Animal Sign

Another Amazing Lesson From A Squirrel

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

Maybe I’m a slow learner. Maybe I just need the same lessons over and over again.

Whatever it is, I’m grateful for all who teach me, non-human to human, because there is always something to learn.

This week it was my friend Red who led the class. If you were down the hall in this outdoor school, you may have heard him, for he tends to be quite loud, and a bit critical, when he’s not dining upon a pinecone that is.

His plan, as it often is, was to strip the cone of its protective scales and seek the tiny seeds tucked in by the core or cob of the cone. Each scale contains two winged (think samara that help the seeds flutter toward the earth when its warm enough for the scales to open on their own) seeds and to me it seems like a lot of work for a little gain.

But if you’ve ever watched a Red Squirrel at work, you’ve noticed they are quick and can zip through one cone in mere minutes. Of course, it helps that they don’t worry about the “trash” and just let the scales and discarded seed coverings or pods, and even half consumed cones and cobs pile up in a garbage pile known as a midden. Spotting one of these is a sure sign you’ve entered Red’s classroom. And if you pause and look around, surely you’ll find many more middens. After all, Red Squirrels are voracious consumers. But again, given the size of the seeds, they need to be.

So here’s lesson #1: Leave the scraps. Oh wait, not on our indoor dining tables, but in the woods. And not our food in the woods, unless you are composting. But downed trees and snags and leaves and all that will replenish the earth, just as my squirrel’s garbage will do.

I should clarify that Red shares the school with many others who have their own classrooms and I’m sure when I finish my latest assignments I’ll have more to learn from the porcupines and deer and hare and coyotes and foxes and bobcats and yada, yada, yada who live under the mixed forest canopy.

The sight of so many Eastern Hemlock twigs on the forest floor told me I’d stepped into Porky’s room so I looked for evidence, wondering if he was at his desk or not.

Lesson #2: Slow down and observe.

The answer was no, but he’d left his calling card on a dangling twig and so I know where I might find him should a prickly question enter my mind.

Because I was told by Red to slow down and observe, I noticed another spot where he’d visited and this time his midden was of a different sort in the form of snipped twigs. Much smaller snips than Porky drops, which is a good way to tell the two critter’s food source apart.

Just as Porky’s twigs had been cut with the rodent diagonal, so were Red’s.

I noted that he hadn’t eaten the buds at the tip of the twig, but once I flipped one over I discovered numerous buds or seed pods had been dined upon.

Lesson #3: Check twigs more often. And remember, this year was not a mast year for Eastern White Pines, so Red has to supplement with hemlock buds and cones. (And also remember, cones on hemlocks are not called pinecones because they don’t grow on pine trees. Conifer refers to cone-bearing, so both pines and hemlocks are coniferous trees.)

Back inside I decide to sketch a pinecone. It was a sketch I’d started months ago, but abandoned because it seemed to difficult to draw.

But then, thanks to Red, a realization came to mind.

Lesson #4: Pinecones have overlapping bracts or scales that protect those seeds developing inside of them. They close in the dark and open in light, especially on sunny days and it is then that the seeds become airborne on their samaras. And the bracts or scales grow in spirals around the core or what I think of as a cob. I knew that, but had forgotten it until I decided to sketch.

And so I drew some guidelines to aid me as I tried to recreate the cone’s spiral staircase.

It was fun to watch it grow and realize each cone actually fans out in a Fibonacci spiral sequence. It’s an amazing wonder of nature.

Feeling my drawing was complete, I began to add color in the form of gouache paint, scale by scale.

And slowly, the painting began to represent a cone . . . at least in my mind’s eye.

A dash more color and voila–my amateur attempt at painting a pinecone. I have to admit, I was rather tickled because I really didn’t think I could pull this one off. But I have my art teacher, the talented Jessie Lozanski, to thank for giving me the confidence to try.

And I have Red, my other teacher, to thank for the lessons because it was in watching him turn the cob ever so effortlessly that I was reminded about the cone’s spiral.

And so I tried to honor him as well. I may be a teacher, but I’ll always be a student.

Lesson #5: As we head into this new year, I hope you’ll join me in slowing down and noticing and honoring. Especially outdoors. Or even out your window.

I’m forever grateful to Red and all the other teachers who come in many forms, not just as mammals, for the amazing lessons I’ve learned and can’t wait for the next class.

CBC: Everything Counts

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

December 27, 2024. 8:15am. 5˚. Blue sky. No wind.

The perfect day to count birds for Maine Audubon’s Annual Christmas Bird Count.

Focus area: Sweden Circle, Maine.

Super focus area: Pondicherry Park and Highland Research Forest, both located in Bridgton, Maine.

Partner in counting: Dawn Wood.

The Christmas lights on Bob Dunning Memorial Bridge in Pondicherry Park rather said it all for so coated were they with ice crystals when we arrived this brisk morning. Fortunately, though, we knew it was going to be as cold as it was and had dressed appropriately.

And really, there is nothing more beautiful than the world beside water on such a morning for everything was coated like the candle and the world was transformed into a glistening display.

Just a few days prior, when I’d walked in the park, I had noted that Stevens Brook was almost completely frozen and feared we wouldn’t even see ducks on today’s count. But . . . wind a couple of days ago had done its own deed and opened things up.

And much to our delight, we spotted duck tracks along the edge at about the same time that we heard a few Mallards quack in their Mallardy way that sounds much like a laugh.

And then we spotted more ducks and had to walk around a building to get a closer look. And count. And count again. And eventually decided on 100 as a number to represent the ducks as best we could for there were so many and they were in constant motion and some flew in in the midst of our efforts.

Half of birding is listening and it was the “Peter, Peter,” call that told us to look for the Tufted Titmouse.

We also spotted two Hairy Wookpeckers playing a game, or so it seemed, as one would fly to a branch, the other would follow, and then the first would move again and on it went with them trying to mimic the branches between their flying sprints.

And talk about moving, we saw five Golden-crowned Kinglets, who performed their own acrobatic moves for us, which made them difficult to photograph for they were never still. That’s the thing about photographing birds–“And then it flew,” we’ve often been heard to say once we spot one.

As we moved along the trails, another site garnered our attention: wing prints. Dawn measured the wing span–36 inches. A bit too short for a Barred Owl, but it was still our best guess. And there was plenty of food available either atop the snow or just below in the form of mice and voles. We’ll never know who actually left these impressions or if a meal was part of the deal, but that’s okay because sometimes mysteries can’t be solved and that’s what keeps us going.

We did wonder if we could add such a sighting to our bird count, but since we couldn’t name the species, thought better of it.

In another area, we noted no birds, but plenty of fox tracks and even faintly sniffed the skunky scent of Red Fox. It seemed very curious about some holes so we went in for a closer look.

The best we saw–ice needles indicating one of two things: a critter surviving and breathing in the holes; or moisture below rising and freezing. We decided to stick to the first story and knew that we were one hundred percent correct because when no one else is around, we can think what we wish.

Another set of prints tricked us for a few minutes. Our first thought when we spotted the sashay look of the track was a Porcupine. Especially since we had just been talking about one that resides somewhere in my woods. But the prints within the track didn’t strike me as porky. And then we realized it wasn’t really a trough, but rather had a ridge in the middle. And it was skinnier than a porky trough would be.

What else could it be? And had we seen this sort of track before? And then it hit us: A Ruffed Grouse! Another bird sighting without the sight of the bird. Again, it didn’t count, but it was a great lesson as we ease into this year’s tracking season.

Before we left the park, we were in an area where I often see and hear lots of bird activity and today there was absolutely none. And then a Bald Eagle flew out of a tree. I wasn’t quick enough to focus the camera, but we both will hold that shot in our minds’ eyes.

After completing our survey of Pondicherry Park, we drove north to Highland Research Forest, and not far into the property began to spot Snowshoe Hare tracks. These are the snow lobsters of the North Woods for so do the set of four feet look when arranged perfectly, which doesn’t happen with each hop. But, if you look at the set of four prints in the bottom-most impression, you’ll see the two smaller front feet that landed on an angle thus forming the lobster’s tail, with the hind feet swinging around and landing in front of them to form the claws.

And where there are Snowshoe Hare tracks, there is scat.

Malt Ball-sized scat full of plant fiber, as it should be.

And when one is looking and listening intently, one sees all kinds of things. Yesterday, while hiking along a trail near our home with My Guy, we began to count Long-jawed Orb Weaver Spiders walking on the snow, proving not all spiders are dormant in the winter. That made sense for yesterday afternoon as the temperature was above freezing, but today’s temp was colder and though it eventually reached 32˚ by the time we finished, it was still in the 20˚s when we began to spot this behavior.

I assume the spiders are able to lower their bodies’ freezing point by producing a cryoprotectant, a glycerol anti-freeze compound that prevents them from freezing. An amazing adaptation.

Going in for a closer look, check out those hairy legs! And the long pedipalps used in reproduction; they are also tactile and function like insect antennae.

It’s funny how once you notice one thing, your attention is attracted to another, and such was the case that as we hunted for spiders, we spotted a caterpillar, that didn’t seem to be alive and can only trust that it was blown off a twig.

Like the park, Highland Research Forest is located beside a wetland and a lake, with lots of waterways in between. And like the park, the frost offered artwork, each crystal unique.

Since we were there to scan the wetland for birds but came up empty handed, we were forced to observe the newest beaver lodge in town. We didn’t walk out to it, because of course, tracking was not our official business of the day, but we suspect based on the mud and resent log additions, that it continues to be inhabited.

We really were birding. Honest. It’s just that this property usually has less activity of the avian sort than the other and today was no different. And then we realized that a year ago we said we’d start here in the morning and may be be honored with more sightings, but in the planning stages forgot, so have promised ourselves that next year we will begin our birding adventure at Highland Research Forest and then go to Pondicherry.

But tracks. Oh my. We saw tracks. Which brought up another discussion. Two years ago Dawn assisted me in leading a Senior College tracking expedition on this property. I chose it because I knew it to offer many tracks of a variety of mammal flavors. And that year, we walked a loop trail and finally found signs when we were about two tenths of a mile from the starting point: a Deer rub on a tree; and one or two sets of Snowshoe Hare tracks.

Today, however, while bird activity was almost non-existent, the mammal activity was overwhelming. Including these Fisher prints. (Note to the wise: Fishers are in the weasel family and not the cat family, so they are Fishers and not Fisher Cats.)

And on a high spot near the trail in the midst of the Fisher track: another sign post. Fisher urine. Apparently he was marking his territory with a mere dribble here and another dribble there.

Reaching Carsley Brook, we paused on a bridge, again in hopes of hearing a few peeps. There was an occasional Black-capped Chickadee and a White-breasted Nuthatch, but few others making their presence known.

That said, there were other presents to honor, again two other members of the weasel family: an Ermine and a Mink. The giveaways, track width and foot orientation on a diagonal.

Moving away from the brook, we again found bird sign in the form of . . . Turkey prints. But again, though birdy they were, they couldn’t count toward the bird count.

Pausing as we did frequently to make sure we didn’t miss anything in the bird department, we spotted others flying from twigs. Well, maybe not flying yet. But certainly dangling. As is their habit in the winter. The first was the cocoon of a Promethea Moth, which will fly in the future.

And a few feet farther along the trail, that of a Polyphemus Moth.

Both are attached to the twigs with an incredible reinforcement of silk, and reminded me of how my friend Marita recently reinforced the “idiot strings” on my mittens so they can dangle from my wrists when I take them off to jot down notes or take a photograph.

We also found another spider to admire.

And a kazillion mouse tracks showing their keen interest in risky night-time missions.

Just before we finished, and while we were searching the trees for a Woodpecker, an anomaly caught my attention and I realized I was starring at a Barred Owl. Unfortunately, it flew off before I had a chance to focus the camera on it, but like the Bald Eagle earlier in the day, it was a thrill.

Oh, and did I mention the Great Horned Owl that we spotted this morning as it kept watch in the exact spot we saw the Eagle? It’s amazing the Bald Eagle didn’t take it out, but this bird seems to lay claim to the area for it sits in the same spot day after day.

At the end of our Christmas Bird Count today, these were our findings:

Distance covered: 5.8 miles

Time of travel by foot: 6 hours

Mallards: 100

Downy Woodpeckers: 5

Hairy Woodpeckers: 3

Pileated Woodpecker: 1

Blue Jay: 5

American Crow: 10

Black-capped Chickadee: 17

Tufted Titmouse: 3

Red-breasted Nuthatch: 1

White-breasted Nuthatch: 9

Golden-crowned Kinglet: 5

Dark-eyed Junco: 2

Bald Eagle: 1

Barred Owl: 1

Long-jawed Orb Weaver Spiders (12/27/24): 14; (12/26/24 with My Guy): 94

Caterpillar: 1

Moth Cocoons: 2

Tracks: a zillion including Ruffed Grouse and Turkey.

Surely the bird tracks count for something as everything counts.

Wait. Watch. Wonder. Learn.

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

As I waited for the sun to rise on this final day of autumn 2024, before the dawning of the winter solstice, I watched the sky. It seemed late. Of course it seemed late. Tomorrow will be the shortest day of the year.

Ever so gradually, the sky brightened. First, there was barely a hint of light shining through the trees as if taking its time was a way to remind me to slow down.

And then I began to see it. Not the orangey-yellow I expected, but rather a blue gray that slipped out from behind the silhouettes of the tree trunks, who stand as watchers, observers, of every dawn every day.

Ever so slowly, a hint of pinkish purple rose in the East and the blue gray was transformed.

I, too, wished to be transformed. By this first light. By this new day.

And then it occurred to me that I do rejoice at each daybreak and look forward to its offerings.

Today, however, was a wee bit different as it was the day to enter a place I’ve barely visited since the spring and I felt drawn to part the hemlock boughs and venture forth into my own secret garden, that isn’t a garden at all, at least not if you expect it to be a place where flowers and vegetables are tended. Ah, but it is a garden from so many others. And its those others that I hoped to meet.

