autumn

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.

Celebrating the Work of the Leaves

~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments 
In response to shorter days
and sunshine's declining density, 
leaves begin the age old process
leading to their demise. 
Like so many others, 
I make time to honor 
the tapestry they weave 
before they fall.
Chlorophyll, the green pigment
we associate with summer, 
and necessary for photosynthesis, 
slows and then stops manufacturing food, 
and the leaves go on strike.
Veins that carried fluids
via the xylem and phloem close off, 
trapping sugars, and promoting the production
of anthocyanin, the red color
we associate with Red Maples and Silver. 
Though in the same family, 
Sugar Maple displays 
the yellows and oranges 
of the ever present Carotenoids,
which had previously been masked
by Chlorophyll. 
Stripped Maple knows
only one hue,
making it easy 
to spot its large display of brownish yellow. 
One of my favorites
is the reddish-pinky-purples
of Maple-leaf Viburnum, 
a shrub with maple-shaped leaves. 
Ash follows suit,
though its leaves 
are the quickest to drop 
and disappear into the forest floor. 
Big-tooth Aspens turn a golden yellow,
but other colors
have a tendency to seep in
and create a striking picture. 
American Beech, 
Paper and Gray Birch 
show off a yellow 
to golden bronze presentation.
And a little late to the show, 
Northern Red Oaks 
put their colors on display
after other species
have already dropped their leaves.
Not really a part of the foliage, 
but still important because it is present, 
is the splotchy display caused by Anthracnose fungi,
a result of too much rain stressing trees
and not allowing them to properly respire. 
Once connecting tissues 
between leaf petioles and their twigs 
form a seal, 
the forest floor is colored with gems
that will eventually turn various shades of brown
as they decompose and restock the soil with nutrients,
plus provide food for numerous organisms. And shelter. 
In a Senior College (Lifelong Learning) class
this past week, 
I attempted to use watercolor pens
to capture the colors.
And then at home, 
I tried to do the same, 
only this time using watercolor pencils
to show off the vibrant variety of hues. 
In doing so, 
I was forced to slow down
and notice how the color changes
often followed the veins
in this biochemical process. 
Fall foliage is fleeting,
and I give thanks 
that every year
we can celebrate the work of the leaves.

My Artistic Path

~ lmachayes ~ 9 Comments

In a way, this is A Lost Art Found continued. It’s the rest of the story, at least to this date.

Once I got hooked on painting, I couldn’t stop. What I’ve discovered is that it’s a lot like writing. You choose a topic, which for me so far has been from a photograph I’ve taken as I’m afraid to purchase an easel and try plein air; complete an outline or at least jot down notes to get an idea of where you are going with the topic in the form of a values sketch; choose how to frame the story whether upon watercolor paper or canvas, and the media being watercolors, acrylics, or gouache; begin a first draft of sketching a wee bit on the mat of choice and apply a light colored wash; paint the basic shapes to get the story on paper which may be more representational than factual; and then tweak, tweak, tweak, which sometimes takes me eighteen drafts to get to a publishable product, and even then, I know more changes can be made.

But here’s the thing. I’m brand new to this art form. And thanks to Jessie, my teacher/mentor, I’ve learned a lot and still have more to learn. Then what’s the thing? The thing is that in every painting I’ve completed so far, there’s plenty I can critique, but at least one thing that I like and so that’s what I want to focus on. The rest I can learn . . . down the road.

After our spring session of classes ended, I decided to keep going on my own.

The view from the summit of Blueberry Mountain, Evans Notch, New Hampshire, looking toward Shell Pond below and the mountains beyond. My fav: the shape of the pond.

Frenchmen’s Hole in Newry, Maine. My fav: the color of the water, darker in the depths and lighter as if flowed over rocks to the next fall.

Sunrise, Lubec, Maine. My fav: the rope in the foreground. And the sky.

Carsley Brook, Lake Environmental Association’s Highland Research Forest, Bridgton, Maine. My fav: the trees leaning across the brook.

Lady’s Slippers from any of our counts as a gift for My Guy, who I’ve learned only likes to count them when they are in bloom. Since that season, he can’t be bothered to note the leaves or occasional seed pods and is praying it snows soon so I won’t continue to point them out. My fav: the shape of the flowers.

The fire tower at the summit of Pleasant Mountain. My fav: a sense of perspective with the mountains.

All of these were watercolor paintings. And then . . .

I purchased some gouache and painted Hemlock Covered Bridge. My fav: the bridge and the reflection, but also the lesson that this was a bit like completing a paint by number as I broke it up into different sections.

Fall reflection cropped from a river scene. My fav: All of it. It was like painting a jigsaw puzzle. And i loved creating the wavy lines.

Winter along Heald Pond Road, Lovell, Maine. The interesting thing is that this barn was taken down a few weeks after I painted this scene. My fav: the barn boards and the snow. And my learning–painting the lower background before adding the foreground trees.

Our barn at Christmas. My fav: The reflection in the window.

Interior of Hemlock Covered Bridge in Fryeburg, Maine. My fav: sense of perspective.

Sunlit part of spider web inside Hemlock Covered Bridge on mat canvas. My fav: texture of the boards and light between boards.

Bob Dunning Memorial Bridge, Pondicherry Park, Bridgton, Maine. My fav: the different beams that provide support as each represents a different species of native wood.

Approaching Bob Dunning Memorial Bridge on a snowy day when no one else had yet entered Pondicherry Park in Bridgton, Maine. My fav: the bend in the bridge.

Beaver at Albany Mountain trail, Bethel, Maine. My fav: the beaver’s face.

Denning Black Bear. Location a well-kept secret. My fav: the eyes.

Painted Turtle, Moose Pond, Maine. On mat canvas. My fav: colors of the water.

In August, Jessie offered a second class and we had to stuff our art critics in a box in the upper corner of the paper and leave them locked inside and then jot down what we wanted to work on for this session. She also had us take a look at Van Gogh’s style of outlining and bringing focus together.

And then, from a photo of our own, we tried to emulate the famous artist. This was a rough draft that I never finished. My fav: I love the colors and simplicity of it.

A second attempt at emulating Van Gogh. My fav: the trees in the background.

Third try. The sky was different. My fav: getting better at perspective.

In between classes I continued to paint. One of my absolute favs: Bandit! The porcupine I met in the yard last year. My fav: His face.

A Moose My Guy and I met in the beaver pond on Albany Mountain Trail, Bethel, Maine. My fav: His face.

What’s left of the Hayes Homestead, My Guy’s great-grandparents’ farm in Nova Scotia. My fav: shingles.

An amazing moment when I visited the vernal pool out back as the sun lowered and discovered that in the stillness of the water, a rainbow was created by the pollen, and while the tree shadows draped across the pond, they also were visible in their usual vertical presentation on the water. My fav: colors of the sunlight on the pollen.

Back to class and learning more about values. I have to admit that I don’t always heed this advice and do a values sketch before painting.

Photo of Ovens Cave, Nova Scotia.

Cropping the photo in sketches.

One final sketch before painting.

