hazy day. She first anchored off Babson Island, where passengers went ashore and explored, lolled on the beach, and a few went swimming in the 64-degree water. Later, a lobster bake was held there.

After a delicious dinner on Babson, the passengers re-boarded the French for a short trip of about 200 yards, so that the schooner could anchor close to the WoodenBoat School dock and float. It rained that night and into the foggy morning. The schooner kept her weather tarp up most of the morning. Nonetheless, several boatloads of the passengers were ferried ashore to explore the WBS campus and then return to the French for the rest of their cruise.

Soon the weather tarp was taken down and sails and anchor raised with the help of the passengers. Her mainsail, main topsail, and foresail were raised. There was virtually no wind, but the sun started to try to break through the overcast. It was one of those mornings when beams of sunlight came and went, sometimes creating intriguing reflections that lasted only minutes.

The French has no internal motor, so her powerful yawlboat was lashed to her stern as an outboard motor and she headed out of the Cove to the north. She might have been on her way to see nearby Pumpkin Island Lighthouse; her schedule says that she was on a four-night lighthouse tour..

The 101-foot French was launched in 1871 out of Christmas Cove, Maine. She was built there by the French brothers and named after their father. In her youth, her life was varied and hard. Among other things, she freighted bricks, granite, fish, lime, firewood, and Christmas trees, and at one time experienced a fire that nearly destroyed her. Now, the French is a classic cruiser out of Camden, Maine.

The schooner J&E Riggin also anchored Wednesday night in Great Cove and departed the next day. She arrived late and departed early on Thursday in the rain without raising a sail:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 17 and 18, 2024.)

In the Right Place: O’ Nest Report XI

Yesterday morning was one of the most important times of the year at The Osprey Nest, the summer home of the fish hawk couple known as Ozzie and Harriet – their first two born this year, David and Ricky, fledged out of the nest within a few minutes of each other, leaving young June as the only nestling Here you see the beginning of the daring departure:

It was a gusty morning. Both of the “boys” were constantly flapping their wings in the breezes, while the much smaller June seemed to be wondering what was happening. Then, David (the oldest and largest) seemed to make up his mind and moved to the edge of the nest as his mom, Harriet, watched. He took off into the wind and peeled down behind the nest where I couldn’t see him:

Harriet soon took off after David:

Then, Ricky did the same thing as David did while his mom was gone. Harriet was quite excited when she returned alone, calling loudly. Ozzie came in response to the calls, but didn’t seem surprised and June still seemed to trying to figure out what was happening.

I saw and heard two ospreys that appeared to be David and Ricky soaring high over Great Cove shortly thereafter. It always amazes me when ospreys fledge like this by instinct – no driving instructor, no video study, just flap-flap-feels-fine, and up and away. Soon it will be June’s turn, and I have no doubt that she’ll do well. After all, in the fall, they’ll all be expected to travel alone to Florida or south of there without a GPS device.

In the meantime, life in Maine will progress. One thing that immature ospreys apparently can’t do by instinct is plummet dive for fish. They seem to have to learn how to do that on trips with their parents, especially their father. This means that they’ll be returning to the nest for awhile to feed on Ozzie’s daily deliveries, learn to hunt, and to make their protective Mom feel good. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 17, 2024.

In the Right Place: Good Grief!

It’s time to report on one of the specimen trees that I monitor here. This is the iconic weeping beech at Amen Farm and it appears robustly healthy:

I’m told that it was one of two planted in front of the house there about 1950, but that one had to be removed due to crowding. (Was that removal “tree-ahge” [triage]? Sorry.)

As tree-weeping goes, this beech’s grief must be inconsolable. Some might say it’s throwing a tantrum because it’s gotten a bad haircut, that upside-down flat-top pruning job. However, the tree has sported it for many years without apparent incident and many of us have gotten used to it.

As with most mature weeping beeches (Fagus sylvatica, 'Pendula'), this tree is wider than it is tall. My very rough estimate is that it is about 80-90 feet wide and 45-50 feet tall. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 12, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Good News

We’re starting to see a fair number of North American (migrating) monarch butterflies on common milkweed blossoms lately, such as this male.

(Only males have a small, dark bump in a vein on each of their hindwings. These two “androconal patches” contain pheromones that attract females.) Here’s a female:

It seems that this long-distance commuter is not as threatened as once thought. Last fall, the International Union for Conservation of Nature moved the monarch from its red “Endangered” list down to its “Vulnerable” list and said that it could lower the warning to “Near Threatened” if planned studies indicate that the population is stable or growing.

The primary concern is that common milkweed is disappearing due to land development. That plant is a favorite of many polinators, including bees:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 15, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Shame

When Brooklinites travel north on Route 175, they come to a sharp curve at High Street and see this scene on the right:

It’s memorable for three reasons. First, architecturally, the larger structure is a classic New England connected farmhouse that is over 100 years old.

