In the Right Place: Open and Shut

Wild common blackberries here are starting to ripen into high-summer delicacies for outdoor hikers who don’t mind consuming unwashed fruit and an occasional thorn-nick. (The dark ones shown here were tangy-scrumptious.)

These brambles also are known as Allegheny blackberries, as their scientific name indicates (Rubus allegeniensis). They’re members of the rose family and native to eastern and central North America.

Common blackberries on the vine often are difficult for the casual observer in the wild to differentiate from their rose family cousins, black raspberries, which grow in the east as Rubus occidentalis and along the west coast as R. leucodermis.  

However, it’s easy to tell the difference. After a berry is plucked, look at its bottom: if its center is hollow like a thimble, it’s a raspberry; if its center is “corked” like a jug, it’s a blackberry:

(First image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 25, 2024.)

In the Right Place: We’ll Have a Dream

Yesterday was one of those days here that we’ll dream about in February as we try to remember high-summer. The sky was vast and blue and safe for little clouds to play there; an occasional breeze gave you the subtle thrill of a meaningful touch, and the warming sun was kind and restrained, never letting the temperature get higher than 76° (F).

It was a good day to take our August 2024 record photograph of Blue Hill across Blue Hill Bay to share with those who will dream of a Maine summer in February. (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on August 24, 2024.)

In the Right Place: O’ Nest Report XIV

It’s been a revealing week at the Osprey Nest. As you probably know, that’s the local summer home of the fish hawk couple known here as Ozzie and Harriet. They’ve raised three fledglings there this summer, whom we’ve named David, Ricky, and June for narration purposes. All three youngsters have been flying well since they left the nest.

However, during the past week, I’ve seen only June, the youngest, return to the nest to be fed. That’s June in the above image: she had just flown to the nest and was begging loudly for food as usual. And, also as usual, Ozzie soon showed up with a headless fresh fish that he flipped into the nest for her; he’s not completely selfless; he apparently eats the head for its most nutritious brain and eyes:

If David and Ricky continue to avoid the nest for meals, it will be a safe bet that they’ve finally learned how to plunge dive for fish and feed themselves. June will have to learn that essential maneuver soon, since Ozzie probably will migrate south next month no matter what.

I haven’t seen Harriet for two weeks. She’s successfully done her grueling job of birthing and protecting three selfish raptors in all sorts of weather. She’s probably migrated south early, or at least is enjoying a well-earned Maine vacation in solitude. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 21, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Wild Fruit and Old Words

It looks like we’ll be having a bumper crop of wild apples from abandoned trees this fall. This apple tree arising out of choking undergrowth is probably over 100 years old, based on local history. It’s full of ripening apples:

That fruit will not be harvested by humans, but wildlife will eat much of the crop. Some apples will last long enough to ferment and make some creatures drunk.

The prospect of a “bumper crop” of apples made me realize that I had no idea why an abundant harvest is called a bumper crop. Well, it seems that, in the 19th Century, the verb “to bump” also meant “to bulge” when describing solid objects. (Its use with wine and beer is another story.) When sacks bulged with a harvested yield, they “bumped,” and the harvest was called a “bumper crop.”

That word use is now defined as obsolete, but I’ve grown to accept some obsolescence in life. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 21, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Super Blue

Here you see the first supermoon of the year as it appeared over Great Cove yesterday at 5 a.m., when a curtain of overcast opened briefly. The moon still was considered full, although it first appeared full Monday, during days of rain, overcast, and fog prevented us from seeing it here until yesterday.

Within minutes of this image being taken, the curtain of overcast started to close again, and the morning fog continued to roll over Eggemoggin Reach toward us:

By 6:00 a.m., Babson Island and most of our north field had disappeared in fog. The sun burned it off later in the morning.

This moon is considered to be a “supermoon” because it’s orbiting about 14,000 miles closer to Earth than average. It’s also a “blue moon” because it’s the third full moon in a season with four full moons. (The second full moon in a rare month with two full moons also is considered to be a “blue moon.”) 

