JOURNAL
We’ve had some good rain, our ponds are full and icing back up, and our wooded streams are swollen and flowing fast.
More than half of Maine is in moderate drought and most of the rest of the state remains abnormally dry. The precipitation is not soaking down into the earth enough; it’s becoming runoff that is taken by the streams to the ponds and sea. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 2 [stream] and 3 [pond], 2025.)
Here you see what was going on at Naskeag Point yesterday. It wasn’t like William Wordsworth’s poetic inspiration by a lonely cloud – most likely a lost puff of cumulus – wandering over his beautiful English Lake District.
It was Maine, where countless artists are inspired by the celestial celebrations of crowds of stratocumulus clouds that, from time to time, take to the skies like happy hooligans after their home team wins a match. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 2, 2025.)
This calming image was taken on the last day of 2024. You’re looking north from the northern end of Litte Deer Isle. Pumpkin Island had shed its snow and the Lighthouse seemed to be basking in the winter sun. Looking southeast, you’ll see a healthy colony of rockweed softening the rugged coast, leading to one of those old “grand cottages with a view” (and a pier):
(Images taken in Little Deer Isle on December 31, 2024.)
Here’s the best of our photographs that record the spirit of December 2024 along the Maine coast. She was a well-tempered month, bringing us some brilliant sun and needed rain and a few decorative snowstorms. They were all delivered during some bitterly cold and some unseasonably warm days, with a few epic fog days thrown in as a change of pace.
Of course, December is the month of holiday spirit here. The most memorable of many, wide-ranging examples of this spirit were night scenes of Brooklin’s annual lobster trap tree and its welcoming General Store, as contrasted with a sunny view of Deer Isle’s huge wish for peace on earth featuring an ironic mix of soldiers (albeit toy soldiers) and heavenly angels congregating in a memorial traffic splitter:
As you may know, our monthly Postcards always include record views of four iconic scenes for long-term comparison: Mount Desert Island, as viewed from Brooklin; the Harbor Island house in Brooklin; and, in Blue Hill, the near-mountain called Blue Hill, and the red boat house at Conary Cove:
Here’s a bonus showing more of Conary Cove’s serenity on a still, cold day:
December’s snow falls this year were manageable and often gave the landscape a rejuvenating facelift:
Sheds of all sorts, including stand-alone garages that are full of things other than vehicles, became obvious in December. That’s when their utility is most needed to protect boats, equipment, workshops, and wood, although sometimes there was an overflow:
Similarly, country lanes, roads, and highways took on new identities after December’s snows and in the month’s clear sunlight when the snow had melted:
Indoors, tropical poinsettias and wood stoves warmed many households here during December’s frigid days:
Yet, there are those who don’t shelter on cold and windy days. On the working waterfront, December is the month when coastal lobster fishing ends here and the traps and buoys are brought ashore for storing. Some of the lobster boats then don masts and booms to drag for Atlantic sea scallops with iron-and rope-net “drags” (dredges):
Fishermen are not the only ones who brave December’s wind and cold when icicles are forming. There are some who enjoy frigid recreation:
In the December skies, sometimes the sun shone through snowfalls:
Not to be outdone, the moon went through its phases until it became — appropriately — what is known as the Cold Full Moon, after which it became a waning gibbous morning moon in the early blue sky:
Near the end of December, former President Jimmy Carter died at the age of 100. President Biden and Maine Governor Mills ordered that federal and state flags be flown at half-mast for 30 days to honor him.
Finally, and on a more optimistic note, December’s southerly view of the sun provided some of the greatest sunsets and afterglows of the year to usher in 2025:
(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine during December of 2024.)
On this last day of 2024, we’ll take a wistful look at the wannabe mountain known as Blue Hill across Blue Hill Bay and above the Town of Blue Hill, Maine:
At the time those were named, any earthen mound had to be at least 1000 feet tall to be called a mountain, but the mound at the end of the bay there is 34 feet short of that.
The original name of the area was known to Colonists as “Plantation No. 5.” But, by 1778, the Township was known as “Bluehill” and a little later as “Blue Hill.” That’s a lot more pleasing denomination than Plantation No. 5 (and, nowadays, a more politically correct one). Today’s name is descriptive of the blueish hue that the Hill sometimes turns in certain light (or, as I like to imagine, when the Hill is feeling down).
If the Hill had been 66 feet taller, the Town and area likely would now be called “Blue Mountain.” But “Blue Hill” seems more appropriate for a charming seacoast settlement with no alpine aspirations. (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on December 19, 2024.)