In her book entitled Church of the Wild: How Nature Invites Us Into The Sacred, author Victoria Loorz writes, “You wander slowly and intentionally. It is your full presence along the path that matters. It is an act of reverence, a saunter. John Muir hated the word hike. He urged people to saunter. ‘Away back in the Middle Ages,’ he told his friend once, ‘people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, ‘A la sainte terre,’ ‘To the Holy Land.’ And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not ‘hike’ through them.”

And so I sauntered, not letting the stone walls or barbed wire stop me from crossing over manmade boundaries.

All the while, I wondered, “Who will I interact with today?” and “Will I be able to shut down my inner ramblings and really wait, watch, and listen?”

My heart quickened despite my efforts to slow my breathing, when I spotted not only the heart-shaped prints of White-tailed Deer who really own these woods, but also one who pursues them, the Bobcat.

Would I spot any evidence that though they travelled in opposite directions a day or so apart, their paths eventually crossed? That remained to be seen.

What I did know was that unless I sat for a time, I would not spot any critters because the snow conditions were such that I stood firmly on top–like walking on water–frozen water, and made a loud crunching sound with the fall of each footstep.

Those who know me well, know that I am a cradle Episcopalian. Among other things, I love the liturgy. But what I’m discovering I love the most is the shared fellowship with a diverse group of people.

And in the same way, I love the woods out my door and how each and every other-than-human being IS diverse, and how they aid and abet their neighbors, sometimes offering a helping tree limb or shared nutrients, and other times feeding upon others because they, too, need energy.

And in the forest, there is life and death, and a dead snag can be just as beautiful as a live tree. And in its death, offer space for others to live.

During today’s saunter, I bushwhacked sometimes and followed old logging trails in other moments. During all of my visit, I often encountered places that needed consideration for navigation, but in the pause as I gave thought to my way forward, I noticed reflections that reminded me of my desire to do the same. Take time to reflect.

I made sure to look up and down and felt a need to celebrate discoveries, such as this perfectly round Snowshoe Hare scat. Last year there weren’t many hares in this part of the woods, so I can only hope that this year will be different.

Evidence of deer activity was everywhere, from well tramped routes that generations have followed for eternity to freshly rustled up Northern Red Oak leaves indicating a search for acorns to dine upon.

What made me chuckle, however, was the realization that it wasn’t just the deer who were taking advantage of an abundant acorn crop. A squirrel had cached one here and another there–that should serve as a meal for a later day.

After searching for a friend I doubted I’d meet, and I didn’t (Porky is saving our meeting for another day), I stepped out to an old logging road and instead met another I couldn’t recall from previous saunters. Perhaps it was because I was approaching it from a different direction than my norm.

This Yellow Birch has apparently graced this spot on a boulder for many years. And though it looks as if it served as a turning tree during a logging operation about ten years ago, it still stands tall.

In fact, by the amount of catkins at the tips of its branches, it appeared the birch was full of life and love and ready to make more birches in the future.

At its feet, fleur de lis scales that protected its tiny seeds had fallen from last year’s pollinated catkins and will eventually break down and add to nutrients to the forest floor.

What I am always wowed by, and today was no different, is the shape of a birch seed–which reminded me of a tiny insect with antennae. A future is stored in that wee structure and maybe this one seed will some day germinate on the boulder below it. Unless a bird eats it first. But then again, maybe it will germinate somewhere else when it comes out in the bird’s scat.

The bark of the birch made me think of landscape paintings I’ve seen from deserts far from this place in western Maine. And I realized I don’t have to go far to travel to other places.

Even as I left the Mother Birch behind, I turned back to see if I could remember it from so many other visits, because certainly it didn’t just appear today. Or did it?

Turning around again, I nearly tripped over a few fallen twigs, but it was what stood out among the dying vegetation covering the twigs that drew my attention. A random feather?

Not at all. I’d stumbled, rather than sauntered, upon a site where a bird had given up its last breath so that another critter could live.

The bird happened to be a Ruffed Grouse, and I had to remind myself not to be sad about the loss because of the joule or energy units procured by another. In its death, sunshine and birch seeds and whatever else the bird had eaten provided sustenance in the form of a gift.

Of course, spotting the Ruffed Grouse’s track did give me pause for I suspected it to be the bird’s last impression.

Moving on toward a former log landing, I smiled again at the sight of another who took a risk of crossing the large forest opening, but knew enough to tunnel under the snow frequently. Was it frequently enough? Voles are everyone’s favorite food. Well, maybe not mine. But I’ve possibly eaten meat from some critter that dined on a vole and so maybe some of its joule had been passed on to me as well.

Frequently on my journey, as often happens in these woods, I encountered the one who greeted me at the start. Well, its footprints greeted me at least. But I always give thanks for such sightings for though Bobcats are solitary and elusive, knowing they are here and that we walk in the same woods and perhaps see and smell the same things makes me happy.

And then it occurred to me. I need to be more like the Bobcat and improve my waiting and watching and listening skills. I’m always in too much of a rush to see what might be next on the agenda. So much for sauntering.

As this last day of autumn 2024 gives way in the wee hours of December 21 to winter, and the sun once again rises in the East, I need to remember to be more like the saunterers. To be alert to offerings. To wait. To watch. To wonder. To learn.

Each day is a new awakening with teachings. Thank God for that.

My Bright Idea: Filled with Awe and Wonder

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Just as I stepped out the backdoor this afternoon, I realized I really should have something in my pocket to use as a reference because the snow conditions were perfect. And so I grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be an old orange Christmas bulb that no longer brightens a tree, but serves as a reminder of past holidays in my parents’ home. Not exactly a tracker’s go-to instrument, but it does measure two inches in length.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to spot Snow Fleas, aka, Springtails atop the snow, but I was. They always strike me as more of a February event, but really, they are always on the leaf litter below the snow, we just don’t take the time to look. And today’s temperature felt a bit like February leaning into March, a rather pleasant reprise from the frigid temps of the past week. And so these insects made their way up through the snowpack to do their thing: dine on fungi and decaying matter that I couldn’t see.

Also flying about and landing, Winter Craneflies, which are smaller than their summer cousins, but still have the long legs and transparent wings. They were everywhere–both flying and walking on snow.

And even the bulb! That was a bit of an experiment because I wondered if the Crane Fly would climb up once I placed the bulb in its face–much like when I can entice a dragonfly to do the same. Voila!

It wasn’t just insects to exclaim over and a few feet later I discovered the impressions of feet of another traveler. The prints left behind on one side of me indicated a hopper/leaper of the mini-kind. And it entered the snow as indicated by the hole at some vegetation that I knew grew below.

What really gladdened my heart was seeing that on the other side of my feet, its gait changed and I knew my identification was spot-on: a Vole who can change from a hopper/leaper to a perfect walker, where one foot packs the snow down and the next foot lands in the exact same spot creating a trail that looks a straight line with a zigzag twist.

Next up to shine the light bulb on–a spider! Walking on snow also. Many spiders are winter walkers and weavers and I was thrilled to spot this little one.

It had a pretty snazzy pattern and I believe it to be an orbweaver.

Then I began to play with the bulb, and spotted a tree with a hole that invited a fitting. I was admiring the tree’s bucketload of Ulota crispa, or Crispy Tree Moss, when something else caught my eye.

Below where I’d placed the bulb was the leftover molt of a tussock moth caterpillar. My, what spiny hairs you have. You make the spider’s hairs seem almost not worth mentioning. So I didn’t.

For a few minutes, trees continued to hold my attention, including this one, grafted into an H. Sometimes I think the H trees were created for me.

And not the be outdone, the Northern Red Oak showed up a brilliant display of its inner “red,” which seemed a perfect match for my bulb.

Upon a Red Pine tree stump, the bulb stopped again, this time to shine a light on a tiny pine sapling that resembled a palm tree. Whether the sapling is a Red Pine or White, I failed to figure out because my attention was consumed by something else.

The bulb changed its position to point downward, highlighting the Wolf’s Milk Fungi that grew below the sapling.

And my playful spirit did what it often does when spotting this species. I found a small stick and poked the little puff balls, which released its spores in a smoke-like manner. I can’t show you the action, but you can see the results of the dried salmony-brown spores atop some of the now-deflated brown balls.

Over the past week and half, about a foot of snow has fallen here in our neighborhood and last night’s addition, plus today’s slightly warmer temps made for some great tracks as I’d already witnessed with the Vole. Gray Squirrels also left their marks–the two smaller feet in the back being their front feet. That always feels like a bit of a stretch until you watch a squirrel move across the landscape.

There was another tree, or should I say pair of trees, that I paused by for a bit because I think of them as a landmark ’round these parts. I love introducing others to these two–the Yellow Birch growing as it does atop a White Pine. I can just imagine the stilts the birch will stand upon when the pine finally finishes rotting away.

As I admired the trees, I noticed something else. My squirrel friend had hopped up, but I can only imagine it didn’t manage a good landing, for there was only one foot impression left behind. In my mind’s eye, I could see him tumbling down–had another squirrel tried to attack from behind?

In the past year, I’ve gotten back into sketching and have been learning to paint, and now see the world through different eyes and know that I’ve walked past this barbed wire many times before, but never noticed it. Today, it looked like an artistic insect in acrobatic motion and love how the bulb found its way into the display.

As I finally headed toward home because darkness was settling in, another spider crossed my path and so I set the bulb before it.

And the spider quickly walked away. Perhaps orange isn’t its color.

To say I went without expectations today would be wrong. For I truly thought I’d see the creator of these works of art since they were made this past week. I did not.

Instead, I came away with revelations and rejoiced in letting my playful spirit run free as I was filled with awe and wonder.

As for the light bulb–it was a bright idea! A brilliant one, really.

Breaking Bread and Acorns

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Up, up, and away, we were this past long weekend, My Guy and I, and New York City was our landing spot. It’s good to get out of our own space occasionally and enter the greater world where we don’t know the place as well.

But, in doing so, we also like to return to spaces we do know a wee bit–there’s comfort in walking into a cathedral such as this where pathways lead wanderers away from city sounds and vistas and into the natural world.

And we discovered new pathways where the sights and sounds of the city co-mingled with nature, albeit upon a raised bed that replaced a now defunct highline rail system.

No matter where we went, there were moments for reflection . . .

of the season passing.

In a way, it was like reliving fall foliage all over again and made me yearn to follow it down the East coast, though that was only a passing yearn for this “four-season worshiper.”

Gardens still proclaimed autumnal colors from the flowering heads of hearty plants growing beside Hudson River, where the north wind did blow.

And a few plants, more protected by buildings on either side of the path, showed off their sunshiny faces, though the petals appeared to make a ragged effort. Still . . . they blossomed.

We had the great fortune to join our hostess for a Victorian Christmas Tour. In reflection, it was not at all what we expected. Somehow, our minds’ eyes had conjured up a vision of entering stately Victorian homes and admiring their Christmas decorations.

This was not that tour at all. This was even better for the tour guide, Rick, was a storyteller who transformed us back in time to help us understand our Christmas traditions long rooted in the past, including Washington Irving’s influence as he told tales of New York’s founding and a Dutch ship wreck and Saint Nicholas riding over the city in a wagon and encouraging the Dutch to settle the land.

As we walked through three neighborhoods with Rick, we learned that O’Henry coined The Gift of the Magi in Pete’s Tavern.

And more about the poor and boisterous Irish who raised havoc on porches such as this at #4 Grammercy Park West belonging to NY Mayor James Harper (founder of Harper and Brothers which we now know as Harper Collins).

While the house next door is a replica of #4, the gaslit lampposts in front of Mayor Harper’s residence were meant to warn the partymakers to not disturb his rest. Or were they actually to help him find his way home? Perhaps both.

One of our stops was outside Lillie’s Victorian Restaurant where Rick shared the story of stockings being filled and the ball ornaments serving as representations of the gold that might have gone into them. And I was immediately transformed into my own story of the Christmas traditions as I’ve recorded in The Secret Giver of Gifts.

For a second, I stepped inside, and would have loved more time to experience this space named for Lillie Langtry, a British actress and late 19th Century Socialite, but we needed to move on.

And so we did, our family, some of our hostess’s family, and their friends, finishing up on a street that was once part of the Moore Estate in Chelsea and Rick recited “Twas the Night Before Christmas,” breaking it down to give us the history behind each stanza and we all gave great thanks for his insights and knowledge.

I hope I haven’t ruined this tour for you and that you will think about signing up for there was so much more. Just be prepared. It lasted about three hours.

Christmas decorations abound throughout the city, including this display at Pier 57. I loved how the fiber and ornaments were so subtly represented and suspect there’s a story behind this artistic installation that I’ve yet to learn.

Nature also showed off its Christmas decor in the form of holly, Ilex cornuta or Chinese Holly, an introduced species. Um, I think we are all an introduced species.

And we spotted Christmas Ferns. Well, I spotted them and tried to explain to My Guy and our youngest that the leaflets are shaped like a Christmas stocking or even Santa in his sleigh, but they weren’t seeing that. I’m not sure they were really looking either.

But I was, and near the Christmas Ferns grew Maidenhair Ferns, like a star radiating off the wiry stem.

We also had the good fortune to meet another movie star, this one at the Museum of Moving Images. It would not have been my first choice of museums, but when your host works for an editing house, you embrace the choice and once we got going, it turned out to be a real treat as we could see behind the scenes of some old favorites including The Muppets.

Being in the city, sometimes we were like the House Sparrows, which didn’t know which way to go, despite what the sign indicated.

Other times it was easy to choose the right path.

And in doing so, we got to meet a small one who is probably low on most New Yorkers’ list of preferences, but which I was thrilled to see honored with a statue.

My Guy dubbed this Pigeon Square. Do you see why?

Thanks to our hostess, or I should say hostesses, we were guests in a small Prescott Park apartment with a view of the Empire State Building, which was lit first to honor Thanksgiving.