First attempt in gouache. My fav: colors of the rocks.

Jessie taught us a neat trick to check values by using a filter on our phones.

Trying to be more abstract with the same scene. My fav: the color of the water.

Values photo of the same.

The third time we met we talked about basic shapes and had to quickly paint trees. It was supposed to be six trees, but our class only got through four. I guess we weren’t so quick after all. My fav: the willow. But also thinking about different shapes. And how to fill them in quickly.

Hairy Coo My Guy and I met in Scotland. My fav: the ear tag!

Values sketch of photo she offered in class, and getting the basic shapes on paper.

And then we could only use certain colors to paint the scene, filling in the shapes first before adding detail. This was mind opening for me. My fav: making blobs look like trees.

The same scene using different complementary colors on the wheel. I struggled with the values in this one. My fav: the trees still look like trees.

This one has been the most difficult for my family to understand. An intersection of granite ledges and tree roots on Bald Pate Mountain, Bridgton, Maine, on a canvas mat. My fav: the tree roots.

Ledges on descent of Rumford Whitecap Mountain, Rumford, Maine. My fav: the trees with the mountain backdrop.

Bickford Slides, Blueberry Mountain, Evans Notch, Maine. And the discovery that I had accidentally purchased a small tube of shimmery white watercolor paint. My fav: water flowing over the mossy rocks.

Shadows across Hemlock Bridge Road, Fryeburg, Maine. My fav: those very shadows. And the rocks that line the road.

Back to gouache to capture the reflection of a falling down cabin on a small pond in New Hampshire. My fav: the trees and hints of the blue sky.

The final assignment took us two classes. This is the scene I chose to paint. Sucker Brook at Greater Lovell Land Trust’s Wilson Wing Moose Pond Bog Reserve, Lovell, Maine.

Planning with sketches, markers, and paint and figuring out what might work best. And simplifying the scene.

Jessie gave me a piece of Hot Press Finish paper upon which to work, and I have to admit that it was a joy to paint on this. I started with the sky color as the wash and then worked on the snow next, then the water, and finally the trees. My fav: sunlight reflected on the snow in the background.

After I shared that painting with a friend, she commented, “Can’t you do something other than snow until there is snow?” So, I painted a fall scene at the summit of Bald Pate. The mountain tops are not quite this color yet, but will be in a couple of weeks. My fav: contrast of colors.

My last painting to date on a larger canvas sheet was a Pileated Woodpecker that frequents our woods. I discovered, like the Hot Press paper, I really like the canvas except that it takes a while for the paint to dry. My fav: the bird’s head and the pine tree bark on the right.

That’s all I have to offer at the moment. And if you stuck with me this far, I’m impressed. Thank you!

I keep thinking about this creative journey and can’t wait to see where it takes me next. If you are interested, you can follow my artistic path by clicking on wmw art gallery every once in a while.

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.

Giving Thanks for Being Present

~ lmachayes

Those who know me know how excited I was to wake to snow. So excited in fact, that I awoke early, saw that certain glow in the sky through the window above our bed, and jumped up, not wanting to miss the day dawning.

At just before 6am, I turned on an outside light for a minute and opened the door to receive the quiet that the flakes created.

It snowed for a couple more hours before turning to rain and by the time I shoveled the driveway it was heavy cement.

But still the world glowed. Especially the beech trees that are like spots of sunlight on a gloomy gray day.

Into the woods, I trudged, though I didn’t plan to go far because I suspected hunters would be as excited since they could more easily track deer, so decked out in blaze orange as I was, I stayed in our woodlot, with the intention of checking on my friend, Red. His caches have grown this past week, so I knew he had food in the pantry.

What I didn’t expect to spy along the way was this: White Pines foaming at the mouth! What really occurred: sap salts and acids that had accumulated on the bark’s surface mixed together in the dripping snow and formed soapy suds or pine soap.

Pine soap on the tree and snow disturbed by plops of falling snow at the base of the tree offered a contrast of textures.

Much as I’m mesmerized by fire, I’m equally mesmerized by water, and especially in the form of droplets. I’m actually surprised I eventually dragged myself home.

But first, I had to watch the droplet elongate.

And eventually (which was only seconds later), fall free. Although, was it really a free fall?

I suppose it was, but it landed on another section of the bark and continued the process of mixing with the sap salts and acids.

The other cool thing about the pine soap–its hexagonal forms–worth a natural engineering wonder.

As it turned out, it wasn’t just the pine soap that was flowing down the bark. Some trees had started peeing. Do trees really pee? It’s actually sap and I think given the temp, that rather matched a March day, sap was flowing, giving the melting snow a yellowish tint.

Eventually I reached my friend Red’s favorite hangouts and though the snow conditions had deteriorated from the point of view of a mammal tracker, he’d left plenty of sign on top of the white surface to tell me he had dined.

A lot. But then again, every scale on the cone protects two tiny seeds and one needs to eat a lot to attain nourishment from them. That’s why he has to create caches or piles of cones to last throughout the winter.

I didn’t actually see Red today, and surmised that he’d decided to make an early day of it and was probably snuggled in somewhere under the wall, using the snow and leaves as insulation. I know from watching 315 15-second game camera videos a few Christmases ago, that Red Squirrels rise with the sun, follow much the same routine all day long, eating pine seeds, dropping scales, leaving behind the cobs, dashing along to the next cache, returning to the first, dining again and repeating this activity over and over again during the course of the day, before disappearing about a half hour before sunset. Each day. Every day.

On this eve of Thanksgiving 2023, I recall some sketches I did in 2019 at a workshop at Hewnoaks Artist Residency in Lovell, Maine. The presenter offered us a variety of materials to work with as we saw fit. My fascination with squirrels and pine cones is not new and that day I chose to sketch one in three stages and then highlight the scales of the opened cone with pieces of mica.

In the end, I give thanks for being present for today’s discoveries of pine soap inspired by snow, and tree pee (that reminded me of yellow topaz), knowing full well that not every moment is as bright and shiny as muscovite mica. And snow does melt. But here’s hoping more will fall. And I’ll head out the door and be present again. And again.

May you also have plenty of reasons to give thanks.

Porcupine as Teacher

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

I walked up two stone steps beside one of our pollinator gardens this afternoon and when I looked up, which wasn’t really up, but rather a few feet ahead instead of at my feet, I was startled.

“Whoa!” I exclaimed.

My sudden companion didn’t even make a peep, which in hindsight is surprising, because its brethren are known to make some various squeaks in different occasions, but it did turn quickly so that its back was facing me, such is its defense weapon.

Yes, in the middle of the day I met a porcupine. If you are a frequent flyer on wondermyway.com, you know that I’m fascinated by these large quilled rodents. And their quills. And especially their scat!

By turning its tail toward me, my friend was ready to go on the defense should I try to get too close. Notice how the 30,000 quills on its back side were raised–a message to me that I should beware.

No, a Porcupine cannot send its quills aflying, but if I nudged it, which I chose not to do, the barbed hairs would have detached easily and I would have been screaming for help.

Instead, my friend decided to move away from me. And I decided to follow at a reasonable distance, giving it some space.

