In the Right Place: The Cherokees & Emily

Recent rains have brought us ghosts. I should say these ghost plants, otherwise called Indian pipes (Monotropa uniflora).

They are not fungi; they’re uncommon wildflowers that mysteriously survive without chlorophyll. They usually are white, sometimes pink, and rarely red. They’re ethereal plants that appear in moist woods:

They’re also the subject of an alleged Native American legend and Emily Dickenson’s writings.

A Cherokee tribe legend relates that the plants were the spirits of warring chiefs who smoked peace pipes, but refused to compromise and make peace. The Great Spirit was not pleased and was said to have transformed these egocentric men into a colorless group that paid no attention to each other – they became ghost plants.

As for Emily Dickinson, this uncommon plant reportedly was her favorite flower. (Emily could be “different.”) She tried collecting them as a young woman, according to her history.

More significantly, a group of ghost flowers in silhouette was the sole illustration on the cover of Emily’s first book of poetry. One of her poems uses the flower as a simile for whiteness. And, in one of her letters, she called the ghost plant/Indian pipe “the preferred flower of life.” I’ve been unable to find a reliable explanation of what she meant by that enigmatic statement. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 11, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Unplugging

This beach isn’t pure white, there are no swaying palm trees, and you don’t want to bask in a bikini here in January.

But, Naskeag Point is where I’d prefer to be. It has Maine character. And, more important to me, it’s not crushingly boring the way those Cayman Island beaches can be with their little-changing expanse of flat, shimmering water.

Naskeag’s beaches are adequate for basking, if you’re not fussy, and kids of all ages seem to enjoy the cold water there in summer. But, it’s a working harbor, and that makes all the difference. It’s full of fascinating sights and sounds. Here’s a reverse-direction image:

For some of us, in any weather, the Point is a place where you can go and unplug your brain to re-start it for better reception. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 7, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XV

Below, you’ll see our old flame Angelique as the sun went down over Great Cove Wednesday. This was the fifth time that this jammer has overnighted here this year.

She was on a four-night “Watercolors” cruise among the islands, according to her schedule. The cruise included an optional painting workshop under the direction of an art teacher.

Early the next morning — so early that only lobstermen were working — she was sound asleep:

Angelique soon awakened and sent her passengers to explore the renowned WoodenBoat Publications and School campus. When they returned, the passengers helped raise her unique, burgundy-colored sails. (Those sails apparently were designed to imitate the old tan-bark color created by using tannic acid as a canvas preservative.)

She soon was gliding out of the Cove and raising her two jibs. As usual, all eyes were on her:

As you probably know, Angelique is a 130-foot topsail ketch out of Camden, Maine. (The basic difference between a ketch and a schooner is that the forward mast on a ketch is taller than the aft mast, while the forward mast on a schooner is the same height or shorter than the after-mast(s).)

Angelique was created in 1980 for the coastal cruiser trade. She looks a bit like a 19th Century English fishing trawler, but her original owner and designer has denied that this was intentional. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 7 and 8, 2024.)

In the Right Place: High-Summer Hope

This image of a monarch butterfly on common milkweed blossoms appears in my monthly column in the current Ellsworth American:

To read the column about the plight of migrating monarchs and a recent small ray of hope for them, click this link: https://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XIV

This is the schooner Stephen Taber trying to sneak into Great Cove in the haze of Tuesday afternoon.:

She also tried to sneak out early the next morning before I could get down to the shore:

But, you can’t hide a 110-foot windjammer easily, and I caught her both times from our deck. She hails from Rockland, Maine, and was on a six-night star-gazing cruise, according to her schedule. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 6 and 7, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Summer School

Not all August fishing here is for lobsters. Here you see a fishing vessel and crew purse-seining for Atlantic menhaden in Great Cove on Monday.

That is, they’re using a special net (or “sein,” a word derived from the Old English word for dragnet) to catch a school of small fish named menhaden. Those fish are a primary source of lobster bait; they’re fish in the herring family and commonly called pogies (PO-ghees). The purse sein operates somewhat like the old-fashioned draw-string purses that Robin Hood used to steal in his tales.

Here's how it basically works: A skiff from the fishing vessel pulls the large netting wall around a school of pogies. Then, a “purse line” that passes through rings at the bottom of the net is pulled to cinch the bottom closed. When closed, the net full of fish is hauled alongside the fishing vessel, where dipnets can scoop out the fish and put them into large containers for transporting.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 5, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XIII

Below you’ll see the sleek schooner J&E Riggin. She’s hosting festivities on the beach at Babson Island In Great Cove in Sunday’s haze and fog. Her schedule said that she was on a private charter.

She moved about 100 yards and overnighted in the center of the Cove, where she became part of an especially diverse marine community yesterday:.  