And then two nights later for Small Business Saturday, which we appreciated since we own a small business. Well, as I always say, My Guy owns it. I’m just married to it.

The iconic tower soon became our Mount Washington or Pleasant Mountain, for no matter where we were, if we spotted it, we had a sense of our place in this great city.

And I’m here to report that the lights on the Empire State Building eventually go off for the night. The same was true for many of the other skyline buildings.

Before I bring this post to an end, I want to share with you a few of our fellow travelers as we posed beside the Hudson.

These two–our NYC host and one of the hostesses, for whom we are most grateful. He being our youngest.

Our oldest and his gal who made the trip south as well and were able to stay for a couple of days.

And our main hostess posing with us. We give her great thanks for sharing her home and her apartment with us so that we might spend so much time with our family. And treating us to an incredible meal, as well as the Victorian Christmas tour.

We went down to break bread with this crowd on Thanksgiving. And there was lots of bread to break! And good humor shared.

I also loved that I was able to break bread at St. John’s Episcopal Church in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn on the first Sunday of Advent.

And before saying goodbye we broke bread one more time with this young man. We don’t know how he does it, living and working in NYC, oh, and driving. YIKES! But he does it all and he does it well.

Along the way of this five day journey, we discovered we weren’t the only ones breaking bread, though in this case the squirrel’s form of sustenance was acorns, which were plentiful.

Breaking Bread and Acorns in New York City. Not our every day cup of tea, but one which we relish when the opportunity arises.

The Inside Out Porcupine

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

This story begins at about 5:10am on November 5th. I awoke to a noise that immediately became plural–and the ruckus sounded like it was taking place in the barn that is attached to our old farmhouse. For about fifteen minutes things shifted and banged and dropped, and then all was silent. My Guy slept through it all.

At lunch time, however, he did as I asked, and climbed to the hay loft to find out what had happened. And that’s when he discovered that I really did hear things dropping, for the myriad trophies our sons “earned” years ago for soccer, and peewee football, and golf, and baseball, and basketball, and hockey, and Pinewood Derbies, and who knows what else, were astray.

I’m going to digress for a minute or two, but really, it was the more creative trophies they received that I like the best like these from Boy Scout Cake Bakes.

And this one for being the king of Nordic Ski Team ski waxing.

Now back to the barn: As My Guy poked around, and there’s a lot of stuff up there right now because we’ve torn up the floor boards on the first level in anticipation of saving the structure and making it safe to park a vehicle in there again, he made a discovery and quickly sent me a photo because I wasn’t home.

A porcupine was snoozing under the Air Hockey table!

We set a trap that I hoped the critter would evade. And it did. My Guy also made quite a lot of noise the next day and saw Porky move from under the table to below a chair. And then he couldn’t find it.

Checking on the situation again a day or so later, we discovered Porky had indeed done some work–beginning with chewing the window and sill.

And he left signs of his adventures, including muddyish footprints on the wall below the window.

And quills scattered about, some even sticking into the rug originally placed because this had been a Rec Room back in the day when our sons were young. Right now it’s a Wreck Room!

Was there scat? Yes, but not nearly as much as expected, and I could track his movements.

Today, I was out there looking for more evidence. So . . . I have a rather extensive collection of tree cookies and twigs and even some branches–all for teaching purposes, including this particular piece of a sapling I’d carried down a mountain because it was in the way on a trail, but deserved to be saved for it features a moose scrape.

But even better than that, this afternoon I noted some wood chips and scat below it and realized Porky had taken some samples.

I love how I can get a sense of the size of his teeth with the work that he did.

And I’m surprised but happy to announce that he didn’t touch any of the other samples stored up there.

I decided to follow his trail and found a few scat specimens on the stairs, and others along beams that are right now uncovered given the first floor changes planned for later this week.

The question I haven’t answered yet and I suspect its because leaves have blown in and covered any evidence: which entrance did he use?

This is one he’s used for the past several winters. Okay, truth be told, we’ve owned this property for over 30 years and have housed a porcupine (and raccoons and woodchucks and opossums and anyone else) for all of those years. They used to have a different entrance, but we made some changes four years ago that forced them to find a new way into their abode.

If you look at the bottom of the beam, you can see where Porky has worked in the past to enlarge this hole over the split granite.

And just last year, he started another between the barn and an attached shed.

With all those years of co-existing, I was sure we’d find far more damage when we removed the floor boards. But . . . we did not. What we did find: Eight, yes eight, suet feeders that had disappeared over the years and I always suspected the raccoons had taken them under the barn because I couldn’t locate them in the yard, field, or woods.

All I can think is that Porky was sated when he entered and didn’t need to gnaw on the wood.

The funny thing about the latest Porky adventure, is that it could have been prevented if we’d thought to close the trap door at the top of the stairs. It took us a day or two to realize this and I feared that Porky would stay up there forever, given that he had plenty of wood to eat and a rather snug place to sleep with the only predators being us.

That said, the trap door does get closed now. And there is no new evidence of a visitation by my favorite rodent. And we didn’t trap him afterall. And he’s still in the woods somewhere. And I can’t wait to meet him–just outside, not in.

And when I do, I’ll be curious to see if it’s my old friend Bandit, for he and I met behind the barn last November and I’ve since honored him with a painting.

Here’s hoping the Inside Out Porcupine stays outside going forward. I’ll be looking for him.

November 11, 2024 Mondate

~ lmachayes

It’s Veterans Day 2024 and My Guy and I chose a trail less traveled in the National Forest, giving thanks to our families, friends, and strangers who have served our country. It’s because of them that we can hike along trails and old logging roads, and even bushwhack; two of the many freedoms they’ve given us are the freedom to move about our country and the freedom to not live in fear (well, most of the time).

And so today found us crossing the state line and beginning our journey beside Langdon Brook in Chatham, New Hampshire. Like everywhere we look these days, the water level was low–a result of the current drought.

What isn’t low is the number of Geometer Moths, and I believe this to be The Bruce Spanworm, aka Winter Moth, that is currently on the move, emerging from the duff in October and November. I didn’t look for females, who are flightless, but saw plenty of males on the wing.

Our trek found us following steep old logging roads for a good portion and as we looked for Bear Claw Trees, I spotted this, a hornet nest.

One Bald-faced queen started building this nest in the spring by chewing wood and mixing it with saliva to create a paper-like material. I love that you can see the multiple layers of horizontal combs, under what’s left of the papery outer envelope.

Just last week on a hike closer to the Atlantic Ocean we saw another football-shaped structure, that one being much more intact than today’s example.

Take a second to admire those layers of paper.

What to our ever wondering eyes did eventually appear, the first of several Bear Claw Trees, but I promise to not share all of them with you.

What I will share is this one, a first for us. We often see “elbow” trees in the woods, but never before have we spotted a “collar-bone” tree, so dubbed by My Guy. I think it’s a great description of the morphed shape of this Red Maple, probably caused by logging equipment rubbing against it years ago.

And because we were in a place where one would expect to see wildlife, or at least the signs of such, we found Moose tracks.

Where there are tracks, there is bound to be scat, though the tracks were much fresher than this pile. We actually expected to find both because we’ve traveled this way several times before and know it can be a highway.

As much as we both wanted to see the real deal today, I was glad we didn’t spot a Moose since it’s rutting season. That said, there were plenty of mature trees to hide behind had one approached us.

A few miles up and down, and a short trail new to us that was so much easier than the usual bushwhack approach we’ve taken in the past, and we arrived at our destination: Mountain Pond. With the Doubleheads in the background.

Doesn’t it have the cold November look?

It was breezy, but really, not as cold as it should have been and we both wore sweatshirts and anorak windbreakers and were quite comfortable.

Once we reached the pond, we decide to follow the loop trail that encircles it, and stopped at the lean-to for lunch–just far enough from the open water to be out of the wind.

And then it was time to continue on, dealing with rocks and roots most of the way. A bit technical in the footing department especially at the outlet brook, but not difficult.

Soon after crossing the brook, we entered fairy land. Even MG recognized it for what it was.

We didn’t see anyone at home, but trusted they were sleeping as is their habit during the day. Even the boulder condominium looked like it housed a few.

It’s places like this that inspired my children’s book, The Giant’s Shower.

If you are interested in a copy, or two, or three, please contact me by leaving a message in the comments of this blog because I’m not sure the thegiantsshower email mentioned at the end of that blog post is currently working.

But I digress.

On the far side of the pond, we spied the Baldfaces, which gave us a better sense of our place in the world at that moment.

After completing the loop, we found the short trail back to the logging roads and practically ran down hill, despite the signs indicating we should do otherwise.

Not far from the start of our journey, I spotted a classic representation of Red Fox scat. The tapered end and twist are what give it away. And its size.

I actually expected to find a range of scat samples along the way, but that was not the case. And the only critters we saw were two Red Squirrels who dashed for cover as we approached.

But we did have an unusual sighting . . .

On the way back, about 100 feet below where I’d parked the truck, I spotted something else–Goldenrod in bloom on November 11th.

For the last few years, my nephew and I have been sharing photos of plants blooming when they should not be and he’ll receive this one in a text message soon.

The other amazing thing about this bloom . . . the Bumblebee seeking nourishment upon it. At first I thought the bee was either sleeping or dead, but it moved.

It does need to watch out, however, because just below it an Ambush Bug was busy dealing with another Bruce Spanworm moth–one down, a million more Winter Moths to go.

But again, I couldn’t believe that the Ambush Bug was still active either. We had a hard frost a few days ago. How did all of this happen?

November 11, 2024, a day to remember all those who served our country and a day for My Guy and I to take advantage of our freedoms and make some discoveries worth wondering about on this Veterans Day Mondate.

A Squirrel’s Garden

~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

A lot has happened this week on many different fronts, both personal and public, both positive and not so, some comical (like the porcupine that awoke me one morning because it had managed to climb to the second floor of the barn and toppled our sons’ many “earned” trophies) and others more serious, with some in between thrown into the mix, cuze life happens.

To that end, some of my best moments were spent looking and wondering. In the woods. Of course. In our woods, in particular.

I headed out onto the old cowpath in search of a dear friend, not certain if I’d meet him or at least spot signs of his passing. And it wasn’t a deer I was looking for–although, in a way it was because I haven’t seen a single one in several months and any scat along this trail is from last winter and spring and at that time it was so prevalent that with every step I took, it was there.

No, it was this little guy that I sought. This photo is from last winter when he and I spent hours eyeing each other.

Though his territory could have been several acres and there’s plenty of land out there to inhabit, he, like me, preferred the cowpath, and especially the stone walls since they served as perfect spots to cache his immense supply of pine cones, and as dining room tables, the better to see any approaching predators.

What he sought were the tiny winged seeds, tucked into each protective scale by the twos. If you’ve ever had the joy of watching him munch, you’ll know it’s fast paced as he deftly pulls the seeds out and discards the scales, getting right down to the “cob” of the cone.

The result is a pile of half consumed scales and a few uneaten seeds and cones not quite yet opened and some scat and its all known as a midden (by us humans anyway) or the trash barrel.

Actually, any high place will do and if it has nooks and crannies to serve as storage shelves all the better. Last year was a mast year for the White Pines in our woods. It takes two years for a pine cone of this species to reach maturity.

This year, there are only remnants of Red’s garbage pails and even they are almost hidden by twigs and leaves and needles.

But, while I was exploring his old neighborhood, I discovered something else in this pile that he had used for refrigeration and dining purposes.

Do you see what I spotted? Babies! No, not squirrel babies. But rather: Miniature White Pines.

Once I saw those, I checked every stack that we’d cut years ago and found the same story written upon them. The seeds Red had left uneaten found conditions were right on the rotten logs. Will they survive? Maybe a few, but there are plenty more tiny saplings on the forest floor.

The thing is that I found no evidence of Red and not once did he squawk at me, so I suspect either he moved on to a better food source or became a meal for another, passing all of that energy and sunshine he’d consumed on to the next.

This year, it’s the Northern Red Oaks that have produced a mast crop–of acorns. Actually, they did so last year, and the year before as well. For those of us who frequent Red Oak woods, it’s like walking on ball bearings–and can be a wee bit treacherous as they roll under our boots.

Red Oak acorns are filled with tannins and so, unlike their White brethren which are gobbled up almost immediately by rodents and birds and deer among their consumers, it seems a little of this one is nibbled, and then a little of that one initially. Eventually, the tannins leach out, especially if the acorn has been buried for future consumption, and then the entire nut within may be eaten.

As I looked for Red this past week, I found instead his cousins, the Gray Squirrels in action. Where Red Squirrels are very territorial, Grays tend to have overlapping habitats, and there are at least three on our six acre plot of land.

Burying acorns is their way of caching and it’s possible that what I observed was this squirrel leaving a scent mark with its nose so that come snowfall (and I have faith that it will fall–and can only hope abundantly), it can relocate the food supply. What this squirrel misses, another will find. And those that no one finds might turn into oak trees that will feed future generations, just as the pine saplings may someday do.

It’s for these critters and so many more that we ask that no motorized vehicles pass along the cow path, no matter how tempting it may be. (Thank you, Marguerite, for creating this sign for me.)

And if you are in there, you might happen along the rather rough labyrinth I created, a place that like the squirrels, I return to often.

It’s at the start of the labyrinth that brings a smile to my face each time, for Red had visited and his calling card is still there.

Thank you, Red, for planting your Squirrel Garden. And for capturing my mind and heart and soul this week.

Presents in the Moment

~ lmachayes

I went on a reconnaissance mission today in preparation for co-leading a Loon Echo Land Trust hike in about another month–once hunting season draws to end. This particular property, like several others that they own, probably sees more people hunting and riding snowmobiles than hiking or tracking. The latter two fall into my realm and today found me doing a bit of both.