Our property is bordered again and again by stonewalls, some once used to mark boundaries, others to keep animals in or out, and still others served as garden walls, their double-wide structures the garbage pail for small stones that popped up each year during the spring thaw.

My friend had a single wall to conquer and that’s when today’s lesson began.

Actually, it was a few lessons. Maybe the first was noting the coloration of my buddy. We are used to variation in colors of our local Porcupines, but typically they are either black, or black with a lot of white, or brown. This guy seemed to bear the “coat of many colors,” embracing all of the above.

Not only that, he donned a white mask, the opposite of a Raccoon’s black mask. Today that mask earned him a name. From this day forward, he shall be known as Bandit.

The second lesson Bandit taught me is that because his sense of sight is not as prime as his sense of smell, once he was on the stonewall, he had a difficult time making the move down to the next stone.

I moved to the other side of the wall, and watched in awe as he raised his front legs in the air and stood upon his hind legs, rather bear-like in stance it seemed. Okay, so he even looks like a mini bear.

I began to realize that I sometimes channel my inner porky when I’m hiking down a trail. Going up is rather easy, despite the increase in elevation and sweat effort. But coming down. That’s a different story and I need to know where to place each foot. Especially in this autumn season when American Beech and Northern Red Oak leaves are slippery and hide obstacles.

Bandit continued to test his next move for a few minutes. Of course, some of that may have included my presence, and perhaps he was also sensing my odorous being. I have to admit that I hadn’t showered this morning, and for one who has a keen sense of smell, I was probably a bit of a mystery since I didn’t smell like a Fisher or a Bobcat. Those are a Porcupines finest predators–going for the soft hairs on his face or stomach.

Eventually Bandit took a step of faith. I know the feeling because I’ve done the same frequently on a hike and it brought to mind descending South Baldface in Evans Notch, and thinking that I couldn’t possibly lower my body from one ledge to the next, especially given that I couldn’t see a safe spot to place my foot. Or any spot, for that matter. I thought that perhaps I should just wait for a rescue mission, but My Guy did what he does and patiently waited and then talked me over the edge. Bandit talked himself over the edge and that worked for him.

And then I watched him waddle through our woodlot, lifting first the legs on his left side, and then his right.

He traveled close to the stone wall that borders our land and our neighbor’s field and I worried he’d cross over and she’d let her dogs out and quills would fly. Well, not really fly, but you know what I mean.

Thankfully, she wasn’t home yet. And . . .

Bandit had a different idea. He started to climb an Eastern Hemlock on our side of the wall.

Higher and higher he climbed and I noted that like me, he much prefers going up to coming down.

Knowing that he was going up the trunk and would be looking for a place to settle down, and probably wouldn’t go anywhere else for the time being, I decided to leave him be for a bit and check on my friend Red.

I’ve actually been checking on Red frequently these past few weeks and today I noted that he’d finally started to really build up his caches in several places. Cold temperatures have triggered his need to grow the pantry.

And in the meantime, he needed to eat to maintain his stamina.

I also checked on the Northern Red Oak beside another stonewall behind our barn. I suspected that prior to our meeting, Bandit had been feasting upon the abundant acorn crop the tree had produced.

I scanned the acorns for scat, but haven’t turned up any sightings yet. That said, I’m sure it’s there and don’t worry. I’ll continue to search, because, after all, scat happens.

I also intend to keep an eye on a hollow within the tree, which in the past has served as a Raccoon’s retreat. Maybe this year Bandit will do some housekeeping in this place. Or under our barn. Or somewhere else, for the options are endless in our neck of the woods.

Finally, I headed out to the field on our neighbor’s side of the wall and up in the Eastern Hemlock spotted Bandit. Do you see him? I say “him” because males typically are the ones we spot during the day.

I’ve been waiting for such a sighting because it is the time for Porcupines to switch from a summer diet in a field or orchard to a winter diet of acorns and hemlock cones and buds.

Today I give great thanks once again for living in a place where I can spy wildlife frequently and always there is a lesson to be learned. Porcupine as teacher, as it should be.

Slippery Slope Mondate

~ lmachayes ~ 5 Comments

My Guy and I took in an old fav from a different perspective today. That’s because I always thought that the Micah Trail at Loon Echo Land Trust’s Bald Pate Mountain Preserve was for Camp Micah only. This morning I learned that anyone can begin the ascent via this sweet trail and so we made it our mission to do so this afternoon.

There is room for about four vehicles to park at the trailhead on the left-hand side of Moose Pond Cove Road off Route 107 in South Bridgton, Maine. Maps are available at the kiosk located a few steps in from the parking area.

Afew more steps and we met new bog bridging, always a welcome sight and so we crossed and then continued on up the trail, pausing frequently to search for bear claw trees among the American Beeches.

No such luck in the bear claw department, but we were serenaded by a flock of Chickadees singing their rather wispy fall songs, if they are songs indeed.

And a Hairy Woodpecker or two did what woodpeckers do . . . it pecked. This is a male as you can see by the hint of red at the back of its head. And he’s all puffed up, in reference to the brisk temperature of the day. Trapping air between his feathers helps him to warm up. Wearing several layers helps us do the same.

Once we reached the South Face Loop Trail, it was a quick ascent to the summit. Just before the summit, we paused to honor the bonsai tree–which is really a Pitch Pine. The summit of the pate is home to a Pitch Pine Forest. Though these trees can stand straight and tall, on mountain tops they take on a contorted structure.

The “pitch” in its name refers to its high resin content, thus making it rot resistant.

The needles are bundled in packets of three–making it easy to remember its name: Pitch–three strikes you’re out!

Another easy way to identify Pitch Pine is to look for needles growing right out of the bark–both on the trunk and branches.

Pitch Pine cones take two years to mature and upon the tip of each scale is a pointed and curved prickle.

They open gradually but depend upon fire for their seeds cannot be released until they are heated to an extremely high temperature.

That being said, this is the only native pine that will re-sprout when damaged.

I was told this morning that there had been some view openings and we were thrilled to discover a couple of them, includng this one overlook Peabody Pond with Sebago Lake in the distance.

And no visit to the summit is complete without paying homage to our friends Faith and Ben by taking a photo of their beloved Hancock Pond.

You may note the difference in the sky view from one pond to the next–snow showers are in the forecast for tonight so as we looked to the west, we could see the front moving in. No accumulation is expected, but any day now it will be most welcomed by us.

Though most of our foliage has dropped to the ground, another view at the summit included the scarlet colored blueberry leaves turning any day into a cheery one.

A quick loop we made next around the Bob Chase Trail, noting that we could almost see Mount Washington located in the saddle of our other beloved: Pleasant Mountain. On a clear day, this view is spectacular.

At last it was time for us to return to the South Face Trail and continue to follow the loop down. This section of trail we don’t often use so we did have to backtrack once and locate the orange blazes again.

You might think that upon our descent it would be the ice needles that gave us a difficult time. The six-sided slender ice constructions form in moist soil and can take on a variety of presentations from straight to arching curves. And yet, they grow perpendicular to the ground’s surface.