Second, historically, the place has a local and perhaps national heritage. Locally, the house apparently was first owned by Mattie L. and Erastus J. Candage, shown with their large family in this old image:

It was sold (apparently before 1918 when Erastus died) to Edna and Howard Pervear, and Edna ran the North Brooklin Post Office out of a room there for many years.

In 1933 – here comes the national aspect – famous author E.B. White and famous New Yorker editor Katherine White bought a house nearby and used that Post Office to ship and receive manuscripts that became world-famous works.

Third, socio-economically, the house has been abandoned and deteriorating slowly for quite some time. This is not rare in Maine, where restoring such old houses to the point that they can be insured and become mortgage-eligible is too costly for most people. These houses die a bit each day like wounded beasts that refuse to fall down; then, the roof or a wall will finally give in and they’ll tumble down and become indistinguishable jumbles of wood and pipes.

It's a shame, but who can you blame? (Primary image taken in North Brooklin, Maine, on July 12, 2024; undated historic photo from the Brooklin Keeping Society.)

In the Right Place: On “Civilization”

We need to be more like daylilies, to collectively reach out of the darkening ditch and find the light that we need to become what we could be.

(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 12, 2024.)

In the Right Place: O’ Nest Report X

There was an important week at the Osprey Nest, the summer home of our local fish hawk couple, Ozzie and Harriet. I was able to photographically confirm that there are three osprey nestlings, as suspected.

The third red-eyed youngster is no longer hiding in the deep bottom of the nest. She’s been named June, the month of her birth, under our protocol. From left to right in the following image, you’ll see June, Ricky, David, and Harriet, the proud Mom:

Harriet leaves the nest frequently now that she doesn’t have to brood over her chicks. Not only does she need to stretch her wings from time to time, but she gathers moss and branches to do housekeeping in her large penthouse above Great Cove.

I tried to figure out Ozzie’s daily schedule for bringing fish home. I’m now convinced he has none. Maybe his delivery service is dependent on when the fish are running close to the surface in the Cove and Eggemoggin Reach. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 12, 2024.)

In the Right Place: The Fawns of Summer

This image of a white-tailed deer fawn appears in my monthly column in the current Ellsworth American. To read the column about the dangers and joys that summer fawns experience, click here: https://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch IX

That smells like bacon cooking. The passengers on the schooner Mary Day woke up to a fine breakfast early yesterday morning after overnighting in Great Cove. This was Mary’s second visit to Great Cove this year. She was on a three-day lighthouse cruise, according to her schedule.

The fog was lifting, but the morning was to be a hot and hazy one. Mary’s weather tarp was left in place to shade against the burning sun:

As usual, several boatloads of Mary’s passengers toured the famed WoodenBoat School campus on shore and returned in a yawl boat. Meanwhile, Mary was visited by WoodenBoat’s 20-foot Caledonia yawl, Swifty, which was being rowed. As you can tell from Mary’ drooping flag, there was no wind:

Eventually, Mary’s mainsail was raised, followed by her foresail, then her main topsail:

There was virtually no wind, and the schooner has no cruising motor. No more sails were raised and Mary was pushed out of the Cove by her yawl boat, her sails slack.

As regular readers here know, she’s a 125-foot schooner out of Camden, Maine. She has very clean coastal cruiser lines, but was built in 1962 just for passenger cruises. She was named after the wife of the late Captain Havilah Hawkins, Senior, who designed the vessel and owned her for about 20 years.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 11, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Web Site

Halloween came early yesterday morning in the form of this dew-laden spider web, which appeared to be about three feet at its longest point:

This masterpiece of engineering and construction is even more astonishing when you consider that the top of that spruce that you see is about 40 feet high. And the web’s anchoring lines among three trees were 20 or more feet long. (Image taken from a 2nd floor window.)

This is most likely the creation of an orb-weaving spider, although a few other spider species make similar webs. From what I’ve read and seen, the spider usually floats a line on the wind to another surface, such as a branch. It fastens the line and then floats another line from its center to another surface, making a "Y." It then lays in the remaining scaffolding radii made of non-sticky silk to climb on. When done, it uses this framework to repeat the process with a sticky silk spiral to capture prey, leaving a few non-sticky lines to move on.

(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 9, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Treasure Chest

For the visually oriented boat lover, there are few places that can match Naskeag Harbor at sundown on a still evening. The working harbor turns into a closing treasure chest of glistening lobster boats, highlighted fishing paraphernalia, reflections of shearing hulls on black waters, and shadows snuffing out the glowing trees on Harbor Island:

On occasion, such as this one, the lowering sun finds and spotlights a lone fisherman in a rowboat, slowly trolling through dark waters:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 7, 2024.)