She raised sails, did a sweeping come-about, and gracefully departed the Cove through the southern passageway:

The Riggin was built in 1927 as an oyster dredger for Charles Riggin of New Jersey. He named her for his two sons, Jacob and Edward (“J&E”) Riggin. She’s 120 feet long overall with a beam (widest part) of 23 feet. She dredged for oysters in the Delaware Bay area until the 1940s, when she was sold, converted to power, and sent out in search of mackerel and other fish.

In the 1970s, she was sold again and reconverted to a passenger vessel. In the process, her inboard engine was removed to make more room for cabins. Now out of Rockland, Maine, the Riggin still cruises the area waters without an inboard engine; she relies on her diesel-powered yawl boat to push her when she’s not under sail. (Images taken in Brookland, Maine, on August 5, 2024)

In the Right Place: The Sad Tale of the Cottontail

My guess is that this is a baby Eastern cottontail rabbit that had just left its mother and is now on its own:

There is a chance it’s a rare New England Cottontail, but there is no way to tell the difference without an examination.

Cottontail kits leave the family at about four to five weeks of age, according to the literature. This one was only about five inches long and seemed stunned by a sudden rain shower. (As was I; we both were a mess).

Cottontails (Sylvilagus floridanus) are not rodents, they’re lagomorphs, an order that consists of rabbits, hares, and pikas. They also are the tasty prey or choice for many predators. One wildlife official calls cottontails “the protein pill of the animal kingdom” because 80 percent or more of their population usually is killed by predators during a year.

Cottontails are among the favorite prey of foxes, bobcats, coyotes, and domestic dogs. They and/or their very small young also are devoured by minks and other weasels, skunks, raccoons, house cats, hawks and owls, snakes, red squirrels, and even crows, among other animals. Human hunters and vehicle drivers also account for a good number of cottontail fatalities each year. You don’t want to be a cottontail

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 3, 2024.) See also the image in the first Comment space.

In the Right Place: Reaching

The annual Eggemoggin Reach Regatta took place yesterday in mostly rain and fog, but that’s nothing new for the renowned race. It virtually never is cancelled, no matter what the weather. Below, you’ll see some of the participants sailing south down the foggy and drizzly Reach yesterday; they’re just about to pass Babson Island at the northern entrance to Great Cove:

An estimated 125 wooden boats raced yesterday. Since it began in 1985, the ERR has been the largest wooden sailboat regatta in the world on some of the planet’s best sailing waters. The 15-mile course is basically a triangle that begins at Torrey Ledge and ends at WoodenBoat in Great Cove. Here’s the official ERR course chart:

In the evening, a festive dinner party was held under a large tent at WoodenBoat and most race participants spent their night on their boats in the Cove. The Regatta was hosted by the Brooklin Boat Yard, WoodenBoat Publications, and Rockport Marine. (Photo taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 3, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Hippy-Dippy

We have several wild turkey families that survived their dangerous early summer ground-nesting phase, including the ones shown here, seen yesterday. (Less than half of wild turkey nests survive predation and other adversities, according to the Wild Turkey Federation.)

The turkey rafts are now at the stage when everyone – moms, aunts, and poults – can fly high into trees for protection. Turkey poults are able to walk soon after hatching. They weigh less than 2 pounds when they hatch, but usually gain more than a pound per month, according to reports.

Turkey families roost together in trees at night now. During the day, they typically stroll the high-summer woodlands and fields, scratching for insects and seeds. The moms and aunts try to keep the youngsters in line, but sometimes it’s difficult to herd the hippy-dippy poults. They can become road hazards. The poults usually will stay with their moms until spring mating season. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 2, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Damsels and Dragons

Damselflies and dragonflies are in congested flight patterns above our ponds now. Here you see one of the many blue damselflies, perhaps a bluet, perhaps even a Taiga (“TY-gah”) bluet (Coenagrion resolutum).:

Here’s a 12-spotted skimmer dragonfly (Libellula pulchella):

As you may know, the quick way to tell a dragonfly from a damselfly is to wait for the insect to land and see whether it holds its wings straight out from its body (dragon) or above and in line with its body, often closed together (damsel).

As for the origin of their names, the word dragonfly reportedly was inspired or influenced by the tale of the devil turning St. George’s horse into a giant flying, dragon-like, insect. Also possibly contributing was the Romanian word for the devil (“drac”) and the Romanian word for dragonflies, which translates to “devil’s horse” or “devil’s fly.”

I found no good explanation why damselflies were given that name. In English, a damsel is a young, unmarried woman. Perhaps these insects were named damsels because they generally are smaller and seem more delicate and innocent than their dragon cousins. (I do have a sordid hunch that the male nomenclature officials were aware that damselflies mostly keep their wings together when they sit.)

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine on July 13 and 15, 2024.)

July Postcards From Down East Maine

July here in Vacationland is a fulsome month. We had some magnificent “real Maine summer” days: sunny, blue skies, tingling combinations of warmth and cooling sea breezes, and happy tourists. But we also had a few days that were not up to Maine July standards: incessant heavy fog, torrential rain, and cold and damp tourists. There’s much to cover.