Here’s the Pumpkin Island Lighthouse on Friday. It’s enjoying some sunlight on a cold day, but no longer provides a guiding light to mariners. This beacon was much needed in 1855, when it entered federal service. It was said that the Light then could be seen in good weather with the naked eye from nine nautical miles away.
The Light is just off the northeast tip of Little Deer Isle, near the entrance to Eggemoggin Reach. The Reach is a granite-ledged, island-clogged shortcut from the Penobscot Bay to the Atlantic Ocean. In winter, there can be significant patches of ice jutting from those islands. Some of the best sailing winds in the world are funneled down the Reach. But, on a foul day or dark night, it can be perilous, especially for boats without radar and sonar.
When the Light went into service, there was plenty of traffic in the Reach, but no radar or sonar. Coastal cruisers sailed up and down the coast carrying timber, granite, housing goods, and other commercial cargo; they were the truckers of the time for this area. Pumpkin Island and Light were owned and operated by the federal government until 1933. They were then sold to private owners and have remained in private hands.
Curiously, nobody seems to know why the Island is named Pumpkin; it’s not shaped like one and we’ve found no reports of pumpkin farming there. (Images taken in Little Deer Island, Maine, on December 28, 2024.)
Before they wilt, I should credit this year’s crop of poinsettias as being among the best of the holiday flowers that we’ve had over the years. There are traditional red ones, as shown here, and more than 100 other varieties. One of the variegated ones is shown below:
There is some confusion about the plant’s name, Poinsettia. Don’t look for an interesting Latin or Greek origin. It’s just a derivation of Joel Roberts Poinsett’s last name. He was the first United States Minister to Mexico and a botanist during his off hours. In the early 19th Century, he found the plants in their native Mexico and began shipping them to the United States, where nurseries eventually popularized them for the Christmas season.
When the plants first came here, they were called “Mexican flame flowers.” (Their natural, non-manipulated color is deep red.) Giving them Joel’s last name made them intriguingly mysterious. However, there was confusion as to how to pronounce “poinsettia.” Its preferred pronunciation is “POYNE-seh-tee-YAH.” It’s best not to turn that two-syllable “tee-yah” into a one-syllable “tah.” (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 28, 2024.)
Above you see “Dear Abbie:” in below-freezing temperatures on the day after Christmas. She’s in deep shadows cast by Harbor Island and has just come in after a scalloping sortie. Her crewman is about to hang over what may be an icy bow and hook her mooring line. Winter fishing is not for the feint of heart or the cold-averse.
As usual, “Dear Abbie:” unhesitatingly hooked up in one approach, which is not nearly as easy as it looks:
(Images taken on December 26, 2024.)
Here we see white snow with white birches with a white 19th century home – a stunning scene in yesterday’s bright sun. I’m not sure what, if any, architectural style this residence is. But, I’m told by Sharron Ellis, its owner, that it was built in 1899 and has been in her family ever since.
Based on some quick online research and a consultation with my architect and wife, Barbara, we’re thinking that the house may be styled as an American Four Square arts and crafts residence. However, it’s definitely not a 19th Century Sears Four Square kit, according to Sharron.
There’s a visual bonus today: the white house has a “very old” (date unknown) small workshop within the property’s tree line that Sharron also keeps up nicely. It also looks stunning in snow and brightnes:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 26, 2024.)
Below you’ll see an image of Monday’s jaw-dropping sunset afterglow, which I didn’t get a chance to download until yesterday. (The color was not enhanced.) Those low-level clouds reflecting that solar radiation appear to be marine stratocumulus clouds doing what they do best over water.
This image belies the old (Biblical) saying “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning.” This red sky was not indicating an incoming high pressure system that would bring clear skies; it snowed the following day out of a gray sky. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 23, 2024.)
… When all through the town, not a vehicle was stirring – except maybe as usual at the Brooklin General Store. The store opens at 6:30 a.m. and closes at 7 p.m. every day except Monday when it’s closed. Here you see the store at night:
This family-run store can trace its lineage back to an original structure built at that location in 1872. It’s part of a long tradition of general stores (aka country stores) in New England that have served communities since before the Revolutionary war. Here’s the store during a December dusk:
In today’s age of online shopping and speedy truck delivery, the BGS and many general stores have survived by becoming rural convenience stores that open early and close late. (Ours is closed Christmas Day.) They sell a highly-targeted selection of food, beer and wine, and nonfood products, while often providing a café area (which the BGS does). Perhaps most important, they continue to provide something that general stores are famous for – local gossip, news, and views out of the mouths of neighbors.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 19 [dusk] and 20, 2024.)