But, they were no bother and only crunched under our feet if we stepped on such in the trail.

The leaves, however, offered a different story. We had to make sure we weren’t fooled by the fact that many American Beech leaves still have some greens and bronze hues.

And others, though dried up, will wither on the trees until spring as they are marcescent (mar-CESS-ent). Some trees, such as the beech, especially those that are younger, choose to hang on to their leaves until spring.

Most deciduous trees drop their leaves in autumn, when cells between the twig and the leaf’s petiole create an abscission layer, thus causing the leaf to fall off. Not so in the case of marcescence, and I know that many will rattle and initially startle me all winter long. But, they also provide another hue in the winter landscape.

Northern Red Oaks also do the same, though in my observations, many are loosing their leaves with November winds, but some will remain throughout the winter.

Today, three seemed to play Tic-Tac-Toe on the trail before me.

So, young beech may retain their leaves, but look toward the sky and you’ll notice bare branches and look at your feet and you’ll see where they have all landed. A word of warning if you are hiking in New England right now–these leaves make for a very slippery slope, especially upon your descent. Hike with caution. Even My Guy has learned to do this.

As our hike came to a close, I noticed two trees close to the trailhead that I’d missed on the way in. An Eastern White Pine and a Paper Birch. Do you see what I see?

They had found a way to grow in the same space and actually fused together. Wind must have caused frequent branch movement. It probably took many years for the surfaces to gradually abrade, with the cambium of the trees touching and forming an adhesion, necessary for a graft union, and the trees fused.

It always strikes me when trees do this, especially those of different species. My Guy and I had been on a slippery slope on this Mondate, but the world seems to be on an even slipperier slope these days.

Maybe we all need to be like the trees and figure out a way to live together without so much conflict.

The Dear One

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

When My Guy looked out an upstairs window this morning, he noticed an anomaly in the field. I looked with binoculars and confirmed his suspicions. A carcass.

Last night, at about 5:15, we heard a single gunshot. Closer than any I’ve heard in the past. The gunshot itself is not unexpected in these woods as it is deer hunting season in Maine. And based on the date, hunters had until 5:50pm on November 4th to take down an animal.

Was it mere conincidence that we heard that single shot and today discovered a carcass on the other side of the wall? My first inclination was anger at the hunter. I assumed before I actually approached the site, that he/she had taken the deer down in our woods, then dragged it to the field to dress. And all that happened while I was inside reading in a room closest to the field. But . . . we never saw any lights or vehicles and so I had to wonder how the person carried the meat out.

Mind you, I don’t have anything wrong with hunting. In fact, I have huge admiration for hunters because they know the natural world better than most and they don’t have to go to the grocery store to purchase processed meat. Theirs is the finest and freshest.

It wasn’t until a couple of hours later that I realized it was a kill site. And so the questions changed: Had the hunter injured the animal and another animal took advantage? Or was the animal ill or elderly and a predator did what they do and preyed upon it, such is life in the forest.

If you are still reading, please be aware that some photos are kinda gruesome. But it’s nature in its rawest form.

This is the site that greeted us, and made us realize a full meal had been devoured last night. It’s amazing to think that this occurred so close to home and yet we heard no howling. Or . . . we were so tired from yard work that we slept right through it?

I promised you gruesome and didn’t want to let you down. Here’s the thing. By the head, you can see it was a doe. Had she been entered from the hind. So it seems. Who would do that. Well, coyotes and bobcats both do. And bobcats also go for the back of the neck, but that wasn’t the case.

I started to look around for more evidence. And found that there had been a struggle and the doe had been dragged around the field as you can see by the bloodstained grass.

Tufts of hair highlighted the tussle and I can just imagine how awful it must have been for the doe.

As is the case at any natural buffet, the entrails had been left behind.

Also on display was the rumen and other chambers of the stomach. This article from Wildlife Online helps explain how a deer’s stomach works: “Deer are ruminants, which means that they “chew the cud”. Indeed, the word ruminant stems from the Latin ruminatus, meaning “to turn over in the mind” or “chew the cud”. Cud is thought to have roots in the Old English cwidi, meaning “what has been chewed”. More specifically, deer are “foregut fermenters”, so-named because the fermentation chamber is ahead of the “true” stomach. Overall, the stomach is compartmentalised into four chambers, each of which has a different role in the digestive process and, in order from the oesophagus to rectum, these are the rumen (sometimes called the “paunch”), reticulum, omasum (“manifold”), and the abomasum (“true” or “glandular” stomach), which empties into the small intestine, which joins the large intestine and finally the rectum. Despite how this list might make it appear, the rumen and reticulum are essentially sections of the same the same functional space (chamber), because material moves back and forth between the two as it’s regurgitated for chewing and re-swallowed. Hence, some authors collectively refer to the two as the reticulorumen.”

Northern Red Oaks are masting in our area this year and so the acorn crop is abundant and after fermenting with microorganisms in the stomach, they begin to turn to a pasty cud. Don’t you want to regurgitate that?

When I looked at the ribs, I noted that they’d been gnawed off in a ragged manner and not one was left on this side of the doe. If she gets turned over tonight, I will check her other side. Think of it as a meal of spare ribs. Or at least rare ribs. Very rare. As in raw.

Crows visited the site several times today, but I scared them away each time I went out the door. What I did find on the carcass was a Blow Fly that I believe to be a Common Green Bottle Fly. Tom Murray, author of Insects of New England and New York states that their “normal food source is carrion.”

All the evidence I found was within about 20 X 20 feet and as I said, just over the wall from our house. I still can’t believe we didn’t hear any of the action.

Still thinking the hunter had taken that shot in close proximity to our property, I scanned the field looking for a gun shell, especially along the herd path, but found nothing. My neighbor thought the shot was taken farther out in the woods. I don’t know. It certainly sounded close, but that noise does carry.

Standing at the far edge of the field, I continued to look for evidence.

And that’s when I spotted several bobcat prints in the mud. Yes, the toenails are showing, for those who track with me, but . . . it was slippery mud and so they were needed for traction.

Bobcat. Maybe that’s why we didn’t hear anything. If it was coyotes, we would have heard the family howling to announce the feast.

And remember the ribs–with ragged breaks. That’s typical of bobcats. Did one bobcat eat all that meat? They are known to be solitary. I didn’t find a cache anywhere, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. And I did spot a large amount of scat, but for some reason didn’t photograph it. I’m losing my touch.

For a brief relief from the hard core deer carcass photos, because I wandered the field and woods looking for evidence, I noticed that Red has been active this last week, creating small caches that I hope I’ll be able to watch grow.

The Crows may not have cooperated and let me watch them dine, but Red did. And I began to wonder if he knew that a predator was nearby last night. Did he shiver in his sleep?

As for the doe, her sleeping days are over. May she rest in peace.

While she was a dear one, last night this deer lost. But others gained.

As my peeps know, I felt like it was a gift–Kill Site. Practically in my back yard. Did I interpret it correctly? We may never know, but I had fun trying to pull the story together.