Finally, this August full moon traditionally is called the sturgeon moon, a translation of the Algonquin tribe name for it, because the month is one of the best times for catching those fish. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 21, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Vicious and Voracious

Here you see one of the most vicious creatures known to man, if you judge by disposition, size, and weight. It’s a male blue dasher dragonfly (Pachydiplax longipennis:.

He’s a bit longer than one inch and weighs much less than an ounce. As usual, he’s sitting on a favorite spot in his territory, ready to fiercely attack any other male and hook up (literally) with any female of his kind that gets close. (Female blue dashers are mostly brown and yellow, despite their name, as you may know.)

This blue male also is ready to dash out and kill any small flying insect that comes by, including mosquitos, moths, and flies. Blue dashers have voracious appetites; they reportedly consume up to 10 percent of their body weight in insects daily. (Imagine what 10 percent of your body weight in daily solid foods would look like.) Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 5, 2024.

In the Right Place: Oldies but Goodies Department

Here you see one of the most publicized Maine-built vessels emerging from the fog in Great Cove on Saturday. Significant restoration hides her hard life and age. She’s the renowned yacht “Grayling.”

She was built in 1915 in East Boothbay, Maine, as a double-ended (two-“bowed”) fishing vessel with a distinctive cypress pilothouse. She seine-netted mackerel and herring at first (hence the double-ended design), and then became a sardine carrier in 1920. She trucked sardines to and from canneries for 70 years and then, when her useful life was thought to be at an end, she was “put on the hard” and, basically, left to rot.

She was rediscovered and restored for a client in 1997 by Doug Hylan, a Brooklin, Maine, boatbuilder. The result was this distinctive, ketch-rigged yacht that sleeps 11. She’s long (almost 65 feet overall) and thin (12.5-foot beam), which means she must carry significant ballast (10 tons) and use her staysail to help avoid excessive rolling.

By the way, as you may know, a grayling is an attractive freshwater fish in the salmon family that prefers very cold water. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 17, 2024.)

In the Right Place: The Cycle

Above, you see a male monarch butterfly on goldenrod trying to reenergize himself after chasing females all morning. Below, you’ll see a somewhat-worn female laying eggs on a common milkweed leaf:

I think these two orange beauties are the second-to-last generation of their kind here, and that we’re probably seeing them perform their last hurrahs before they die.

Monarch generations live from two to five weeks during their breeding season here. The second-to-last last generation of Maine monarchs will produce the fertilized eggs on milkweed that will become the fancy striped caterpillars of late summer that look like all others. But, they’re not.

Those last caterpillars will transform themselves (pupate) into special monarch butterflies that will have delayed reproduction capabilities. They’ll use all their considerable energies to migrate to central Mexico, where they’ll overwinter and produce a new generation of Mexican monarchs.

That new Mexican generation will include the monarchs that start the generational relay race called the spring eastern monarch migration. Maine will be one of the last stops for some of the more adventurous migrators, and the cycle will continue unbroken if conditions allow.

Whether those conditions will allow is questionable, as you’ve read many times in these posts. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 15 and 16, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XVII

We’ve been having foggy mornings in Great Cove for about a week, but yesterday’s early fog was especially dense. We were in a thick cloud until mid-morning when some of the boats moored in front of Babson Island began to appear.

Then the trees on Babson Island began to show and with them two schooner mastheads:

Soon, the 120-foot J&E Riggin was disclosed; she had overnighted just off Babson’s beach. She was on a five-day private charter, according to her schedule:

The Riggin, launched in 1927, has no in-board engine, but she does have radar and radio. When the fog cleared enough to navigate, the schooner’s 16-foot diesel yawl boat was strapped to her stern like an outboard motor, and she was powered into a turn-about and motored out of the Cove headed South. She never raised a sail as she departed us.

I wonder what the drill is for such an outboard-powered schooner to avoid a surprise collision when she finally attains cruising speed. Long vessels with large in-board engines can try “full reverse” to slow things down a bit and can surge power for radical turns. (Having someone jump into the yawl boat to reverse or turn off the engine seems a bit awkward and time-consuming.)

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 17, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Big Hips

Beach rose flowers are losing their petals with a little help from Japanese beetles, but the remaining large, fleshy seed pods known as rose “hips” are looking very good this year.