Where do all the little boats go in winter? If they’re lucky, they go to winter boat sheds where they can seemingly share bedtime stories, while the icy wind whips and the wet snowflakes fly.
In some sheds, such as Brooklin Boat Yard’s shown here, the boats seem to share a crowded dormitory of multi-level bunk beds behind a sliding door that makes checking on them easy:
In others, such as the WoodenBoat School’s shed shown below, the boats are given king-size bedding spaces and sealed in for the winter, but they can be viewed through windows:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 15, 2024.)
Yesterday’s snowfall was one of those good ones, the kind that changes your perspectives without damaging your property. These snowfalls are roughly akin to repainting your house – removing drab surroundings, which makes cherished things look different in their new environment. Except new snow doesn’t last very long. So, I went out and took these images of some cherished sights that have been transformed temporarily.
First, there are images taken as the fine snow descended in the gray morning:
When the snow stopped, the sun broke through for a while revealing varying states of accumulation and plowing:
Some of our familiar structures took on a stately status in the fresh snow:
Residential front yards were blanketed in snow without suffering any significant damages:
The ice on ponds proved to be good landing zones for the snow; wooded streams shrugged the snow off, and the bright sun at Naskeag Point tried unsuccessfully to melt it in the freezing temperatures:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 21, 2024.)
It looks like we got about 1.5-2 inches of snow last night. The gentle storm will be good for our continuing moderate drought conditions – it should lie low and softly seep for a while – yet, it’s not plow-needy, which creates hard piling. Besides, we were getting tired of looking at the unchanging winter woods and garden. A little temporary dazzle always is nice.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 21, 2024.)
Above you see a moment in a clear winter’s morning in Conary Cove: The high tide is temporarily forgiving ecological sins by covering them with a translucent veil; patches of icy snow cling to the rockbound shore, adding to the morning’s tingle; migrating blue and pale purple clouds head off together, marking the territory below with their passing reflections.
A wider view of the coast and Blue Hill Bay shows the grand serenity in the moment:
(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on December 16, 2024.)
Today, you’ll see two of Brooklin’s more successful restorations, which are both in the Center Harbor area.
First, you see above Brooklin Boat Yard’s restored pier and its New England-style gear shed being backlit by the sun rising over Eggemoggin Reach. The pier and shed were destroyed in last winter’s violent storms and rebuilt in expanded and sturdier forms this year.
Below, you’ll see the seaward side of what is still called the Odd Fellows Hall, although that organization sold it in the 1990s and it originally contained a general store and a notions store. This French Second Empire [Napoleonic] style building was built in 1896. A massive restoration of it was finished in 2020.
Note the distinctive gabled dormer windows on the top floor. Unseen: There is a large mansard hip roof and store front entrance. Added: The metal fire escape was added to conform to modern safety needs. Missing: The building had an attached four-story clock tower that was removed in the 1950s.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 15, 2024.)
Sometimes an image of an ordinary scene conjures an imaginary magnificence. Here you see the captain and a crew member of “Dear Abbie:” working intensely on mechanical issues that the fishing vessel was having at the beginning of the scallop dragging season this month:
As I watched, a sunlit bird suddenly appeared and hovered over them, as in depictions of a visitation by a holy spirit. The workers never noticed. But this is the solstice month, a time when significant spiritual events are celebrated.
On the other hand, this also is a time when a herring gull will do what herring gulls do – fly to occupied, but moored, fishing vessels in the hopes that scallop guts will be thrown overboard.
Nonetheless, we have a good ending to this story: “Dear Abbie:” was repaired and apparently is having a good scallop season. Those who want to credit the visiting bird are free to do so. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 4, 2024.)
Here’s the old red boat house in Conary Cove that we monitor in all types of weather and poses. In this image, she’s soaking up the sun during yesterday’s cold, but fine, December morn. She’s also enjoying a good high tide and, if you look closely, you’ll see that she’s sporting a holiday wreath to greet passersby. If you can’t see the wreath, take a look at the closer images below:
(Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on December 16, 2025.)
Above and below you see Brooklin’s Beth Eden Chapel being hugged by the shadows of wintering sugar maple trees. Those trees stood staunchly beside the one-room chapel and meeting place for many years.
This plain, late Victorian structure was finished in 1900 as a nondenominational chapel. It’s not used much now, but it was once the emotional center of a small rural community of hard-working people. They came to this place to offer prayers of hope; celebrate the joys of christenings and weddings; join in rousing hymn-sings; decide important local issues, and to weep at funerals. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 13, 2024.)