And now, our neighbor has a game camera focused on it and we can’t wait to find out the rest of the story.

My Friend Red

~ lmachayes

It’s been two years since we’ve spent time together, and to be honest, I kind of doubt this is my friend from 2021, but perhaps an offspring. Anyway, what I do know is that last year was not a mast year in my woods and so there wasn’t much food available–the type my friend prefers to survive the winter months. But this year–pine cones and acorns abound.

As I headed down the cowpath that marks one of the boundaries of our property here in western Maine, I knew instantly by the chortling that greeted my ears that things had changed for the better.

You see, my friend is a Red Squirrel. And he spotted me before I spotted him. And then he let me know in no uncertain terms that I was not welcome. What kind of friend is that?

As I looked at the rocks along the inside path of the cowpath, I began to notice garbage piles Red had created, or middens as we prefer to call them, full of cone scales and the inner core or cob.

They were located in high places where Red could sit and eat in peace . . . that is until someone like me comes along, or worse . . . a neighboring squirrel, or even worse, . . . a predator. Given that a cone on this rock was only partially eaten indicated he’d been interrupted mid meal.

Maybe that’s why he continued to chastise me as he climbed higher up the tree.

It takes at least two years for an Eastern White Pine cone to mature. And once they do, Red has a habit of squirreling his way out to the tips of twigs, gnawing the cone stem and letting it fall to the ground. If you spot a pine cone with closed scales such as this, count the number of scales and then multiply that number by 2. That’s the number of pine nuts the cone offers.

And trust that all are still tucked inside.

Pine cones are in a way like Common Polypody ferns and Rhododendrons in that they predict the weather. If it’s dry, the scales on cones will open. If rain and humidity are in the air, the former being today’s weather, the scales will close tightly, overlapping and sealing the seeds from the outside world.

While wet weather dampens seed dispersal, dry windy days are best and that allows the seeds to be carried away from the mother tree.

In the photo above, you can see where the two seeds had been tucked in, close to the the cob, while the lighter shade of brown indicates where the wings or samaras that help carry the seeds were attached to the outer scale.

And I can attest that the sap on the scales is still sticky even though this cone no longer had any seeds stored inside. The sap coats the cones because its the tree’s reaction of placing a bandaid on a wound when its been injured or in this case had a fruit gnawed free.

One would think that Red’s face and whiskers would be covered in sap, and that does happen, but just as it stuck to my fingers initially, eventually it wore off. And Red is much better at grooming than I’ll ever be.

To get to the seeds, Red begins by holding the cone with both front paws, and turns it in a spiral, tearing off one scale at a time. Quickly! And gnawing each tiny seed packet open. The seeds may be small, but they are highly nutritious.

He continued to watch, vocalizing constantly, as I explored his territory below.

Upon every high spot, including tree stumps, there was at least a midden, but also a few cones for possible future consumption, though I did have to wonder if some went uneaten because he realized they were open and thus not viable.

More of the same I found upon some of the cut pine stacks we created long ago that serve as shelter and . . .

Storage! I’ve been looking for a cache for the past few weeks, a squirrel’s food pantry, and today I located a few small ones that I know will grow in the coming weeks. Cool. moist locations like among the logs, but also in the stone wall, offer the best places to keep the cones from drying out.

As he backed up but still chattered at me, one thing I noticed about Red, which will help me to locate him in the future, is that he not only has a reddish gray coat, but between his back and white belly there is a black stripe. Maybe he’s disguising himself so he can go trick-or-treating this week and his neighbors won’t recognize him.

So here’s the thing. Red is an omnivore. And though we associate him with pine cones, especially in the winter, he also eats flowers and insects and fungi and even smaller mammals if given the chance. And acorns. And this year is also a mast year for acorns in our neck of the woods.

He’d peeled the outer woody structure away and had started to dine, but again, something or someone, and possibly I was the culprit, had interrupted his feeding frenzy.

That said, I was delighted to find the acorn shell fragments because already in my collection I had samples from a Gray Squirrel and a Porcupine. Now I have all three and you can see by the tape measure how they compare in size, as well as the manner of stripping. As you can see, Red’s fragments are about a quarter inch in size, while Gray’s a half inch or so, and Porky’s are about three quarters of an inch. And the latter are much more ragged in shape.

Red. My Squirrel Friend. He just doesn’t know it. Maybe by the end of the winter he will because I intend to call upon him frequently to see what else he might teach me.

Dissing Fall Foliage?

~ lmachayes

It rained. And rained again. And rained some more. All spring. Seemingly all summer. And then we had a wee bit of a break as summer turned to fall. But . . . as important as rain is to trees, they didn’t necessarily appreciate so much of it. At least, that’s been the case for some species, in particular Sugar Maples.

Typically, the leaves on this Sugar Maple in our front yard don an orangey-yellow hue and add a glow to our front rooms in mid-October. Not this year. I took this photo on October 1, and as you can see, many of the leaves had dried up and fallen off prematurely.

The reason. The rain. Well, not the rain but related to the rain. Between all that water saturating the roots, high humidity, and warmer than normal temperatures, fungal spores attacked the leaves, causing them to turn brown and dry up since their photosynthesis had been slowed and they no longer had the energy to carry on into foliage season.

Probably adding to this particular tree’s stress was the fact that it had produced prolific fruits. It did look rather odd to see so many samaras dangling and nary a leaf. But, the silver lining, the fruits speak to future generations and next year’s buds are present and ready to overwinter for emergence in the spring.

That said, the front yard doesn’t look all that pretty with a pile of dried up leaves, but the chipmunk hole tells me that some local residents are thrilled–they’ve had leaves available for longer than is the norm to fill their nursery/bedding chambers and now that the seeds are finally dropping, they have an abundance of food as well.

With that in mind, my mind has formed a negative take on this year’s foliage. Oh, it’s been pretty in little pockets, but nothing to rave about and I was getting frustrated with Peak Foliage Reports telling leaf peepers how beautiful it is.

And so I wondered as we headed across a boardwalk to Long Mountain this afternoon, what we might encounter for color on our climb.

During much of the hike, Mill Brook babbled insistently . . .

flowed intensely . . .

and even roared immensely.

So much water, mimicking spring run-off, was the result of several more inches of rain that fell this past weekend.

Accompanied by the sound of the rushing water, and perhaps calmed by it as well, I began to notice the colors that surrounded us.

And when I looked down, there were jewels to be admired, like this Red Maple. Notice the V I added to the gap between the leaf’s pointed lobes? Red Maples offer a V-shape in the gap because they are VERY abundant in the Maine woods.

Fortunately, the Sugar Maples in this forest faired better than the ones on our road, which made me happy. So . . . how to tell the difference between the Red and the Sugar. The U-shaped gap can be thought of as a scoop. Get it? A scoop of sugar?!

Maple-leaf Viburnum, a shrub in the understory, had its own hues to offer. Usually I see these leaves in their mulberry shade, but either we were too late today, or this one decided to be much more pastel in hue. It doesn’t really matter because it was still beautiful, had fruits left for wildlife, and bright red buds preparing for the future.

