JOURNAL
It snowed a little last night here on the coast, as you see from this image taken early in the morning;
It looks like about an inch and a half has accumulated – enough to remind us that it’s winter; not enough to plow the driveway. It does give us a change of scenery for a while. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 120, 2024.)
Above you see ever-changing Naskeag Harbor on Thursday, as winter raindrops plunk targets in its waters, making no impression on the fishing vessel and summer residence that stand by.
The next day, the winter sun adopted its sun king pose above the Harbor and the “point” of Naskeag Point at the end of the road, making no impression on the abandoned canoe that stands by:
When I was editing these images, the lyrics of a very old song kept popping into my very old mind: “I’m gonna love you/Like nobody’s loved you/ Come rain or come shine.” (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 5 and 6, 2024.)
The Brooklin lobster trap holiday tree is up and lighted, thanks to many volunteers, especially Sarah Havener. It’s on the flag and monument lawn in front of the Town Office:
Those arriving and departing Brooklin will be reminded of the Community’s spirit and heritage and maybe feel just a little better by realizing that people still do things like this. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 7, 2024.)
Above you see the early morning light reaching Great Cove at the beginning of yesterday’s bright, but cold and windy, coastal winter day. There are whitecaps in the Cove and sprinkles of icy snow still season the fields, left over from a little flaked frenzy the night before. About two miles south, Naskeag Harbor’s waters also were roiling from winter winds:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 6, 2024.)
Abpve you see a winter view of Mount Desert Island taken Wednesday from the usual location on Brooklin’s Amen Ridge. MDI is Maine’s largest island and contains most of Acadia National Park.
The Island has many mountain peaks that create their own weather. Air coming in from the sea hits the mountains and rises fast, expanding, cooling, and often condensing into vapor that launches a train of clouds.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 4, 2024.)
Above you see the top of a 15-foot thicket of burning bush (Euonymus alatus) that is alight in yesterday’s wintery cold. Its red leaves have now dropped almost completely, revealing its mass of red winter berries that the birds will consume and reissue in fertilized form as potential seedling bushes elsewhere. Here’s: a lower image of the bush:
Maine wildlife regulators have deemed this once-popular Asian bush to be severely invasive and prohibited further sale and distribution of it in the state. Nonetheless, preexisting plants here abound and there does not seem to be much enthusiasm for removing them. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 4, 2024.)
Here’s a view of the near-mountain called Blue Hill taken Saturday from a different perspective than my usual one:
The Hill remains wooded, although probably not as wooded as when the native Abenaki people hunted wild turkeys there before the European land grab began in the area in earnest in the 1760s. (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on November 30, 2024.)
As you see from this image taken yesterday, the recent drop of air temperatures is finally lowering the surface temperature of our ponds and forming ice in them that’s deeper than skims in some areas:
The size of the surface and depth of the water in these bodies will determine how fast “safe” ice will form – ice that’s walkable/skateable/fishable, etc.
It’s hard to predict whether or when the ice will mature enough for ice-related recreation in these changing climate times. However, now seems to be a good time to refresh our memories of at least the following guidelines, which are adapted from part of the state’s more numerous “Winter Ice Safety Tips”:
1. Pond or lake ice is never 100% safe; safety depends on numerous conditions, some unpredictable.
2. Before entering onto the ice, check its thickness by digging a hole near the shore with an auger or other instrument: Under 4”, stay off; 4” of “good ice” may be safe for foot activities (fishing, skating, walking, etc.); 5-7” of “good ice” may be safe for snowmobiles or ATVs; 8-12” of “good ice” may be safe for most cars or small pickups; 12-15”of “good ice” may be safe for a medium-sized truck.
3. “Good ice” usually is blue or clear and solid.
4. Potentially hazardous ice includes melting ice (light gray to dark black); water-saturated snow ice (white to opaque), and mottled or slushy “rotten ice” that contains areas where the texture is not solid.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 2, 2024.)
December arrived yesterday and gave a dull daylight performance of gray light, snowy rain sprinkles, and a raw wind. But she showed some promise by ending her day with this grand sunset:
(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 1, 2024.)
November here is a fickle month weather-wise. She has trouble deciding if she wants to be sunny, rainy, snowy, foggy, frigid, warm, or combinations of these. This year, November was all of those, plus being part of an extraordinary dry spell that kept us in a moderate drought condition. Nonetheless, as with all months here, she was picturesque in her own way.
As usual, we’ll begin these Postcards with our monthly visits to the the four vistas that we write to friends about in all seasons and weather: Mount Desert Island, Maine’s largest island, as viewed from Brooklin’s Amen Ridge; the Harbor Island house in Brooklin’s Naskeag Harbor; the boathouse in Blue Hill’s Conary Cove, and Blue Hill, the almost-mountain with the Town at its base that it’s named after:
Continuing with the water motif, the ponds and wooded streams were low due to lack of rain, and the the sea tides were very low or very high due to the month’s supermoon and the occasional dramatic rain storms.