But first, I was stunned by the beauty of the ribbony flowers of Witch Hazel. I don’t know why these always surprise me, but maybe it’s the delicate petals that add bits of sunshine at this time of year when everything is else is dying back.

Their wavy-edged leaves also add color as October quickly gives way to November.

A bit farther along the first trail I followed, I found something else to stop me in my steps. Little packages of bird scat inside a hole excavated by a Pileated Woodpecker. If you follow wondermyway.com, then you know that I LOVE to find the woodpecker’s scat, but this was much smaller and I had visions of several smaller birds huddled inside on a cold autumn night.

At the end of the trail I reached a brook that flows into a river. Today, it was a mere trickle. In fact, I took this photo from the high water mark and don’t think I’ve ever seen it this low. Well, not since I began exploring this property in 2020. But then again, since then, we’ve had some heavy rain years and this year has been a bit drier.

I knew once I spotted the trickle that the nearby Beaver dam would not be working to stop the flow.

But . . . in walking over to take a look at it, I spotted something else worth noting . . .

At first my brain interpreted this disturbed site as a bird’s dust bath. Until . . .

I spotted River Otter scat. A latrine, in fact. That’s when I knew (or think, anyway–okay, assume!) that the disturbed sight was a spot where the otter rolled around, or maybe two or three did as they most often travel as a family unit.

How did I know it was otter scat? Look at those fish scales in it. And it wasn’t all that old based on the leaves under and on top of it.

Feeling like I was in the right place at the right time, I doubled back on the trail because it ends at the brook, and then turned onto another to see what else I might find. Along this one, a second brook had a better flow and had me envisioning the land trust group dipping for macro-invertebrates in this spot we haven’t explored yet.

I also found another shrub that thrills me as much as the Witch Hazel. Also a shrub, I can’t pass by a Maple-leaf Viburnum in the fall without admiring its color. Mulberry? Heather? Sky-purple-pink? However you describe it, this I know–no other leaves feature these hues.

If you do spot one, take a moment and touch the leaf. I love the touchy-feely walks that are not about feelings, but rather about actually feeling something (as long as it isn’t poison ivy!).

As luck would have it, I was following an old logging road by this point, which these days serves as a snowmobile trail. Despite its uses, rocks and boulders mark sections of it. And atop one, oh my! Do you see what I saw?

A LARGE Bobcat scat and a tiny weasel scat. Could life get any better than that? I think not. Well, unless I saw the actual critters and as I write this a local friend just texted me that she and her family saw a pair of eyes reflecting in their headlights as they pulled up to their house: “I thought it was our cat from a distance. I got out to investigate. It was a bobcat! And it wasn’t afraid. I couldn’t believe it! It was so close. I could see the face. I ran inside to get a flashlight. It just watched us as we watched it.” ~Amanda.

If she was someone else, she’d jump on social media and inform the world that the big bad wolf is in the neighborhood because that seems to happen any time someone spots a Bobcat or Fisher. But, she appreciates the gift of the sighting and I’m so thankful for that.

Back to my Bobcat, or rather Bobcat scat–it was classic! Segmented, tarry, and no bones. Ahhhh! What dreams are made of–at least my dreams.

It was also quite hairy. Squirrel? Snowshoe hare? Weasel? Pop goes the weasel? Into the Bobcat’s mouth? I’ll never know. But I love that one marked the rock in the middle of the trail and the other followed suit. And I also love how that one piece stands upright like a tower. I don’t think I’ve ever spotted such a presentation before.

No, don’t worry, we don’t have yet. But I took this photo of a Bobcat print, also classic in presentation, along the same trail last February. Same critter? Offspring? Sibling? Any of the above.

At last I reached what would become my turn-around point, again on an out-and-back trail. And once again, I slipped off the trail and made my way toward an expansive wetland that is actually part of the small brook I’d crossed.

Old Beaver works, such as this American Beech with a bad-hair day from stump sprouting, were evident everywhere.

Other Beaver sculptures created a few years ago as indicated by the dark color of heartwood where the rodent had gnawed and cut the tree down, probably to use as building material, now sport fungi in decomposition mode.

In the wetland, I spotted two Beaver lodges, both featuring some mud for winter insulation. There were two other larger lodges with no mud, so I suspect these are the residences of choice for this year.

I also spotted a Beaver channel, but could find no new work on the land.

That surprised me given that there was new wood on top.

I could have walked farther along the wetland and may have spotted some freshly hewn trees, but when I spotted several Wood Ducks on the far side, I decided to stand still for a bit because they are easily spooked.

And my grand hope was that if I was quiet, I might get treated to a Beaver sighting. Or two.

For a half hour I waited. Nada. And so I climbed back up to the trail and walked out.

But, I was present in the moment today and received so many gifts, which may or may not be there when I bring others to explore. That’s okay, because together we’ll make other discoveries.

Thanks for stopping by, once again, dear readers. I leave you with this painting as a parting gift for being so faithful in following me as I wander and wonder.

Where The Beaver Led Me

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Where there is water there may be Beavers. And so I explored two locations on several occasions this weekend in a quest to spend some time with one of the most incredible mammals of our region.

One such spot is beside a wetland associated with a brook. It’s a place rich with color and texture, and ahh, those fall scents of earth and water and fallen leaves and Balsam Fir all settled together in the late afternoon after the morning sun has baked them.

The other was beside another brook that served as the outlet for a small pond, and again the colors and textures and scents filled my senses, enhanced by a slight breeze that made for a most delightful exploration on October days with temperatures in the 70˚s.

I don’t want temps to remain in the 70˚s always, but these days are gifts meant to be cherished and remembered by our skin and our soles.

I discovered along the way that I wasn’t the only one basking in the sunlight, for Painted Turtles also took advantage of the warm rays to regulate their body temperature. It also provides an opportunity to hang out with friends as they congregate along logs and rocks.

Easter Painted Turtles, beautifully adorned as they are, feature intricate red coloring along the sides of their shells and bodies, plus a orangy-yellow belly, and lines of red and orange and yellow green on their necks and legs.

But beyond all of this, I’m reminded that they play a vital role in maintaining the health of their ecosystems as they consume a diverse diet from aquatic plants, to algae, insects and small invertebrates, thus cycling nutrients throughout the habitat–an environmentally healthy habitat.

I gave thanks to the Beavers for reminding me of that fact.

Back to the Beavers, my journey continued when I spied new Hemlock branches atop a lodge.

And then I began to find pathway after pathway across land to water where the family, since there are usually two or three generations of Beavers who live in a lodge and work the area together, had dragged downed trees and branches overnight and carried them between their teeth out to their residence.

Their works were many and sculptures magnificent as they chiseled away and when I spotted this tree, I had visions of one standing on its hind feet and using its tail to form a tripod, the better to steady its body, as it turned its head to the side and began to work. With head cocked, it created the consistent angle of the half inch groove as the upper and lower incisors come together.

To reach such heights, I could only assume it was a mature Beaver. That, or one stood upon the back of another. Ah, but that’s the stuff of fairy tales. (I do like fairy tales–just saying).

As I looked around the base of a tree for more evidence, I discovered this. What could it possibly be? Scat?

No. Pellets? Yes. Several of them. Filled with bones. And maybe hair. And/or feathers.

The creator? My brain automatically went to Barred Owl and I’ve seen and heard the owl in these woods on many occasions.

But . . . these natural treasures could also have been produced by a resident eagle or hawk or so many other birds. Based on the number of pellets under this one tree, its a certain signpost of a productive area for whatever bird chose to prey from above.

Moving farther along as I bushwhacked, I knew I was getting closer and closer to the animal of my dreams when I spotted trees being turned into logs.

A beaver’s dental formula is this: 2 incisors on top, 2 incisors on bottom, 0 canines on top, 0 canines on bottom, 2 premolars on top, 2 premolars on bottom (that look like molars), 6 molars on top and 6 molars on bottom, for a total of 20 teeth. Recently, I was able to sketch the upper part of the skull of an older family member, who’d lost some of its molars.

These large, semi-aquatic rodents are gnawers. To that end, their incisors are highly specialized for chewing through really, really tough things and they grow continually throughout the critter’s life.

And like all rodents, the front surface of their incisors is coated in enamel reinforced with iron (hence the orange color), which makes it resistant to wear and tear from gnawing.

When the chisel-like teeth chew and fell trees, the much softer white dentine layer (the section behind the enamel) is ground down quicker than the enamel, thus creating a sharp chisel surface.

As strict herbivores, a Beaver’s diet varies with changes in the season. During spring and summer, they are drawn to waterlilies, algae, grasses, sedges, herbs, ferns, shrub leaves and shoots. By late summer, however, tree cutting begins as they gradually change their dietary habits from herbaceous to woody materials. Twigs, roots, bark and especially inner bark become the source of nutrition. Aspen, birch, alder, and willow are favored species, but beavers will cut almost anything including conifers.

Occasionally, I saw individual logs on land or upon a muddy spot in the water. Again, the consistency of the gnawing was to be admired.

And where there are Beavers, there may also be Porcupines. At least, there was a couple of years ago when I spent some winter days tracking one to this cozy little den. Remnants of scat are all that remain and spiders have instead made a home in the hollow of this tree.

And then I spotted the most amazing feat of all. A widow maker dangling from a tree (that is if you are about eight inches tall), its bottom gnawed off and more gnawing about a foot and a half off the ground.

My search was interrupted again when a Spotted Spreadwing Damselfly entered the scene in a sunny spot. So named Spreadwing because unlike other damselflies that fold their wings over their backs when at rest, the Spreadwings, um, spread their wings. On the of left hand side it looked like this insect had four wings rather than two, but such was the sun’s angle in that spot and thus the shadows upon the leaves.

Identification was based on the lower side of the abdomen, where it is difficult to see, but there are two spots below the thorax stripes as compared to the Great Spreadwing with has two yellow stripes with brown between them, and no spots.

Autumn Meadowhawks were also on the fly and I kept seeing males with no ladies about.

A couple of hours later, one flew in, but though they danced in the air together as he chased her, they never did canoodle, in my presence anyway. And the last I saw of them, they headed to separate branches of a pine tree, perhaps to spend the night in rooms of their own.

The Beavers weren’t canoodling either, but they were certainly active given the rolls of mud and grasses and sedges and probably reeds I kept finding along the water’s edge.

And then I discovered the much sought after (at least by me) Beaver print. It’s a rare occasion to see a print, but sometimes I do in the snow. Their tails and the trees they haul swish away such evidence of their travels.

As I stood beside a Beaver path and downed trees just above where I spotted the print, another flying insect entered the scene. And I had the joy of watching her as she deposited individual eggs in vegetation.

With her ovipositor located under her abdomen, the female Swamp Darner punctures a hole in mud, and logs, and aquatic vegetation in which to lay her progeny. The cool thing is that her eggs can survive a year without water, incase the level is low as it is right now. I suspect by spring these will be quite wet.

I never did find the Beaver(s) of my dreams, but spied another platform that may have been a lodge in the making. I hope they are still living there as the evidence leans in that direction.

At the end of the day, however, my heart was full with all my findings in both locations and I gave great thanks to the Beavers who led the way and all the discoveries I made as I searched for them.

Snow–Bugs and Flakes

~ lmachayes

Betwixt. Between. Be flowers. Be bugs. Be glad for there is so much to wonder about in the natural world. And I don’t even know the half of it. But I wouldn’t be happy if I wasn’t always learning.

It was 28˚ when I awoke this morning. Late this afternoon on this brilliant sunlight day, with temps at least 30˚ warmer, I walked out through our woodlot to the right and then looked back across the neighbor’s field toward our house, taking in the sea of seedheads and I was sure my insect hunting days had come to an end.

But much to my surprise, and really, I shouldn’t have been surprised, the chirps of crickets and grasshoppers, like this Red-legged example, filled the air. I might not have seen the grasshoppers if they hadn’t flown to a new spot occasionally, for so camouflaged are they in the current setting. Or always.

And then, much to my delight, I noticed a Saffron-winged Meadowhawk flying low and making frequent stops, allowing me to do the same. We live in a wet area, but still, I’m often surprised by some of species I meet here.

From the field, I decided to continue along the power line that crosses our property and the neighbor’s and many more beyond that and as I’d told my friend Meg from North Carolina the other day–Mount Washington, our mighty New England Rock Pile, is at the far end and it looks like we could walk right to it. Give or take a few days–or drive there in about an hour.

It’s along the path below the lines that I discovered Cotton-grass, which is a sedge, with its fluffy little heads speaking to the bogginess of this area.

Cottongrasses self-pollinate, their flowers being “perfect,” given that each contains both male (stamen) and female (carpel) parts. And the seeds are attached to parachutes waiting for a breeze (or animal) to move them to a new home.

Spotting the curly, cottony-hairs reminded me of the belly hairs of porcupines, which of course, reminded me of the Porky some friends and I spotted in another field in town yesterday. The time is coming when these critters, whom I’ve come to adore, will transition from life in the field to life in forest trees.

Last November I wrote about this particular porcupine, Bandit, whom I met in our yard, along the same route I began today’s journey. Perhaps soon, we will meet again.

Getting back to today’s story, I left the power line, and headed out an old logging trail that I tend to frequent most often in the winter. But it was sunny, and I was enjoying that warmth, and wondered what else I might spy along the way.

For starters, there were the “dried” Pearly Everlasting Flowers, which I should have gathered because they do dry so well. Instead, I just admired them.

And I had frequent encounters with more Saffron-winged Meadowhawks, flying much like White Corporal Skimmers in early spring–always landing and then moving a couple of feet ahead of me whenever I made a move.

Helping with ID of this species, are the fine black lines in the sutures of the abdomen. And the red stigma toward the tip of each wing is outlined in black. Otherwise, I might confuse it for an Autumn Meadowhawk.

I also had the pleasure of meeting a female Shadow Darner, but then I went to offer a finger for her, thinking she might want to take advantage of my body heat, and instead she tried to bite me. So, I let her be and we went our own ways.