First, let’s have the usual pictorial overview of some of the areas that we monitor monthly along the coast and in the woods, fields, streams, ponds, and other byways:

July wildlife seemed happy no matter what the weather. Among the highlights were white-tailed deer fawns trying out their new legs.

On the feather front, osprey fledglings also were trying out their new wings in the sun, great blue herons were using their wings like balancing umbrellas in the rain, and terns had no problem fishing in the fog.

Monarch butterflies — a vulnerable species — looked healthy on their favorite plant, common milkweed, so did their caterpillars, which soon will have wings:

Meanwhile, dragonflies also were on the wing, while painted turtles just soaked up the sun whenever they could.

On the flora front, there were just too many highlights. We’ll have to settle for a medium-light view of the best of the best. To begin, July is the month of the lily — wild and cultivated; day, tiger, and water:

July’s wildflowers included purple beach rose (rose rugosa), meadowsweet (steeplebush), and bull thistle (with skipper butterflies at times). There were plenty of yellows, including black-eyed Susan, butter and eggs, tansy, and goldenrod. There also was red bunchberry and white Queen Anne’s lace and bull’s eye daisies:

In the garden, the poppies were especially attractive to hoverflies:

In the coastal waters this July, six different windjammers overnighted in Great Cove here to let their passengers come ashore — in rain, fog, and sun — and explore the famous WoodenBoat School campus. They were the American Eagle, Lewis R. French, Heritage, Mary Day, J&E Riggin, and Stephen Taber:

On the working waterfront, the lobster season begins in earnest in July. These fishing vessels come in all sizes and colors, but they all have character:

On the educational waterfront, the WoodenBoat School was busy in July teaching a variety of marine-oriented courses, including sailing courses in their fleet of small sailboats.

Of course, Independence Day is celebrated the old-fashioned way here on July 4. It starts with music by the Brooklin Band. Then there’s the parade of local fire trucks, home-made floats, and classic vehicles. After that, everyone gathers at the Town Green for children’s games, plenty of good food, and conversations with the neighbors. Here’s a small sampling:

Finally, there was the July full moon, traditionally called the Buck Moon, which met standards:

(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine during July of 2024.)

In the Right Place: How Sweet

This fast-spreading native shrub (Spiraea tomentosa) is forming crowds in the damper parts of our fields and wood edges.

One of its three most common names is “meadowsweet,” which is a bit obscure, but interesting. The name derives from “meodu-swete,” an Anglo-Saxon word, meaning “mead sweetener,” a plant used to flavor the ancient alcoholic drink known as mead.

The other two common names are obviously descriptive. One is “steeplebush,” which describes the shape of the flower stalk. The other common name is “hardhack,” which describes your challenge if you try to make a path through its density.

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

In the Right Place: O’ Nest Report XII

We had another historic week at The Osprey Nest, the summer home of the fish hawk couple known here as Ozzie and Harriet and their offspring David, Ricky, and June.

You’ll recall that the two earliest-born into the family, David and Ricky, were always active – even pushy – when it came to nest etiquette and they fledged out of the nest without hesitation on July 17.  But June, the last-born (in June) and the smallest, seemed to have been intimidated by sibling bullying and showed no sign of wanting to get out of the nest.

She would just sit or lie in the nest, rather than roam its edges and peer over the side as her siblings did; she also would wait to be fed, rather than demand it of Harriet as the others did. And – most worrisome – she never would flap her wings in a breeze and do “the yo-yo move” that is common with osprey nestlings: flapping and floating up and down on a breeze, in and out of the nest vertically for several feet.

Well, on Sunday morning, that all changed. Ozzie hadn’t appeared with the daily fresh fish yet. David and Ricky had returned to the nest from early flights over Great Cove, apparently waiting for lunch. Harriet and June were just sitting there looking bored, as usual. The four of them – all big now – were clustered fairly close to each other.

A good breeze came up and, as if a switch had been flipped, June got unusually animated and started flapping her big wings in the wind, whacking her nestmates with them. The others retreated to the edge of the nest and June started yo-yoing while her mother and brothers watched in apparent astonishment as they tried to keep out of her way:

Within the hour, she rose about 20 feet on a good gust and, with a shriek of joy, wheeled off and out of sight. She returned later, but she had discovered what she was intended to be. And, there’s no turning back from that.

As for the accompanying images, from left to right, you’re looking at Ricky, June, Harriet, and David. You’ll notice that the fledglings have speckled wings and reddish eyes, but are almost as large as adults already. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 28, 2024.)

In the Right Place: July in Conary Cove

Above, we have the July view of Conary Cove. It’s a high-summer day: very warm, but not uncomfortably hot; cumulus clouds drift low and slowly above and Queen Anne’s lace clouds dip and sway slowly below; a slight breeze convinces the leaves to rustle and much of the Cove to turn a slowly-rippling green; the iconic red boat house, as usual, draws the eye to itself, mysteriously fitting in while standing out.

(Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on July 27, 2024.)

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.)