It is a bit early for Northern Red Oaks, but some in the understory had given up their need to continue to produce energy and change is in the air, or at least along the veins.

A Quaking Aspen with its flat petiole (stem), was the greenest of the species we encountered today.

I think one of my favorites was the Quaking’s cousin, a Big-tooth Aspen, which also features a flat petiole. Oh, and what big teeth along the leaf’s margin.

I was reminded as I looked at this leaf that yesterday we learned of a man who when in kindergarten many decades ago, was allowed to use only one color of crayon. I suppose the same teacher also told him to stay within the lines.

As the Big-tooth Aspen can attest, nature is a much better teacher in that and so many other regards.

Okay, so I called the Big-tooth my favorite, but then I spotted an Elm. It didn’t feel quite like an American Elm to me lacking as it was that gritty sandpaper feeling, but being with My Guy, I didn’t have time to look around for more leaves or locate the tree. One day I will. The other choice is a Slippery Elm, but this isn’t actually their habitat. But then again, another lesson or two from nature–she doesn’t always read the books and there are no absolutes.

The cool thing, besides the tie-dyed coloration of this leaf’s edge, is the asymmetrical base, one side dipping longer down the petiole than the other.

And then there was the Indian Cucumber Root. I think what caught my eye as much as the red on the leaves and the fruits waiting for a critter to dine, was the negative space between the upper tier of leaves, creating a five-pointed star. Maybe they always look like that and I’ve just never noticed before.

Today’s hike began to give me a change of heart about the foliage. Whether at our feet . . .

or flying above us . . .

or forming a tapestry before us . . .

it was beautiful in its own way . . .

and I’m grateful that this turned into a Not Dissing Fall Foliage Mondate.

Witnessing the Past

~ lmachayes ~ 5 Comments

We’ve traipsed through these woods before, My Guy and I, but always, there’s the old to see and the new to appreciate. And so today we visited both.

By the shape of the forest road we walked, I could have driven another mile before parking. But . . . I like to walk. And besides, you can’t appreciate all the beauty that surrounds you on a wet autumn day if you fly in at 60 miles per hour. Or even at 20!

And because we walked, we found an off-shoot trail that led us to a sweet spot we’d not visited before along Great Brook, where we stood for a few moments watching and listening and smelling as the water cascaded over the rocks.

Once we got to the trailhead after passing around a gate, we followed another old road for a ways, up and down over a few little hills, and then, because memory was on our side, as the road curved to the right and the stonewall began on the left, we knew it was time to turn and begin a bushwhack up a road that hasn’t seen much use in decades. It was there that we spied the first witness. A tree standing over a marker. By the way the tree is growing around the sign, it’s obvious that it’s been keeping watch for decades.

So if that was the witness post, where was the survey marker? Atop a rock at the base of the witness tree. And 1965 would be the year that the sighting was first made.

Eventually we reached the first of the foundations because even when we are what seems to be deep in the woods, we’re in the middle of a place that was once somewhere — someone’s neighborhood. In this case, according to the 1858 map, we were visiting the Durgins.

My friend, Jinnie Mae (RIP), was an historian and tech guru and years ago she overlaid part of the bushwhack we did today on an 1858 map. You can see the name E. Durgin on that.

One of my favorite things about the Durgin cellar hole is the cold storage. In the cold to come, it will still serve as storage, so witnessed by the findings within today.

For the back corner has long provided protection from the elements for a porcupine, given the scat pile.

Because we were there, we decided to check on the Durgins who hang out a ways in the woods behind their former home and followed a stonewall to their locale.

Three of them were still there. Sarah, daughter of Anna and Ephraim (E. Durgin on the map), died in 1858 at age 22.

Beside her stood Mary, wife of Sumner Dergin, who died before Sarah in 1856, also at age 22.

Our best guess is that Sarah and Sumner were siblings.

Ephraim, father of Sarah and Sumner, and husband of Anna, died in 1873 at age 81. Did you notice the difference in stone from the 1850s to 1870s? Slate to cement. And the name change–Dergin vs. Durgin. We’ve learned through geneology research that spellings often differ. I found the following a few years back on RootsWeb.

8. ANNA3 FURLONG (PATRICK2, JOHN1) was born 1791 in Limerick, Maine, and died 1873 in Stoneham, Maine. She married EPHRAIM DURGIN June 18, 1817 in Limerick, Maine14. He was born April 13, 1790 in Limerick, Maine, and died in Stoneham.

Children of ANNA FURLONG and EPHRAIM DURGIN are:
i.OLIVE4 DURGIN, b. 1811, Stoneham, Maine; m. DUNCAN M. ROSS, April 11, 1860, Portland, Maine.
ii.SALOMA DURGIN, b. 1813.
iii.ELIZABETH DURGIN, b. 1815.
iv.SALLY DURGIN, b. 1817.
v.SUMNER F. DURGIN, b. 1819, Of Stoneham, Massachusettes; m. MARY ANN DURGAN, July 11, 1853, York County, Maine; b. Of Parsonsfield, Maine.
vi.CASANDIA DURGIN, b. 1821.
vii.EPHRAIM DURGIN, b. 1823.
viii.FANNY DURGIN, b. 1825.

Sarah isn’t listed above. But . . . Sally and Sarah were often interchangeable.

We ate lunch with the family as we looked out at the view they enjoy every day–possibly once called Durgin Hill, and then maybe Sugar Hill.

After lunch, our journey continued a wee bit further until another witness stopped me in my hiking boots. It took me three bear hugs with arms fully outstretched to completely circle this ancient Sugar Maple. Can you imagine the tales stored inside this great, great, great grandfather?

And at his feet, a wee one to appreciate –a Many-fruited Pelt Lichen, the many fruits being the brown fruiting bodies or apothecia.

A few steps away, we reached the Willard family foundation. Two large granite slabs are visible in the back and I had to wonder if they originally formed the roof of another cold storage.

Again, I referred to Jinnie Mae’s research. By 1880, the Willards house was occupied by the McKeens. And the Durgins were no longer living there, which makes sense given that Anna and Ephraim both died in 1873. The Rowlands had moved in to their home.

A newer member of the neighborhood, a Striped Maple, may not have known any of these occupants, but despite the full canopy of evergreens and maples and birches, it sure knew how to produce large leaves to increase its chances of survival.

Eventually, we turned west and followed an old road way bordered by stonewalls on either side. I remember when few trees grew there, but now one has to move through like a ball in a pinball machine, ricocheting off this tree and that rock along the way.

It’s well worth the effort because it leads directly to Willard Brook, which flows southward toward Great Brook , where we first began our journey.

Though I know the first part of the trip well, I sometimes get a bit mixed up with the second part and such was the case today. That said, as we scrambled up and down the sometimes steep hillside beside the brook, we came upon these wheels and bingo. We knew them as old friends we’d met on a previous trip.

There is so much history tucked away in these woods, and I gave thanks for two more witnesses, who despite their differences, stood together and supported each other.

We live in unceded Wabanaki land and I’ve come to some understanding of the Native American presence that once existed here in this place between Great Brook and Willard Brook. And I’m sure still does.