At a former log landing, Juncos were on watch, and given how much seed is available, I know they’re mighty happy with the current conditions. It seems like they just arrived in the past week or so, but the good news is that many will overwinter here.

Oh and a few will fly to Connecticut so that my dear friend, Kate, can watch them as well.

Being an old logging road and log landing, conditions were apparently ideal this past summer, and I paused for a moment to admire forest succession, with grasses and herbs forming the floor, and more grasses and sedges growing taller, topped by Gray Birch, and a backdrop of Red Maples, and Big-tooth Aspen, and Paper Birch.

And then it was back to the now dry bed of a stream crossing where Speckled Alder shrubs are closing in on the trail, and Woolly Alder Aphids are living their best life seeking sap from the woody plants.

That Cotton Candy or even Cotton-grass look is actually a waxy material they produce from their abdomens, and when they group together like this, perhaps its meant to detract visitors. Or protect them from the weather. Had a I visited on a summer day, I’m sure I would have spotted ants trying to tickle them (it’s called farming) to take advantage of the honey dew the aphids secrete.

Speckled Alder Aphids live an interesting life style. Actually, according to Donald W. Stokes in his book, A Guide to Observing Insect Lives, “There are two life cycles in this species. In one, the aphids remain on alder trees throughout their lives. They are believed to overwinter as adults in the leaf litter at the base of an alder. In spring, they crawl up the plant and feed on its sap. There are several generations per year and adults of the last generation overwinter.

In the other life cycle, the aphids alternate between two plants. The aphids overwinter as eggs placed on maple twigs. In the spring they hatch into females, which feed on the undersides of maples leaves and reproduce. They are wingless, but in midsummer produce winged offspring, also females, which fly to alders. These females feed and reproduce on alders, and give birth to wingless young. Then in the late fall, they produce winged young, which fly back to maples and give birth to both male and female young. The males and females mate, and each fertilized female lays a single egg on a maple twig. Only the eggs overwinter.”

It’s things like this that add to my sense of wonder. Two life cycles? The adults of one life cycle overwinter while the eggs of the other are do the same? That’s amazing.

And on the fly in a bit of abundance right now for I saw a bunch today and I’ve been seeing them along many trails that I hike, are the flying aphids. If you stick your hand out and cup it, you can get one to land.

Don’t worry, they don’t bite. And they don’t even tickle, despite that waxy hair.

They’re actually kinda beautiful in their own way and as they fly they look like tiny flakes of snow, thus some refer to them as Snow Bugs.

So I have two forever-friends-since-birth and I’ve already referred to Kate earlier in this blog because she is a great lover of Juncos, along with everything else in the natural world, and so is her sister, Patty, who once told this joke when we were kids:

Q: What’s white and goes up?

A. A dumb snowflake.

One of these two is eleven months younger than me and the other is eleven months older and she and I just chatted yesterday and I’m so thankful to have them in my life all these years. Yes, B.S., I am also incredibly thankful to have you in my life.

But once again I digress. Except I had to tell that joke. Because it kinda reminds me of the aphids in flight.

Back to the power line, I decided to pull the Mighty Mount Washington in with the telephoto lens. Yes, dear readers, that is snow! Several inches of the white stuff has fallen over the last few days. And there is rime ice.

My favorite season is only a walk down the power line away.

Snow: Bugs and Flakes. It’s all wonder-filled.

Porcupine, Snakes, and Bears, Oh My!

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Disclaimer: there may be some not so pleasant photos in this post. I apologize. BUT, what you will see is a fact of life.

Do I have your attention now?

Our afternoon began so innocently as we hiked along a well-traveled trail at Hawk Mountain in Waterford, Maine, where Goldenrods and Asters shown the way.

I knew I was in the right place the moment I saw a Black and Yellow Spider for I have spent the last two months enjoying their presence in our neighbors’ field and though they are beginning to decline in number as summer heads toward fall, a few are still on the hunt and packaging meals such as you see here.

Also like home, the presence of butterflies. Granted, we were only twenty minutes from home, so spotting Monarchs nectaring wasn’t a surprise. It was a delight, really.

And an American Painted Lady, her two eyespots on the hind wing as opposed to four smaller spots on the same wing of a Painted Lady, pasued on some bramble branches.

A Red Admiral also decorated the scene, even if it did appear to have a bit of attitude given its stance.

And then . . . and then I saw the body of a dead porcupine. It didn’t smell. But the Common Green Bottle Flies (in the Blow Fly family) that made their fly buzzing sounds around it indicated it had been dead for a bit. Some of you know that I love a such a wildlife mystery–and the opportunity to try to figure out what happened. BUT, the story doesn’t always piece together as neatly as I’d like.

First, there appeared to be three wounds on the animal’s back. Large openings. As if from a very hungry predator. And a brave one? Fishers are the porcupine’s main predator and they are known to attack the others face and belly, where the hair is soft as compared to the 30,000 barbed quills on its back. And a fisher and others would then visit the carcass repeatedly to dine. That hadn’t happened in this case. Instead, the animal died on its stomach. And other mammals didn’t take a repast from the offering. Did a domestic dog do the duty? If so, it must have had a head full of quills.

As for those metallic green flies, their maggots squirmed inside each large wound. By the hundreds. Maybe thousands. I wasn’t about to count. In his book, Insects of New England and New York, Tom Murray explains, “Blow flies are often associated with decaying organic matter, particularly carcasses and other sources of rotting meat and feces. In fact, they can figure prominently in forensic entomology, aiding in determining time of death.”

Murray adds, “This might sound like the dark ages, but cultures of sterile maggots of green bottle flies are sometimes used in hospitals to clean up deep wounds and infections that otherwise are difficult to treat. They only eat dead tissue, and secrete an antibiotic, preventing further infection. In nature, the normal food source is carrion.”

Maggots. A source of wonder! Who knew? Well, obviously doctors and scientists and Tom Murray!

There was one other thing to look at on the carcass, besides those three-toned quills and the soft curly hairs in the mix. The sole. Look how pebbly it is! The better for climbing trees, my friend. Think of non-slip socks with those little white treads. Porcupines don’t need to wear socks. Maybe they were the inspiration for such. Ahh, this site just got even better!

I still don’t know who the predator was but it took me back to what my neighbor and I discovered in her field yesterday. Two piles of feathers from the same bird.

The feathers appeared to have been plucked so I suspect a raptor did the deed, after all, they need to eat too. But what species died? We don’t know birds well enough to say. What was curious to us was that there was no blood. Nor any body parts. My neighbor’s dogs were onto a scent in the feathers, however, and we suspect that they had a better sense of either who the prey was or who needed a meal than we did.

Returning to today’s trail, I spotted Witch Hazel in bloom, the first of the season for me to spy. This flower always makes me happy with it’s yellow ribbons haphazardly displayed.

And then I sawa Maple Leaf Viburnum, its leaves already their magenta color and so many berries still intact.

And a Green Frog in a mucky puddle as we approached the summit.

The view is always amazing, enhanced by the brook and wetland below and our beloved Pleasant Mountain in the distance. You can even see the ski area at the right or northern end.

While we were out there I only captured a photo of one Turkey Vulture, but at least three road today’s thermals, gliding round and round.

And on the way down a small Garter Snake tried to hide from us. It was about the size of a pencil. And reminded me of another site in the field at home that I spotted this morning.

My first thought. Scat. Of course. Until I took a closer look. A spine?

And then I flipped it over and spotted scales. Probably a much larger Garter Snake. If I took a closer look at the scale pattern I could be certain of this ID. Maybe tomorrow. If I can locate it again.

From Hawk Mountain we made a mad dash to Mount Tire’m and again at the summit, a view toward Pleasant, just from a somewhat different angle.

We were in a bit of a rush, but My Guy didn’t mind that I wanted to explore the erratic boulders in the woods behind the summit. I think everyone who climbs that mountain ends up at this spot. Rock Castle? Bat Cave? Bear Den?

We decided on the latter given that we spied a bear through the trees.

And so, I did what I always do here and channeled my inner bear.

Now really, this wasn’t such a gruesome post after all, right? But wow. Porcupine with maggots, snakes, and a human bear. Oh my!

Basking in the Sights

~ lmachayes

“This won’t take us long,” My Guy said moments after we launched our kayaks onto a small pond in New Hampshire.

“Oh, I think I can make it last a while,” I replied.

I knew there were Pitcher Plants to look for and I could see by the color of the trees on the far shore that there were wetlands to explore and there was the potential for so much more in this very quiet spot.

A friend who kayaks here often had told me where to park and some of the things to look for along the way. What was most impressive from the start is that there were flower pots on the dam and by the kiosk. Well tended, at that.

And a rather large Little Free Library, where one can take a book or share a book.

I unlatched the door and it even smelled like a library. What’s not to love?!

But, we’d ventured there to paddle.

Or better yet, to dawdle. To be like the Painted Turtle and enjoy the sunshine of a perfect September day.

And then one of my favorite things happened. A dragonfly in the clubtail family landed on my knee and I coaxed it onto my hand for a better look. It was perfectly content to be there. Which made me think of a darner on another day on another pond this past week that I rescued as it flailed in the water. The moment I picked that darner up, it tried to take a nip out of my finger and was frantic, even when I set it on the edge of the boat. I wanted to give it a chance to dry its wings. It wanted only to fly. And so it did with wings still wet and back into the water it landed, slipping under a lily pad. I rescued it again and this time it didn’t bite and it did sit for another minute or two upon the boat, but not long enough for me to get a good look at its colors and patterns for identification, or to snap a photo and then suddenly it flew and I can only hope survived.

My new friend, however, allowed me to move him from my hand to the boat, the better to take a look.

This one didn’t speak its name immediately, until I looked at its spiny back legs. As a Black-shouldered Spinyleg it is commonly known, and it’s in the clubtail family, but I’m not exactly convinced that the shoulders are actually ebony in hue. To me, they seem to be chocolate brown.

Another characteristic is the thorax pattern: two long ovals on either side with a yellowish I-shaped mark in between them. 

It was the pattern on the abdomen that also helped me confirm ID, with the yellow stripes on each segment becoming triangular shaped on segments 8 and 9, while the final segment, #10, was almost completely coated with splash of yellow.

With each minute that passed I fell more and more in love as my new friend let me enter its personal space. Such big eyes–compound as they are. But then there are the ocelli, or three small black “eyes” located on top of the head–to us they look like three little bumps, but according to the field guides in my own library, they “may serve to measure light intensity.”

And all those body hairs. They work like sensors–detecting odors, temperature, humidity, and most likely wind direction.

If you have a loupe or magnifying lens, I encourage you to look at insects and plants–it’s a hairy world out there.

Let’s take a closer look at that face. It’s rather other-worldly in structure. Two dragonfly families feature eyes that don’t touch each other along any margin: Clubtails and Petaltails. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a Petaltail, so that already narrows it down for me when trying to figure out the species.

Beginning with the large compound eyes, we’ll work our way down. But first, can you imagine seeing the world through 30,000 lenses or facets? I’m happy to have moved on from progressive lenses (three lenses) that threw me off, especially when hiking or walking down stairs. 30,000?!!! A dragonfly certainly has no excuse for not seeing even the tiniest of insects on the move.

And notice how the eye is two toned, the darker being above.

Between the eyes is a plate called the occiput, which covers the upper part of the head. You might also notice, though I didn’t label them, that there are occipital horns.

Below that is the triangle of ocelli, or three tiny and simple eyes as compared to the two compound eyes. These may measure light intensity.

And then there are two antennas, perhaps for measuring wind speed. All of this and we haven’t reached the face yet.

Ah, the dragonfly face–beauty is definitely in the eye of the beholder.

Dragonfly faces consist of plates and the upper plate is the frons. In some species there are certain dark shapes or lines that help with ID. Not on this one, however.

Below the frons a crossline suture is a seam that separates the frons from the postclypeus, an upper plate that we might think of as the upper lip.

And below it, the anticlypeus, a lower plate located about where our tongue might be on a human face.

Finally, the labrum, or lower lip, and below that the mandibles, not labeled.

Such complexity for an insect that spends months to a few years as an aquatic naiad, growing through several molts, and then crawls out of the water and slowly ecloses upon vegetation, pumping insect blood into its wings and body, before flying off to control the airways and the insects who bug us. And within two months of emerging from the water, it’s life cycle comes to an end.

And to think this one simply landed on my knee and now you have all this information to digest. Don’t worry, there will be a quiz at the end.

Suddenly, the dragonfly flew off. And my focus returned to the pond. If you’ve paddled here, then you know that we hadn’t gone far as we’d only reached the third of the crooked houses.

My Guy was ready to purchase one and fix it up. I just want to paint this scene when I have time for so beautiful was it despite its lack of TLC and the reflection was equally delightful as lines were interrupted by the water’s current.

At last we reached the opposite end of the pond from which we’d begun our journey and the colorful leaves of the Swamp Maples told me we were in a different sort of wetland.

The layers. From Pickerel Weed leaves to grasses and sedges, including Cotton Sedge, to the Swamp Maples, actually being Red Maples with very wet feet which are among the first to turn as fall approaches and days shorten, to a backdrop of deciduous and conifers.

Just the colors made me happy as I followed My Guy who followed a brook as far as we could until the growth was too thick and we could hear water flowing over what was probably a beaver dam ahead. And so we turned around, but first honored Mount Kearsarge North, the pyramid mountain in the distance.

I extended the telescopic lens on my camera farther than I should have, but I wanted to see the fire tower at the summit of Kearsarge. It was incentive enough for us to decide to hike there again soon.

As we continued our clockwise journey around the perimeter of the pond, I was on a hunt–for those Pitcher Plants I’d been promised. But what caught my eye in the meantime was the late afternoon sun glowing on bowl and doily spider webs. And a beaver lodge in the background.

It always amazes me to find so many of the same type of spider webs in any one area. The spiders who wove these are rather small, but their web is incredibly complex.