The dryness and absence of really violent winter storms in November delayed leaf-coloring and leaf-falling until late in the month. Much of November was Octoberesque. By the end of the month, however, most of the trees and bushes were virtually leafless (or, in the case of tamaracks [larches] needleless). The leaf loss exposed multiflora rose hips and winterberries for collecting as table arrangements, as well as the cruel beauty of Asian bittersweet fruit on its tree-strangling vines.
In the wildlife category, we have to honor our wild turkeys during the Thanksgiving month. Here on the coast, they’ll hunt for crabs in the rockweed and seeds along wooded trails.
Firearms hunting season for antlered white-tailed deer also starts here in November. (A special permit is needed to hunt “antlerless” deer.)
Meanwhile, the relative warmth of November tempted at least one great blue heron to delay or abandon his fall migrations and provided our red squirrels with plenty of easily-available winter food.
Wildlife of a much different kind are involved in November’s great transition on the working waterfront. Most coastal water lobster fishermen stop trapping those crustaceans, bring their traps in for storage during the month, and do what’s needed to wrap up that season.
The scallop-diving season also began in November. That’s for the relatively few divers who don underwater suits and breathing equipment and hand-harvest choice scallops from the sea bottom during the winter. Below you’'ll see the fishing vessel Tarrfish coming home to Naskeag Harbor with a load of scallops that its owner, David Tarr, dove for. As with many scallop fishermen, David sells part of his catches to friends and neighbors.
The scallop-dragging season begins December 2, which means that summer lobster boats are converted into winter scallop boats in late November. The vessels are equipped with masts and booms that maneuver their “drags” (metal-wood-and-rope dredges) that scoop scallops from the sea floor.
Of course, there are many working vessels that are brought ashore in November to begin their long winter vacation.
This year, Thanksgiving day was miserable with overcast, fog, and rain, and was not worthy of a “wish-you-were-here” Postcard. However, there were two monthly events that may be worth memorializing. The first was the Presidential election, which attracted a heavy voter turnout in rural Maine and may result in historic consequences.
The second event was a good winter moon that went through some interesting phases that culminated in the full moon, one of the year’s supermoons. The November full moon is known as the Beaver Moon because it occurs when — I should say it occurred at one time when — it was best to trap beavers before the ponds iced up.
Finally, but perhaps most promisingly, November is the first month that brings us the increasingly spectacular winter sunsets and dusk afterglows that come with the colder, clearer air and earlier darkness.
(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine during November of 2024.)
Many of our summer-fishing “lobster boats” are turning into winter-fishing “scallop boats,” as you see from these images taken yesterday. That’s “Tarrfish,” above, having her mast and boom installed so that she can maneuver her “drag,” a metal-wood-and-rope dredge that sweeps the sea bottom for scallops.
Below, you’ll see “Dear Abbie:” in winter dress yesterday. She not only had her mast and boom up, she had her shelling hut installed behind her cabin. That temporary hut is a shelter from winter weather in which one or more crew members shucks out and sorts the adductor muscles of harvested scallops (the delicious “meat” clump that we eat).
The scallop-dragging season starts here in the first week of December; the season for hand-harvesting scallops by divers in underwater breathing equipment began in November. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 29, 2024.)
Our vista on Thanksgiving evening was a blurred one through a veil of rainy fog. On the other hand, this is what we saw on Thanksgiving Eve (Wednesday). That’s Great Cove in the foreground and the sun sinking behind Deer Isle on the horizon, leaving behind a dying celestial fire.
Our late evening sun sightings continue to move southwest (left on the images) and the sunsets and afterglows continue to get more colorful, as the cold squeezes more dirty humidity out of the atmosphere. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 27, 2024.)
Leighton Archive Image
Meet Frank. He’s a cranky neighbor who I disturbed while he was having breakfast yesterday. I see him often because I regularly walk through what he considers to be his property.
Frank treats my visits as trespassing and he lets me know that I’m not welcome by hurling at me the vilest curses I’ve ever heard. I try to tell him that the Town considers my wife and I to be the owners of his habitat and taxes us considerably for the honor. He rejects that reasoning as typical human colonizer talk, not worthy of anything more than a screech and a growl.
Of course, Frank is a fellow mammal whose ancestors were here before the Mayflower ran aground. But, he does do some squirrely things. For example, before and after his little snack yesterday he was very active foraging and burying food as if there were a cold spell coming.
(Red squirrel image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 26, 2024.)
Here you see the lowering tide in Great Cove yesterday hard at work exposing the intertidal zone and its colorful colony of Ascophyllum nodosum, the seaweed commonly called “rockweed”:
Rockweed is a species of brown algae that gets its common name from growing on rocks and other hard surfaces. It anchors itself there by a “holdfast,” an adhesive foot-like growth.