This plant (Rosa rugosa) originally was imported from Asia to shore up eroding beaches. It has naturalized itself and grows wild along coastal areas, much to the chagrin of property owners who find it almost impossible to get rid of the dense, invasive shrubbery. Nonetheless, the plant’s rose hips are valued by many for their high content of antioxidants, especially Vitamin C, and polysaccharide-peptides.

The origin of the description the seed pods of rose plants as “rose hips” is unclear. It apparently has no relation to the human body. Most etymologists seem to trace it back to the pronunciation of the Greek word for a similar plant that has large seed pods, the dog rose (Rosa canina), which is native to Europe and Asia. In Medieval times, apparently, parts of the dog rose plant were used to make salves for dog bites, hence it’s Latin and English name.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 12 and 13, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XVI

Two frequent schooner visitors to Great Cove were back yesterday morning after overnighting here. The creamy-hulled American Eagle and the silver-sided Mary Day only raised their mainsails while moving in the light winds.

It also was hazy, some of which apparently was caused by Canadian wildfires) The Eagle left before noon, but Mary moved to Babson Island in the Cove for lunch and exploration.

According to their schedules, the 122-foot Eagle, out of Rockland, was on a six-night “Unscripted Adventure”; the 125-foot Mary, out of Camden, was on a six-day Perseid meteor cruise. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 15, 2024.)

In the Right Place: O’ Nest Report XIII

It’s been a wonderful August so far at the Osprey Nest. That’s the summer home of the fish hawk family known here as Ozzie and Harriet and their 2024 youngsters David, Ricky, and June. All of the youngsters are flying well and seemingly enjoying their flights, but they aren’t good at plunge fishing yet. They still depend on Dad to deliver their meals.

Above, you see June after she just flew to the nest and began begging for food. Then, in the second image, Ozzie came to deliver his daily headless fish to the nest for June to share. (Ozzie usually eats the head off the fish as his portion; it’s probably the most nutritious part of the fish.) The nest has become a meeting place and perhaps where some of the family stays overnight.

The speckled youngsters have been growing fast. Below, you’ll see that David is almost as large as Ozzie. They’re sitting together on a nearby pier railing after a successful fishing lesson.)

Of course, Harriet is even larger than Ozzie. As with most raptors, the females are larger than the males, probably because the moms are usually the first line of nest defense. Speaking of Harriet, I’m seeing less and less of her. She seems to take long freedom flights and fish for herself now that she’s completed her grueling motherly duties. She’ll probably be the first to migrate, flying south by herself, perhaps thousands of miles. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 11, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Icon

The red boathouse may have become 100 years old this year, according to a seemingly reliable report of its construction “around 1924.” When you say “the red boathouse” to a native or long-time resident around here, you don’t have to explain what you mean. 

Dictionaries say that an “icon” is a symbol worthy of veneration. If so, this structure has become a regional icon – an adopted sign for the beautiful area.

It didn’t always look like this. It used to have a dock, which was subject to damage by storms and strong tides, and it was painted white. It was painted red with white trim in about 1954, and it was noticed that the hue and vibrancy of the red varied with the light. The dock reportedly was removed in the 1960s.

The change of color and simplification of structure seem to have made all the difference between a nice scene and an iconic one. They created a memorable symmetry in an ever-changing environment – a beautiful scene with a primary subject that often stands out, yet fits in at the same time.

We photographers can’t seem to stop ourselves from trying to capture the boathouse’s essence in changing light, but we never quite do. (Image taken at Conary Cove in Blue Hill, Maine, on August 12, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Fawn Fates

This summer’s white-tailed deer fawns seem to be an unusually healthy group. Here you see one of the many that appear to have developed the size and speed that will enable them to outrun and outmaneuver a bobcat or fox in a chase.

I’m not sure whether the same is true yet for one or more coyotes on the hunt. But she soon will be fully deer-fast and reasonably safe from coyotes.

We also have a pair of smaller, twin fawns locally that are inseparable and full of joy:

They also appear to have reached a size and speed that will discourage bobcats and fox, but I’m reasonably sure that they have not developed the size and speed to best one or more coyotes that get a jump on them. Let’s wish them luck. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 8 and 11, 2024.)

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.)