They weave a sheet web system consisting of an inverted dome or “bowl,” suspended above a horizontal sheet web, or “doily,” hence its common name. And then they wait for a meal to announce itself. Should the meal fall through the bowl, the doily serves as a safety net, thus the spider makes sure to not miss a bite.

Before turning my boat to follow the shoreline again and continue my PP quest, I realized that a Tamarack grew upon the lodge. And there were several others nearby. I love these trees because they aren’t every day sights. And because they are kinda like me–beings that can’t make up their minds. Thus, they are deciduous conifers, meaning they are cone bearers who shed their needles (leaves), unlike other cone bearers in our neck of the woods who are evergreen.

I had only turned a wee bit when two structures standing above other plants caught my attention and I knew my quest had come to an end. Pitcher Plant flowers.

And below them the pitchers (leaves) for which they were named. That ruby red rim. The tree-of-life venation. And downward facing hairs. “Here little insects. Come check me out. I have a special drink I made just for you.”

At the base of the Pitcher Plant grew Sphagnum Moss and Leatherleaf, and . . . Sundews! Round-leaved Sundews–another carnivorous plant like the Pitchers. It’s a plant eats insect world out there.

As we rounded a bend nearing the end of our journey, a flock of Canada Geese honked and cackled.

And suddenly lifted off. My Guy counted 30.

At last we approached the launch site, but truth be told it took us about twenty more minutes to go the short distance because there were so many more turtles to spot. Do you see the second one in this photo?

And one climbing atop another as is their habit since turtles are ecothermic and the sun’s rays help raise their body temperature. So if your brother is on top of the log, why not climb on top of him to get even closer to the sun?

I spotted twelve in all, and love that the one on the right upon this log waved–as if to wish us farewell, for really, it was time for us to leave.

So we did, but first we gave a quiet thanks to our friend, Pam K., for recommending this delightful pond and telling me about a few of its highlights.

And I did promise a quiz, so here ’tis. Can you name at least one part of this dragonfly’s face? And can you name the species? Don’t worry if you don’t get all of the parts–that’s why I write a blog–so I can go back and remind myself.

Basking in the sights. That’s what we did much the same way the turtles basked in the sun.

Oh, and that line that the journey wouldn’t take us long–ahem. It was at least a two and a half hour tour. After all, it’s a wonder-filled world out there.

Taking Stock . . . Naturally

~ lmachayes

As locals know, My Guy owns a hardware store and I often say I am married to the store. It’s true because it is a constant in our lives and follows us on walks and hikes even on his days off. And though our oldest son has taken over the reins in the past two years, My Guy still cannot completely let go.

I’ve come to realize, however, that that is okay because it means I can tend my own shop. Of course, while he owns the land and the building, I need to rent space, but it’s well worth the priceless price.

Step through the open-air doorway, and you’ll find right now I’ve got proboscis-style straws on display. They are especially beneficial when sipping from Red Clover, a member of the legume family.

And for safe storage, the Peck’s Skipper likes to show how to curl the straw up when not in use.

If you are an introvert, like me and the Common Ringlet Butterfly, you might prefer to flit from flower to flower, but then hide in the vegetation after spending so much time demonstrating for the public how to use your straw.

Common Wood-Nymphs are equally inclined to hide, but still available on the shelf for you to choose, and you can decide if this stored straw appeals to you, or not.

White Admirals are especially plentiful right now, and want you to know that whether hanging upside down,

or right side up, their straws always work, so it might be a good one to think about purchasing.

Especially if you like to get some of your nutrients from scat. We can throw in some scat for you, if you’d like–at no extra charge!

Sometimes it’s the packaging that makes all the difference, so we’ve got several orange choices for you to consider, this being the Fritillary style. Make me an offer I can’t resist, and this straw is yours due to the fact that it has been used previously, as evidenced by the tattered wing.

If you prefer something a bit bigger and brighter, there’s the Viceroy, with that dark band crossing its wings.

Or the biggest of all, the Monarch, who lacks the black band that is part of the Viceroy packaging.

For the tykes in your life, we also have Pearl Crescents and Northern Crescents in stock. The former is slightly smaller than the latter for the youngest in your gang.

Those are all great, but I have two that I much prefer, the first being this Clouded Sulpher that comes in pastel colors only, which contrast with the darker-colored straw.

And the creme de la creme has to be the White M Hairstreak, a rare species that I was able to special source a few weeks ago, and every once in a blue moon (such as this August is), I can find another to offer you. That is the case right now, but hurry because I don’t know how long this butterfly will remain on the shelf.

Over in the natural pesticide control aisle, I’ve a few options for you to consider, such as this handsome male Twelve-spotted Skimmer. Unfortunately, I just discovered these are on backorder, so you’ll probably need to wait until June if this is the style you prefer.

The same is true of the Eastern Pondhawk–in fact, I was totally surprised that I was able to snag this species, but suspect it has something to do with the store’s location between two ponds, and so close to a wetland and swamp.

Right now, the most abundant pesticides I can offer are in the form of Meadowhawk dragonflies like this Autumn Meadowhawk, a small skimmer with tan colored legs.

If you prefer something larger . . .

you might like the darners that keep flying off the shelf. That said, there are plenty more where this guy came from, so if you can’t find one in the shop, give me a shout, and I’ll check the backroom.

Summer is not over yet, despite what everyone has been saying lately, and so if it’s pollinators you are looking for, I’m afraid I overstocked. Well, there’s nothing to be afraid of, actually. Being overstocked on these is a great thing. And you can mix and match if you’d like, perhaps choosing these European Paper Wasps,

a few Honey Bees,

and some Locust Borers, all lovers of Goldenrod as you can see. I’ve also got Great Black Wasps, with their iridescent blue wings, and Paper Wasps, and Bumblebees, and . . . and . . . and so many to fill your reusable bag.

In the Fly By Day aisle, there are a few special selections, the first being this Lacewing that could be featured in a “Where’s Waldo” picture, so well camouflaged it is.

And a Crane Fly that you can scare people with and pretend it’s a giant mosquito. The thing is . . . they don’t bite. In fact, during their short lifespans, they don’t typically eat. So . . . little maintenance if you decide to put this one in your cart.

I’d be lax if I didn’t mention the employees such as this teenaged Ambush Bug who is very good at hanging out on Goldenrod plants near Black and Yellow Garden Spider webs, without getting tangled in all the drama.

But, being teenagers, sometimes two decide to tango in the breakroom under the Goldenrod, and these two canoodlers just had to have a bite to eat while they were so engaged. I’m sure the Sweat Bee never saw this coming.

If you do decide to stop by the shop, the Black and Yellow Spiders are the chefs and they’re happy to provide you with a Dog-Day Cicada meal all wrapped up and ready to eat on the road. They have other items on the menu as well.

That said, this coming weekend, I do believe that the hardware store will have some items on the grill. So stop by and sample whatever delectable they prepare.

Food is actually a part of all our lives (haha, as it should be) and our youngest son is fortunate to work at a company in Manhattan that has a personal chef who prepares breakfast and lunch each day, mostly with locally-sourced food such as what is available at my store.

If you do come to the my shop, know that you’ll probably have to wait in line behind the Eastern Phoebes, who perch at roof-height and swoop in and out . . . often helping themselves and then zooming to the self-serve checkout line.

The guard doe keeps an eye on everyone passing through the door, so I don’t have to worry.

Occasionally, all four of us take a break from our respective jobs and come together to share a locally-sourced meal of our own–a la Fly Away Farm. Oh, and the kid (young man!) in glasses is holding his Lacy Blue pup who is sure that everyone who visits the hardware store comes just to greet and pet her.

As My Guy and I went for a long walk today, and hiked a mountain yesterday, we tried not to talk shop, but it occurred to me that while my eyes glaze over when he starts telling tales about hardware happenings, so do his when I point out the wonders of the natural world.

And so, I try not to tell him how to run his business (“try not to” being the operative phrase), and he lets me operate my own shop in my own way–even if it is all in my imagination.

I suppose you could say that while I’m married to a hardware store, he’s married to a . . . I’ll let you finish the line.

In the end, we both take stock . . . naturally.

Plains and Barrens and Bogs, Oh My!

~ lmachayes

Places new to us and those so much more familiar rounded out the week as My Guy and I made time to explore. Our first journey found us driving over an hour and a half south and only getting fake lost as we searched for routes and a place to eat lunch. Mike’s Diner won, a hearty ham and cheese sandwich for him, and grilled cheese with tomato for me. Comfort food.

And then we headed along a few sandy trails in a land known for its Pitch Pine-Heath and Pitch Pine-Scrub Oak Barrens. It was vast. And flat. And offered so many shades of . . . green.

The Pitch Pines, with their bundles of three needles each (think: three strikes you are out–pitch, baseball, I didn’t make this mnemonic up, but use it all the time) were happily producing prickly cones, which take two years to mature.

This is a fire-dependent ecosystem, meaning the health of this place depends upon consistent fires. The Pitch Pine and other species that thrive here have developed adaptations to survive. The pine’s serotinous cones and thick armor-like bark are its adaptive features. The cone is covered in a thick resin that must be melted in order for it to open and release seeds. The Pitch Pine’s thick bark protects the tree from those fires.

And so in this place, periodic controlled fires occur in order to maintain its rarity.

Scrub Oak or Bear Oak is the other dominant tree species in the shrub layer of this space. There are lower shrubs like blueberry and huckleberry, and grasses, and ferns, all completing the picture.

The soil–sandy and acidic.

We left that place and drove a few miles to an abutting property to follow a longer trail system through a similar habitat. I think we were both quite taken by the vastness of the grassland.

As in the first, this is a place where fires are intentionally set to keep the species that have adapted to this space here, and not allow other species to take over. I think it’s rather like mowing a field. If you don’t mow for several years, as I’ve been watching on a hillside field closer to home (no, not the field that abuts our yard), White Pines have taken foot and are taking over the space. In fact, the same obviously happened in our woodlot, which was once a plowed plot, and now, 60 – 80 years later, it’s a forest of White Pine and Hemlock trees, but mainly the former.

Like the previous spot, this is a grassland and a heathland, with similar trees in the landscape. Blueberries make My Guy smile, always, and they grow abundantly here because of the soil conditions, but also because they have underground rhizomes with lateral stems that allow them to resprout after a fire.

Much to my delight, I spotted a Wood Lily in bloom, with its tiers of whorled leaves along the sturdy stem below. It is present here in Maine, especially in places like this, but even in woodlands. That said, my encounters with it are infrequent and therefore memorable. And as I type I’m picturing it at the summit of Pleasant Mountain and along the Heritage Trail on Amos Mountain in Lovell.

We enjoyed our time in those first two locations, and have so much more to learn about them, but returning to the home stage, even with rain in the forecast, was much more to our likening. And so we did.

It was here that we spotted Blue Flag Iris in bloom, with its showy runway and lack of a beard like the Irises that grow in our home gardens. I know I have a difficult time walking past without stopping to honor these flowers each time I see them. Blue Flag doesn’t mind having wet feet, which is good since it was growing in a wetland.

The sight of this next beauty will give you even more of an idea about where we’d ventured. It’s an area where Pitcher Plants grow in abundance and right now show off their parasol-like flowers.

The carnivorous Pitcher Plant obtains nitrogen and phosphorus by “eating” insects. Its oddly shaped leaves form a pitcher partly filled with rainwater and digestive enzymes. The spout is a hairy landing platform for insects attracted by its red venation and nectar glands. Imagine this: An insect crawls to the edge of the leaf, aka pitcher, slips on the downward-sloping hairs and plunges into the liquid below, where it drowns and enzymes and bacteria break it down. Any chances for escape are zapped by those stiff hairs. As it decomposes, it is digested by the liquid.

Do you see some insect body parts floating atop the water within the pitcher? And an ant trying to travel across the hairs rather than down. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to watch its ultimate fate. Next time, for sure.

I want to jump back to the nodding flower of this carnivorous plant for a second. I tiptoed gingerly on the spongy carpet of sphagnum moss to take a closer look.

At two to three inches wide, it appears on the top of a thick, leafless stalk that can grow to two feet tall.

A flower consists of five sepals surrounded by three bracts, numerous anthers and an umbrella-like five-pointed style, over which five long yellow or red petals dangle. The whole inflorescence (flower) is held upside-down, so that the umbrella-like style underneath catches the pollen dropped by the anthers. Stigmas are located at the tips of the umbrella-like style.

This is also the land of native orchids, such as this Rose Pogonia, which to some resembles a snake’s head poking out of the heath or a fern with a snake’s name (Adder’s Tongue Fern). A bearded snake, if there is such a thing. The labellum or lip of the flower is bearded and some petals point outward and to the side. Despite all of that, it’s a delicate and intricate flower.

While the Rose Pogonia seemed to be waning, Tuberous Grass-Pink was putting on quite a display. The labellum or lip is not bearded, though it does have a yellow crest atop it, and petals and sepals point in all directions.

Farther along the trail, Tall Meadow Rue showed it had gotten an early start on the July 4th celebration with silent fireworks making a huge bang. (If only all fireworks could be like this. Quiet and beautiful.)

Swamp Candles were lit up as well, adding more color to the landscape.

As you can see, it was beginning to rain when we reached a display of Swamp Roses, and I loved how the droplets stood in a row on the folded edge of the uppermost petal.

And I don’t know why I should be surprised each time I meet these little gems because we’ve met so many times over the years, but it’s always as sweet as the first introduction. Please make the acquaintance of Water Forget-Me-Nots.

It was not just flora that made our trek so delightful, but also a few others who greeted us, or rather we greeted them, like the Red-backed Salamanders that I often find in a certain spot under some old Hemlock bark.

And the ever present chittering and chattering Red Squirrel.

That all brings me round to where we explored. The first trip included Kennebunk Plains and Wells Barrens Preserve. We did enjoy those, but it was our hometown tramp encircling Holt Pond that probably made us the happiest because though we know this space well, there’s always something different to see, and I’ve only shared a wee bit with you.