Rockweed is a valuable member of the wildlife community. Its fronds and the cells that it releases are important food sources for marine organisms and sea birds. At low tide, it protects crabs and other marine animals from predators and the sun; at high tide, it’s an underwater forest that shelters many organisms. It also is a photosynthesizer that consumes harmful carbine dioxide.
Nonetheless – and here’s the rub – it also has significant commercial uses. These include conversion into fertilizers, use as a moist packing material (e.g., for bait and lobsters), and being a source for the food-thickening agent alginate.
The risks and benefits of commercial harvesting of rockweed in Maine have become controversial issues. Under Maine law, coastal upland owners also own and control the intertidal area (with certain irrelevant exceptions). Commercial interests need permission from the owners of the land before harvesting its rockweed.
The rockweed harvesters are lobbying to change that law to allow them to cut the seaweed without permission and environmentalists are seeking stronger applications of the law and other conservation efforts relating to rockweed. If you’re interested in getting more information about the concerns, I suggest that you start with the Blue Hill Peninsula Rockweed Forum: https://rockweedforest.org/.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 25, 2024.) The owner of the intertidal land shown here has refused to permit its harvesting.
Here you see the specimen weeping beech tree at Amen Farm as the rain eased off yesterday afternoon. Beech’s usually hold onto many of their leaves until after Thanksgiving here. For example, here she is last Tuesday:
But now, this famous landmark is a filigreed version of herself after last week’s wind and rain, and she seems to be in a frantic fit of grief about her uncomely condition. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 19 and 24, 2024.)
This week’s rain and wind completed the denuding of many of our deciduous trees, including this young, 40-foot sugar maple that we planted in 2007, when she was about four feet tall:
Here you see her on rainy Friday morning after a night of rain and wind. This morning, it’s still raining and windy, and she’s not wearing a single leaf.
On November 1, however, she was just starting to signal her leaves to make themselves into her usual stylish fall outfit:
She is, of course, beautiful when she’s dressed, and seems to know it.
Sugar maples (Acer saccharum) have been known to live 400 years and reach 120 feet in height. They’re native to the hardwood forests of Maine and other northeastern states and perhaps best known for being the primary source of maple syrup. They also are excellent shade trees when they have their summer and fall outfits on. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, On November 1 and 22, 2024.)
Here you see part of a Maine coast moment in Great Cove yesterday afternoon. It had stopped raining temporarily and storm clouds had filled the sky above Big and Little Babson Islands. The entire scene was virtually dark. A good nor’ eastern wind came up and thinned the clouds into a narrow veil that exposed blue sky above and allowed the lowering sun to peek through and throw a glittering glance my way.
The glittering glance lasted about 30 seconds and the surrounding brightness lasted about 10 minutes. Then, reinforcements came to the aid of the storm clouds, which charged back, abruptly shut the show down, and turned the day back into darkness and rain:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 22, 2024.)
It’s raining steadily as I write. Finally. A constant rain fell through the night and is continuing to drum pleasantly on our roof. We haven’t had an effective rain since the summer. We’re so dry that I bet a 40-day and 40-night soaker would not motivate any of our many capable ark builders here. The situation in Maine is serious and even dire in other northeastern states, as you can see from yesterday’s weekly U.S. Drought Monitor maps:
Most of Maine is experiencing moderate drought and the rest of the state remains abnormally dry, creating brush and wildfire dangers in this highly-wooded state where most people rely on wells for drinking water and, often, on ponds for fire truck water:
Our ponds have been drying up:
The situation is worse in some other northeast states, according to the Drought Monitor: “[E]ssentially from north-central Maryland northward and eastward, little or no precipitation fell [during the week]. *** As a result, conditions continued to deteriorate in [many] areas. *** Severe drought (D2) expanded to cover much of the East Coast Megalopolis and the western suburbs. Unusual brush fire activity and wildfire danger has been frequent for the past couple of months, and a few municipalities have mandatory water use restrictions in place ….”
(Photograph taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 21, 2024.)
November can be fickle with her weather. She seems to like to try on days that are a little gray now, a little sun later, more gray, more sun, very dark, very bright; relatively warm, relatively cold; sprinkles, downpours, and even moderate drought as we have now. But November’s fickleness can provide opportunities to see familiar things differently.
Above. you see Conary Cove under Monday’s wintry gray sky. As she always does, she’s allowing the cold, fast-rising tide to cover her. Below, you’ll see Naskeag Point on the next day under a cloud-scudded, sunny-blue wintry sky. She’s slowly disappearing, as she always does, under the same fast-rising tide that has become a day older.
(Images taken in Blue Hill and Brooklin, Maine, on November 18 and 19, 2024.)