After witnessing the past, we walked back down the road as raindrops fell. A perfect hush to end the journey.

Omnivore, Herbivore, Insectivore, Oh MY!

~ lmachayes

I walked out the door this morning and wandered down one trail and then another and intended to go farther into the woods, but as often happens, I was stopped in my tracks.

On granite at my feet, covered as it was with lichens of the crustose and foliose sort, I spied a rather large specimen of scat. High point. Center of trail. Classic.

Based on the size and hair and bones packed within, I knew the creator: a coyote. If I awake during the night I can sometimes hear the family members calling to each other, the youngsters learning to hunt so they’ll be ready when they disperse.

The trail narrowed by a small stream and I was wearing my muck boots so proceeded at will. It’s been a few months since I’ve traveled this way and was surprised at how grown in it had become this summer. While the Sugar Maples do not like wet feet from all the rain we’ve had, other species have thrived, including the Red Maples, and this shrub that bordered each side of the trail.

It’s leaves still entact showed off that they are doubly toothed in a rather random order. So each little “tooth” is like the edge of a saw, but if you look closely, you’ll note that there are bigger teeth made up of a series of smaller teeth before the leaf margin cuts in toward the main vein and then heads out again to form the next bigger tooth made up of smaller teeth. And those veins in between the main vein and those that lead to the margin–reminded me of the crinkles on an apple doll person, since it is apple season.

The leaf buds, which form in the summer for next year, are hairy and have only two scales. Because of recent warm weather, at least one decided to jump the gun and open now rather than waiting until next spring. I’ve seen that with other plants of late, including Blueberry, Daylily, Sheep Laurel, and Partridgeberry.

Others who best not jump ahead are the catkins of this species, the longer green and red being the male pollen carriers that will slowly elongate over the winter and turn more yellowish red in the spring. The female flowers are tiny magenta catkins located just above the males.

Once the females are wind pollinated, the males will drop off and the females will form into a fruit that resembles a cone.

The name of these shrubs, if I haven’t already spilled the beans, is Speckled Alder, so named for the white dots (think lenticels for gas exchange) that populate the bark. These shrubs love wet feet, which is why they are growing on either side of that small stream.

Some of the Speckled Alder cones hide beneath tongues imitating piles of snakes stretching out, made from galls caused by an infection to increase the surface for spores from a fungus to spout. It’s a smart strategy.

I also found a few Lady Beetles today, including one larval form. They were on these shrubs for one reason.

That reason being the Woolly Alder Aphids who live a complex life in which they alternate between a generation reproducing asexually (no guys, just gals), and one reproducing sexually with both males and females adding to the diversity of the gene pool. The males and females fly to Maple trees to canoodle, but those found on the Alders are all female.

They live such a communal life as they suck sap from the shrub, that one might think this entire mass is just one insect. Hardly. And do you see all that waxy wool that covers their bodies? If you watch these insects for even a few seconds, you’ll note that the hairs move independently. It’s almost otherworldly.

Since they’ll overwinter, I think of the wool as providing a great coat. In the summer, ants, and now Lady Beetles, and even a few other insects farm them to get the aphids to excrete honeydew from the sap.

The aphids don’t harm the the shrubs, but I saw so many today that that fact is hard to believe. I gave up on counting branches but over one hundred played host.

That said, there was another character in the mix. Do you see the top branch that leans out to the right?

The sweet honeydew I mentioned forms a substrate for a nonpathogenic fungus called sooty mold that blackens leaves and bark beneath colonies of aphids. The mold is known scientifically as Scorias spongiosa or, my favorite and drum roll please . . . Beech Aphid Poop-Eater: A fungus that consumes the scat (frass in insect terms) of a Beech Blight Aphid (not the same as Beech Scale Insect that causes Beech Bark Disease). Alders are in the Beech family.

As I left a few Autumn Meadowhawk Dragonflies flew ahead of me on the path. They’re days are numbered, so I’m always thrilled to see them flying and posing.

Omnivore, Herbivore, Insectivore, Oh MY! And all of this within a ten-foot stretch of the trail.

A Week of Wonders

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Every. Little. Thing. Captures. My. Attention.

Whether wandering along the board walks at Holt Pond for six hours with a friend, or . . .

hiking up the new Patterson Hill Trail with My Guy, there’s always something to look at.

One of the most beautiful, and also most difficult to spot, is the Phantom Crane Fly, so named for its black and white markings. As it floats through the air, for I swear it looks like a little box adrift rather than an insect that is flying, its presence is so subtle that it is easy to miss because it blends in with both light and shadows. Shady edges of wetlands are its preferred habitat and that’s exactly where this specimen and a bunch more were spotted . . . at least in the moment. Finding them to photograph is not easy.

While the black and white coloration seems to help the crane fly disappear into its landscape, the White Admiral Butterfly, who utilizes those same colors, but with a different pattern, plus a few other hues in the mix, is hardly inconspicuous. And by the tattered wings, it seems this insect has escaped becoming a meal on more than one occasion. That, in itself, is reason to celebrate.

Of course, if you are a follower of this blog, you are hardly surprised to spy a dragonfly. It’s Meadowhawk Season, for those who thought the season is actually autumn. And take my word for it because you can’t see it, this is a Cherry-faced Meadowhawk, one of the most common species, along with White-faced Autumn, and Ruby Meadowhawks.

If you near water, be on the lookout for a bunch of pairs in tandem flight as he continues to grasp her behind her head while she dips her abdomen on the surface of water in the act of ovipositing eggs. Sometimes, many tandem pairs will oviposit simultaneously, for there is safety in numbers.

In addition to the Phantom Crane Flies, I’ve been looking for this species, a Pale Green Assassin Bug for months, and tada, a nymph makes an appearance. While its name sounds intimidating, this is actually an insect to admire for it eats flies, wasps, aphids and other small insects that you might consider pesky things.

This was another for whom I’ve been searching, stalking actually, as I pace around gardens. And then, the other day a colleague invited me to join her behind our land trust office, and there Charlotte was, writing a message in her orb-shaped web. Now to find Wilbur. But he’s probably busy getting ready for the Fryeburg Fair.

And today, it was this big Bumblebee that surprised me for though it moved its antennae and abdomen, it seemed to remain in one spot on the Gooseneck Loosestrife.

In fact, it stayed so still, that I was able to get into its face, without worry of being stung. Did an Ambush Bug have hold with its claws? Or was a Crab Spider somehow involved? I walked away several times and returned to find it in the same spot, unlike all its other cousins who were busy as . . . bees! But, on a final visit, it had disappeared. I looked under the plant and on the ground below, thinking it might just be a skeleton if a predator had sucked its guts, but found nothing, so can only assume that it finally flew.

The next two photos are of flowers and not insects. Actually, there are fewer and fewer flowers in bloom right now as we enter the early phase of autumn, but Witch Hazel has started to show off its ribbony display and that made me happy to think that all is right with the world.