That said, if you go to Holt Pond Preserve, please know that from the parking lot off of Grist Mill Road to the Quaking Bog, the boardwalks are clear and highly visible. The rest of the board walk system, however is not, and we had to fight our way through vegetation and under downed trees. Once we reached the Southern Shore Trail, it was free sailing again. (Default: we maintain that section of the trail system).

And the bridge over this creek washed out last spring, but right now there is a stepping stone or two to help you leap across.

Yes, those swirls in the water are from raindrops and not insects (in fact, the bugs weren’t too bad), for by the time we got close to Chaplin’s Mill Road, the rain was falling steadily. But, we were prepared. And once again, we didn’t melt.

Plains, Barrens, and Bogs, Oh My! Just another reason to love Maine.

Solstice 2024

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

There’s a local trail I’ve been traipsing along solo or with company these past few weeks and when I dragged My Guy there early this morning, and said I was bringing my camera, his response, “Why, there’s nothing to see there.” Seriously. Doesn’t he know me better than that after all these years?

It’s a place where Bullfrogs sit upon lilypads in true frog style and wait patiently for a meal to fly by. Given all the Gnats and Deer Flies that buzzed our faces and ears as we walked, I assumed there was plenty of food and actually offered some, but he wouldn’t partake. The frog, that is.

Another who should also have been enticed by the offerings, seemed to care more about defending his territory than dining, this being a Four-spotted Skimmer Dragonfly. The name Four-spotted refers to the small dark spots on the upper edge of each wing, there being two per wing, and thus four per side or four per front wing and four per backwing.

Equally nonchalant about all the available food, but curious about me, was the female Calico Pennant, another skimmer who loves to perch at the tip of plants and twigs and returns to the same site over and over again. Though I didn’t have a good view of her abdomen except for a hint of color on segment 7, the yellow-colored stigma toward the tips of her wings, and her yellowish face gave proof to her gender. Males have red stigmas and red faces.

The immature male Common Whitetail cruised and paused, cruised and paused. This is such a handsome skimmer (not that the others aren’t). And while its abdomen resembles the female, it’s the wing pattern that identifies its gender. I love the complexity of dragonflies, even if I do have to relearn the clues each season.

Apparently, there were other things to do besides defend territory, and certainly rather than eat the biting insects–for canoodling was in order each time I visited. In this love wheel, the male Belted Whiteface dons the red thorax and he has clasped his mate behind her head with his claspers, as is the dragonfly custom. As Kurt Mead describes it in Dragonflies of the North Woods, “Prior to selection of a willing female, the male will transfer sperm from his testes located on the underside of the abdominal segment 9 to his hamulus located on the underside of segments 2 and 3. This is accomplished by simply arching the abdomen until the undersides of the appropriate segments make contact.” Once clasped, she arches her abdomen toward his hamulus to receive his sperm and thus fertilize her eggs.

Also flitting about, for that’s how these damselflies seem to move through the air, were some Ebony Jewelwings. The white dot or stimga at the tip of the wing signals this is a female, where the male has all dark wings. I love the iridescent colors of this species. And note how she has her abdomen reaching upwark in an obelisk position? That’s the Odonata way of avoiding overheating–thus reducing the surface area that is exposed to the sun’s rays. Oh, to be able to stick your butt toward the sun and cool off. On a day like today, and yesterday, and the day before, with our first heat wave in New England in two years, this would have been a most welcome adaptation.

Also along this trail, an extremely smart Eastern Phoebe who used a slight crevasse in a boulder upon which to build her nest of mud and moss and lichens. On the first trip, a friend and I spotted five eggs in the nest About a week and half later, these little chicks snuggled together like a pile of fluff with an occasional mustard-colored beak visible.

A week or so later and they continued to grow. What surprised me is how quiet they were, but that’s probably another technique that doesn’t give away the location of the nest.

That said, a Phoebe built a nest on the backside of our barn. It’s too high for us to notice if any eggs or chicks were located within, but we listen to the adults call back and forth all day long ,which is how we found the nest–they told us where to look and flew off anytime we passed that way.

The chicks above fledged within the last week and that nest is empty with no sound from an adult. It makes me wonder if the barn nest might see a second brood (if there actually was a first) for they continue to awaken us at about 4:20am each day. Stay tuned.

Another sight worth noting–the footprint left behind by a moose–traveling in the opposite direction of my foot. This was discovered by an observant participant on a recent walk for Loon Echo Land Trust.

And an even better observation: the track of a Black Bear. My foot is located beside a front foot as you can see, with the larger hind feet registering before and after. The big toe is on the outside of the foot, opposite of ours. The better for climbing stability.

It still seems early for butterfly flight to me, but this Pearl Crescent showed us this morning that life hasn’t been easy given its tattered wings.

I think one of my favorite sightings along this path, other than the moose and bear prints, oh, and the dragonflies, of course, was something I couldn’t share with My Guy. The timing just happened to be right on this particular visit, when Eastern Tiger Swallowtail butterflies, so differentiated from the Canadian Tiger Swallowtail by the fact that the yellow band near the edge of the underwing was broken by black marks.

They were puddling, an act of probing for salt and minerals. Most puddlers are males, who ingest the nutrients that are then stored in their sperm. During mating, the male passes these goodies along to the female as a nuptial gift in his spermatophore. 

So we assumed it was scat upon which they puddled.

Until we realized it wasn’t. They’re choice of nutrient-offerings–a smooshed frog. The trail is not just for walkers. ATVs and even trucks use it.

Yes, the poor frog. BUT, the butterflies and flies made sure that it did not go to waste.

And another frog smiled. I’m smiling too, for it is officially summer. Happy Summer Solstice 2024.

And speaking of the solstice–be on the lookout tonight for the characters of my fairy tale doing some dancing in the woods, as they did in The Giant’s Shower.

Cloudy Mondate

~ lmachayes

Between the two of us, My Guy and I have lived within an hour or so of today’s destination for a grand total of 103 years. Yikes. That makes us old. Of course, we aren’t. But for some reason we never visited this spot before. Maybe because it’s a tourist hotspot, and we’re hardly tourists. In fact today, we were dressed in our usual garb because our plan was to hike. And we did. But . . . we also did that touristy thing for a wee bit. Cuze when in Rome . . . yada, yada, yada.

And so first we paused by the Pebble, a glacial erratic.

I suppose when you compare it to the Boulder located about a half hour north of the Pebble, which we visited on February 14, 2022, it is rather pebble-like.

But what we really wanted to see was the Falls of Song, a waterfall that drops forty feet and is so named for the changing sound of the water that constantly flows.

According to an interpretive sign by the falls, “An 1885 Boston newspaper description of the scenic beauty and amenities stated of the Falls of Song that ‘their location in the depths of the primeval forest, their exquisite setting under the overhanging cliffs, the silvery clearness of the water and their magical musical effects, seemingly changing their song at every hour of the day, unite to place these falls among the most interesting and wonderful in the United States.'”

Another set of falls to draw our fancy was the Bridal Falls, so named because in the right conditions they appear to be lacy like a bridal veil. I felt like the conditions were indeed right today.

We followed the brook for over a half mile and the views kept changing and sounds kept enhancing our experience. If it had been warmer, we might have wanted to take a dip, but for today, just watching and listening as the water tumbled and plummeted and twisted and turned and glided and flowed was enough.

Back on the road as we drove up the mountain, we stopped again for a view from lunch bench and I found my place, which was my place in the early 1980s. Lake Winnipesaukee and Gunstock Mountain formed the backdrop and brought back memories of teaching and hiking and skiing and swimming and being. The best part is that this is the area where I learned to be. Be me.

To be native, like the Northern Bush Honeysuckle, for I began to realize all those years ago that this is the area where I belonged.

But today brought us to the home of others who also belonged in this place, beginning with Thomas and Olive Plant, the original owners of this mountaintop mansion. I could only hope to live here. But they did. For a while at least.

It’s a sixteen room home with halls and halls and an organ, and dumb waiter, and guest rooms like this one, and more halls, and sitting rooms, and great hall, and dining rooms, and servants quarters, and sunroom, and oh so much more. But this, the Brown Room, was my favorite, for recently carpet had been removed and the most incredible floor discovered, and it reminded me of our home, which had been similarly carpeted, and we discovered beautiful southern pine that has since brightened our days.

The sunburst pattern of the Brown Room floor–incredible.

But even more than the inside, we really enjoyed the outdoor living areas, this off the main hall, with a view of the lake and mountains beyond, Gunstock being straight across.

And an angel letting water form her wings.

We’re thinking we’ll take the month of August and welcome guests here. Haha. As if we ever welcome guests, the introverts we truly are. But really, the focus should be on the Arts and Crafts architecture and way the building fits into the setting.

And the gardens. Exquisite.

Olive Plant, original owner of the property in 1914, would have approved of today’s gardens which are tended by a group of volunteers. In this space that surrounded the mansion she had a 100-foot glass greenhouse.

I don’t know if this was part of her greenhouse selection, but among the wall that formed part of nursery grows Ivy-leaved Toadflax, a plant I don’t recall ever meeting in the past.

Clouds there were upon occasion today, but the yard boundary offered glimpses of brightness.

And along the trail where other specimens including this Bristly Locust, a legume.

We’d hiked along the brook, spent time exploring the mansion and grounds, and the headed off to hike another trail with only so much time on our hands. At the intersection of trailheads, we had the good fortune of meeting two women with local knowledge who showed us where we were and where we wanted to go . . . that being heading up Mount Roberts. We knew we didn’t have time to summit for My Guy had to get home for a meeting (at which he later received a well-deserved Lifetime Achievement Award), but we made a plan for a turn-around time.

The trail was blazed with orange markers and we might have believed that a Black Bear had marked the way, for so chewed and scratched were the signs, but I suspect it was a Red Squirrel who had a good chomp or two or ten.

That said, a female American Toad, her tympana (ear membrane) about the size of her eye, and overall size of her body providing a clue to her sex, but also doing her best to blend in to her surroundings as she paused upon a stone on the trail.

We’d hiked over a mile when I suddenly spied this from the trail. Ruh roh. That meant we had to start looking and counting, a task that slowed us down a bit.

We had set a turnaround time, knowing that we wouldn’t be able to hike the entire 2.5 miles to the summit because My Guy needed to get home for a meeting, and so at 3:15pm, with 1.7 miles behind us, we stopped our upward ascent, but before descending, I spotted a green golf ball on a Northern Red Oak leaf.

Each time I spot one, I’m in awe for it’s such a cool structure. Though it looks like a fruit, it’s caused by a chemical reaction the leaf has when a wingless adult female wasp, Amphibolips confluent, lays an egg into a newly-forming leaf. As the egg hatches and larvae grows, that chemistry causes the leaf to mutate and grow with it.

The wasp is commonly known as an Oak Apple Gall Wasp, and thus this is an Oak Apple Gall.

We chuckled on the way down, for we did pay more attention to the flora, and couldn’t believe that we’d passed by this Lady’s Slipper display located inches from the trail. But that’s what happens when you are moving on My Guy-speed, and watching every spot where you place your feet. Our total count on the way down: 52, but I’ve a feeling we missed many more.

And hiding under some trees near the trailhead: Ragged Robin, a treat because I’ve only encountered it a few times. I love its frayed, yet delicate display.

Because our descent was much faster than the ascent (and still we counted Lady’s Slippers, but that’s why I think we missed some), I stole a few minutes beside Shannon Pond where a small field of Lupine bloomed.

And a female Mallard swam toward the shore. She and a few jumping fish were the only wildlife spotted today.

That was okay, for we had a splendid Mondate wandering under the clouds, which seemed truly appropriate since we were at the Lucknow Mansion property now known as Castle in the Clouds in Moultonborough, New Hampshire. Why did we wait so long to visit? Maybe because it’s practically in our backyard.

Lions, and Otters, and Moose Mondate!

~ lmachayes

We drove across the border and south today in search of wildlife. And we were not disappointed as our sightings were numerous.

But first, lunch. That in itself was a treat–mine being an Avocado and Roasted Veggie Panini. You are looking at the second half, which was supposed to follow me home. But . . . the avocado would have turned brown. And so I gobbled it all down. Sometimes, you just have to do the right thing.

We may not have been the only ones eyeing lunch, though what this Bobcat was looking at, we could not determine.

It was less than ten feet away from this second Bobcat and it appeared that they had their eye on the same little tidbit. Perhaps a mouse or chipmunk was on their menu.

With a lick of the chops, it appeared that the nearby Mountain Lion had indeed enjoyed a morsel of delight. So, the fact that we saw a Mountain Lion is rather curious because they were officially extirpated in New Hampshire. But . . . sometimes one makes it way into the state and perhaps this was one of those.

I love how its front paw rests so naturally on its back leg. And my, how big those paws are. Notice also that the claws are tucked in. Members of the cat family only use their claws to capture prey (or if conditions are muddy or in some other way slippery, then the claws are extracted to help with stability).

In the midst of our adventure, we stepped into a garden filled with flowers and flowering shrubs and trees, a haven for pollinators this early in the season.

And then it was on to search for River Otters, who had obviously decided to take a post lunch nap. And rejoice in the opportunity. Or so it seemed with those front feet raised.

Take a look at the bottom of those paws–with their five tear-drop shaped toes identifying them as members of the weasel family.

Our next sighting mystified us a bit. As two who are always looking for signs of Black Bears, we were thrilled to see this one. Every once in a while we are granted such views, but the troubling thing today was how the bear paced. Back and forth and back again. It was obviously anxious about something despite its ability to roam in a large area.

Birds were also part of our view, this being a Black-crowned Night Heron, or more simply Night Heron. Look at that eye–its color allows it to hunt at dawn, dusk, and even during the night.

The same is true for the eyes of the Great Horned Owl.

Okay, so by now you’ve turned into a great tracker and hunter and realized that there is fencing behind these animals. Yes, we had travelled to Squam Lakes Natural Science Center in Holderness, New Hampshire, about an hour and a half from home. All photos were taken through glass. Glass that was smeared with finger and nose prints.

The animals are only there because they were orphaned or injured or for some reason couldn’t survive in the wild. And they live in habitats that equal their preferred home territory.

The Red-tailed Hawk offered a shrug, maybe because it thought it should be out in the open. But, it had an important job to do here: to educate all of us. To be an ambassador.

How often do we get to eye all of these species up close. Their behavior might not be entirely natural given their confinement or injury, but I think it’s amazing that we can visit with them and that so many tots were there with their moms today, and there were a couple of school groups visiting as well. These kids get to meet these critters, and maybe will develop an appreciation of them, and who knows where that might lead.

Today was the beginning of a heat wave, and the Bald Eagle reacted by panting, its way of cooling down.

Our plan was to walk through the exhibits, and then hike some of the trails, including climbing to the summit of Mt. Fayal.

Along the way, we had a special treat, for we got to meet Barred 13, who was out for a walk as well, and panting.

The “name,” Barred 13 refers to the fact that this was a Barred Owl that came to the Center in 2013. As a policy, they do not name the critters who reside there so folks like us won’t think that wild animals should become pets.

Barred 13 was very curious about something in the vicinity. We learned that she once heard a Black Bear before her handler turned and saw it. And that she’s at the Center due to a broken wing.

The Barred Owl’s hearing is so acute that it can pinpoint the location of its prey. There’s a cool exhibit to help us humans better understand how well they hear, but I’ll leave that for you to discover upon a visit.

At the summit of Mount Fayal, My Guy found a bench upon which to sit for a bit and enjoy the view of Squam Lake.

What he missed, I discovered behind the bench.

A Pink Lady’s Slipper. The first for us for this year.

His comment: “Only one?!”

We are rather Lady Slipper’s Snobs. Truth be told.

Back on the animal exhibit trail, we stopped by to visit the Otters again. Thank goodness. The most amazing thing–we were the only ones there. The Otter exhibit is usually packed.

We quickly realized that the time to visit the Center is in the mid to late afternoon, after the kids have packed up and gone home. Or if you go earlier, do like we did and head off for a hike before returning to the exhibits.

The two Otters entertained as they constantly climbed up toward us and then did backflips into the water.

Up . . .

Bend over . . .

And swim.

And flip over and swim some more.

Lions, and Otters, and Moose–but wait. This moose was in the same pose when we left as it was in when we arrived. Allegedly we saw a moose. Well, we have a photo to prove it. But, unlike all the other critters, it wasn’t alive. Still.

Squam Lakes Natural Science Center–we highly recommend a visit, no matter how many years you have under your hat.

And lunch from Squam Lake Marketplace. The flour-free Chocolate Chip and Peanut cookies–a great way to end a meal, even if you wait three hours for the ending because your belly was filled by your sandwich.

A Mondate worth noting.

Savoring Spring

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

My paths were multiple this weekend as if I was on a quest.

On a bridge over a brook,

down a road through the forest,

beside a bog,

along a boardwalk,

and even following this guy down low and up high.

Together today, we circled another brook (if one can actually circle a brook, but we did),

enjoyed this view from lunch roots,

and dessert on the rocks where we could peek down on said roots.

Though I may have been alone for much of the weekend, I never really was for the bird song, including the conk-er-ies from this male Red-winged Blackbird, accompanied me where ever I hiked.

There were Eastern Chipmunks adding to the chorus as they chortled at me and I chortled back, though I did wonder if life hasn’t always been so easy for this one given the marks on its body and a very short tail.

I watched Painted Turtles bask, despite cooler temperatures, though the air was probably warmer than that of the water.

And I was chastised by this Red Squirrel, but really I had done nothing wrong–except to enter his territory without an invitation.

In the depths of the water today, tadpoles. HUGE tadpoles of the Bullfrog sort, which take two years to mature. I spotted tiny hind legs growing beside where the abdomen meets the tail. There were also lots of smaller tadpoles, too big to be Wood Frogs or Pickerel, but I suspected either one-year old Bullfrogs, or perhaps they were Green. Or both.

A few flying insects also brightened the days (and I have to say I’m not referring to Black Flies, which I hardly spotted–and actually caused me concern, for where have the little biters gone?), including this Anglewing butterfly. I can’t name it to species, for it is either a Comma or Question Mark, but never in the time I watched did it pose so that the underwings were visible. Okay, so My Guy and I spotted it today and when I explained to him the difference between the two, the C having a small white comma on its underwing and the QM, a small comma and a dot looking rather like the punctuation mark, he decided it must be an Exclamation Mark instead.

And in the same area, an American Lady added her color to the scene.

Leatherleaf’s bell shaped flowers reminded me of clothing hanging from an outdoor line.

And I’m really beginning to believe there are a trillion Painted Trillium, though I didn’t actually count. There’s something to admire about those olive green leaves and perhaps it’s that we don’t often see that color in nature.

I even spotted a few that chose a different paint palette. I could explain away the color of the leaves by thinking that perhaps they were showing off their anthocyanin, which gives fall leaves their red color and is seen in the spring as well, perhaps serving as a sunscreen for the plant. But the color of the petals was equally amazing, though who knows, maybe it’s common and I was just paying attention to it for the first time. That does happen. A lot.

And then there was the amazing blue hue of Forget-Me-Nots. I surely won’t. Forget you that is.

And Wood Anemone, its compound leaves notched, and flowers deeply veined, looking so tender and fragile.

Not looking tender, and hardly fragile, but still beautiful, was the carnivorous Pitcher Plant, of which I paused beside several. I’ve known this particular one for at least twenty years so when I encounter it, I always feel like I’m meeting an old friend. Because I am.

Hiding beneath its lime green leaves, American-Fly Honeysuckle’s delicate flowers did dangle in their manner of two. The shrub always surprises me, though it is a native, but I don’t get to greet it often enough.

All of these flowers bloom so early because they take advantage of sunlight before leaves emerge. That’s all changing now and in another week it will surely look more like summer around here. What I love about some leaves, especially American Beech, is that they are so hairy to start, and look like they’d make great fringed skirts for fairies. The other thing I became aware of this weekend, was the raindropy sound of their bud scales hitting the ground.

I love winter, but this season to follow is flying by, and already the Trailing Arbutus has reached its waning hour.

But there is hope in the form of others, like this Indian Cucumber Root, creating a second tier and a bud, and in a few weeks I’ll be seeking out its otherworldly flowers.

I’m savoring spring–before it moves on. I hope you are on the same quest.

Until we meet again . . . New York

~ lmachayes ~ 3 Comments

I remember when we’d take our young sons to cities and I’d hold a tighter than tight grip on their hands, or maybe it was their wrists, as we walked along sidewalks thronging with people. I can’t hold their hands in quite the same way anymore, and in fact, in their presence in a city (the older in Boston and the younger in Brooklyn), since that’s where they’ve both chosen to make their homes at the moment, their confidence and poise and graciousness make me feel comfortable. And they have become incredible tour guides.

And so it was that this past Friday, My Guy and I flew to LaGuardia Airport and began another New York City journey.

We were met at the airport by P, who drove us to the Prospect Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, where his girlfriend, M, was waiting and had ordered pizza because one of my wishes for the weekend was for a NY-style pie. Well, really, I wanted New Haven style, given my roots, but NY is the next best thing.

The apartment belongs to M’s mother, D, who graciously offered it to us as a home base for our weekend adventure. The view of the Manhattan skyline garnered our attention each morning and night, and we knew the Knicks had won their game Saturday because the Empire State Building showed off their team colors.

For as long as P has lived in Brooklyn, we’ve heard of Prospect Park, which encompasses over 500 acres in the midst of the city and offers habitat and respite for critters of all shapes and forms, including humans.

We had signed up for a two-hour tour with the well-informed Corinne as our guide. Designed in 1865, she explained that the park is considered Frederick Law Olmsted’s and Calvert Vaux’s masterpiece, Olmsted pictured on the left and Vaux on the right. Here, unlike in Central Park, they took advantage of the natural elements, though I was disappointed to learn that they’d filled in kettle holes created by glaciers.

We entered via the Endale Arch, which was built in the 1860s and restored within the last ten years. It was during the restoration when paint and wood panels that had been added because of rain damage were removed, that pine and walnut paneling was discovered.

It’s almost like passing through the welcoming doorway of a church.

I could have spent hours meeting trees in the park, but this was not the time, and so I reveled in the few we did get to know, such as this Camperdown Elm, whose branches grow more or less parallel to the ground giving it a gnarly bonsai appearance. The tree, grown from the Earl of Camperdown’s Scottish estate, was planted here in 1872, but neglected years later until in 1967 Marianne Moore wrote this poem to save it: 

I think, in connection with this weeping elm,

of ‘Kindred Spirits’ at the edge of a rockledge

overlooking a stream:

Thanatopsis-invoking tree-loving Bryant

conversing with Thomas Cole

in Asher Durand’s painting of them

under the filigree of an elm overhead.

No doubt they had seen other trees—lindens,

maples and sycamores, oaks and the Paris

street-tree, the horse-chestnut; but imagine

their rapture, had they come on the Camperdown elm’s

massiveness and ‘the intricate pattern of its branches,’

arching high, curving low, in its mist of fine twigs.

The Bartlett tree-cavity specialist saw it

and thrust his arm the whole length of the hollowness

of its torso and there were six small cavities also.

Props are needed and tree-food. It is still leafing;

still there. Mortal though. We must save it. It is

our crowning curio.

Though she passed about fifty years ago, the tree, thanks to Miss Moore, lives on.

Another that struck my fancy was the Osage Orange, though apparently I should be thankful we didn’t visit in the autumn when its softball-sized fruits fall. Then it might not be my fancy that is struck, but rather my head.

Though we only had a moment to glance at tiled ceilings, they were the masterpiece of Spanish engineer Rafael Guastavino. I can only wonder if a sunflower or some other composite flower was the inspiration for this one.

Much to our delight, as we followed the path, a Black Squirrel scampered along the ground and then up a tree. The Black Squirrel is a color phase of the Eastern Gray Squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis), also known as a melanistic variant due to a recessive gene that causes abnormal pigmentation. Do you see it peeking at us?

While our bird sightings were many, especially of Robins and Sparrows, we spotted one male Cardinal, one Mallard, and this one Cormorant swimming in murky water.

The species of the most abundance, however, was the Red-eared Slider Turtle. Though outlawed for sale today, Red-eared Sliders are the most common turtles kept as pets. They live long lives and need ever increasing habitat and food, thus many have been abandoned–their owners slipping them into the waters of the park unceremoniously in a practice that is illegal.

Thanks again to the generosity of our hostess, we also visited Brooklyn Botanical Gardens where Cherry Blossoms and an array of colors wowed us and thousands of others.

It was fun to glimpse over the shoulders of two artists and notice how their work reflected the scene.

Though these tulips each had a name, I would have called this spot the ice cream stand for the flavors seemed to abound.

Beside water, Horsetails or Equisetums did grow.

As did the almost ready to unfurl crosiers of Cinnamon Ferns. I love their woolly coats.

It was here that I had a brief encounter with another tree new to me, a Horned Maple. Acer diabolicum leaves are five lobed and coarsely toothed. The common name comes from paired horn-like projections from the seeds, but we were too early to spy these. We did get to see it in flower, though I think I’m the only one who noticed.

And I kept wondering where all the pollinators were, though we didn’t get too close to the Cherry Blossoms, but the Honeysuckles lived up to their names and were abuzz with activity.

If I had to name a favorite, it would probably be the Hybrid Magnolia based on its color and form. Simply a masterpiece.

We spent an hour enjoying a masterpiece of another sort, worshiping with others at St. John’s Park Slope, an Episcopal Church with a heavenly choir and an organ that filled the rafters with music both old and new.

And then we took a trip into Manhattan via P’s new truck. Haha. Yes. That is a Tesla truck. Just not my idea of a truck. And no, we did not travel in it, but rather M’s car.

P showed us the large office he works in where ads and films, but mostly ads these days, are produced and edited. And clients are wined and dined in situ. There’s even a staff chef.

And now, when he says he’s working from the office, we can imagine him in this space.

It’s located two doors away from the birthplace of Teddy Roosevelt.

Not being shoppers, we only stepped into a Yeti store, where of course, My Guy announced that he has the products on his shelves back in Maine. And he peered into a closed hardware store, cuze no trip of ours is ever complete without visiting one or two. But then again, no trip of ours is ever complete without stepping along a wooded pathway and noticing the flora and fauna.

But the main purpose of our trip was to visit. Family. And friends. And meet this little powerhouse who knew how to command the crowd.

My Guy was in instant love. And she was so chill.

We loved spending time with one of M’s brothers, her sister and niece, plus M and P. of course. We did meet up with M’s other brother, but somehow I neglected to take a photo. Sorry R.

Over the course of the weekend, world problems were solved and sporting events analyzed by these two.

And one of the highlights was our opportunity to attend their softball game, which they won because we were there, the good luck charms that we are.

He scored a home run, another run, and I can’t remember his other stats, though I’m sure My Guy and P have it in their brains.

M also walloped the ball and got on base each time.

And scored as well. We were mighty impressed because we saw the results of a slide she made into a base last week and how she could run this weekend was beyond our understanding.

At last Monday dawned and P stopped by the apartment to pick up laundry and say goodbye.

Until we meet again, thank you M & P, and D, and all the gang, including P’s colleagues who played in the game or came to cheer on the softball team.

We had a fabulous weekend thanks to all of your planning, and I just finished a bagel that followed us home. Family. Food. Oh, I didn’t even mention Frankies Spuntino and the delish eggplant marinara. And fun.

We love New York. Especially through the eyes of P & M. And then we love returning to Maine.