Until, that is, I arrived home a few days ago and found a Day Lily blossoming in mid-September, which is quite late, especially considering all of its brethren had had their day in the spotlight back in early July. Houston, we have a problem. (And maybe sending more aircrafts into space isn’t the wisest decision.)

That said, dear readers, I leave you with something that I hope will bring a smile to your face as it did to mine. My Guy returned from a business trip toward the end of last week and said he had a gift for me. He opened his backpack and pulled out this box of Jelly Slugs! For those who know me, you’ll know that he knows me as well!

It’s been a week of wonders indeed, and though these are only a few samples, I’m grateful for every little thing that captures my attention.

Knowing My Place Through The Seasons

~ lmachayes

The longer one lives in a particular place, the more one gets to know its ins and outs and everything betweens. And that’s how it felt as My Guy and I wandered some trails at Bridgton Historical Society’s Narramissic Farm and Loon Echo Land Trust’s Peabody Fitch Woods this afternoon.

He, of course, took a coyote for a walk, trying to stay on top of the snow without post-holing, for such are the conditions. I’m not one hundred percent sure he knew he was walking beside a coyote, but together we did note snowshoe hare, fox, bobcat, and mink tracks. Oh, and a few deer as well.

We had passed by the house, this photo from 2018 when the beautiful Witch Hazel still graced the corner. It looked the same today, except that someone thought it would be wise to chop down that shrub. Drats.

The Temperance Barn that wasn’t really a temperance barn also looked the same, except that again, the shrubs on the right have disappeared. You can read about the embellished name here: Stories from the Eye of the Barn.

And the Blacksmith Shop now sports an update, including a new back wall. But the buildings weren’t the central focus of my train of thoughts as we wandered. Instead, I let my mind wander as well. Back to days of yore.

This is a place where I know not only the history, but also to search for Pussy Willows breaking bud along the long driveway,

Black Walnut’s monkey-faced leaf scar,

which provides a contrast to Shagbark Hickory’s heart-shaped leaf scar . . .

and bulbous, hairy Shagbark Hickory buds.

And once in a blue moon, on a bluebird kind of day, I get to meet . . . a Bluebird!

As spring turns toward summer, I’ll look along the driveway for another feathered friend, a House Wren.

And then it will be through the field that I’ll move as I make my way toward the Quarry Loop, and it is here that I’ll spot Purple Milkwort showing off its tiny, intricate flowers.

Upon the fence post at a trail intersection, I’ll spy something equally intricate, or at least I will if my luck holds true . . . this being a Sedge Darner Dragonfly.

And as I return to the field, I might just be surprised by a Katydid katydiddying.

As summer turns to autumn, I’ll be on the lookout for a growing Porcupette headed toward an oak tree in search of acorns.

And where the Thistle grows, just maybe the bumbler and I will meet again.

Looking for grasshopper molts will also be part of my mission.

And no fern fronds of what I believe to be Appalachian Polypody rather than Common, will go unturned, for one never knows when the sori (clusters of spore cases or sporangia) will be present. I don’t know why, but they always bring a smile to my face.

It is this place. Narramissic Farm, that draws me throughout the year and each visit I know to look for the familiar, but expect to be greeted by the unexpected as well. Knowing my place, this place, through the seasons. Traveling to exotic places is fun, but staying local is even more exciting

Making Tracks Mondate

~ lmachayes ~ 1 Comment

A dash of snow and an opening in our afternoon. What better way to spend it than hiking? And so we did. On Bald Pate Mountain. We followed the Moose Trail to South Face Loop to the summit to Bob Chase to Foster Pond Lookout. And tucked in a few miles.

Though there were tire tracks in the parking lot, we soon realized we were the only ones who had ventured onto the trails today. Or were we?

Within seconds, we encountered Red Fox prints, that chevron. on the back of the feet appearing in the snow if you really look. And remember, a fox is a perfect stepper so typically one foot falls onto or almost onto the spot where another foot had been.

The pattern left behind indicates that like us, this mammal was walking and following the man-made trail. Or did it? Perhaps we followed the critter’s trail.

In a wet spot, we discovered the prints of another who chose the high road to avoid the ice and water–certainly a smart Red Squirrel decision, unlike those poor decisions made when trying to cross one of our roads.

Climbing up the South Face Loop toward the Bob Chase Trail was new for us, as we usually continue along the base of the mountain toward the eastern side before heading up to the summit. We struggled with slippery conditions on a few rocks and soon discovered we weren’t alone for this coyote had also slipped a few times.

Approaching the summit, we were still surprised to find that our prints were the first on this beautiful autumn day.

We enjoyed the view toward Foster Pond . . .

and the same toward Hancock (and yes Faith, we waved to your camp).

It was up there that we spotted not only more Red Squirrel tracks, but also these Chipmunk prints. And you thought the little ones had snuggled in for a long winter’s nap, but truth be told, they don’t go into true torpor and we’ve spotted them or their prints occasionally in winter. Plus, despite today’s chill, it’s been such a mild fall and we haven’t had a decent snowfall yet, so there’s still plenty of opportunity to gather food for a cache.

Finally heading out to the Foster Pond Lookout, we found Snowshoe Hare prints and a very classic track left behind by a Meadow Vole.

Meadow Voles intrigue me because they can hop like a squirrel or hare, or walk with the zigzag pattern of a perfect walker like a fox.

And furthermore, Meadow Voles tunnel! We usually don’t see the tunnel, which tends to be in that subnivean zone between the snow and the ground until spring melt, but with last night’s dumping of maybe an inch of snow, it was quite visible.

Continuing toward the lookout, we spotted more Coyote tracks intersecting with those left behind by a squirrel. Up to that point, the squirrel was still alive since their tracks were headed in opposite directions. Good luck, Red!

And then on a ledge just before the lookout, we spotted feather and foot prints. A bird had landed and then it went for a walk.

And turned and went the other way before lifting off again. Based on size, we agreed it was a Crow rather than a Raven, though we often hear Ravens, especially on the other side of the mountain.

Finally, we reached Foster Pond Lookout, where the setting sun behind us made it look like the forest beyond was washed with color.

We had reached Trail End, but it wasn’t the end of the trail. Not for us anyway. Turning 180˚, we retraced our steps and headed back toward the parking lot.

As the sign indicated, it was time to go home. But we rejoiced–for we were back in tracking mode on this Mondate and grateful for this opportunity to head out on a slightly snow covered trail and embrace the brisk air, which made us feel so alive.

A Montage of Mondates

~ lmachayes

I didn’t realize sixth months had passed since I’d last shared a Mondate adventure until I went back and checked. Never fear, my guy and I have continued to hike or paddle almost every Monday, but most of the trails I’ve written about before and really, I didn’t feel like I had a story to tell on each of them. But . . . put them all together and tada. So hang in here with me. I won’t write much, but do have a bunch of photos to share and hope you enjoy the journey.

Sometimes it was the root way to heaven that we’ve followed upon an ascent.

Other times a brook crossing that added a little tension to the adventure.

And in the mix there were a few granite scrambles to conquer.

We stepped out onto ledges,

rediscovered the rocky coast of Maine,

walked beside water racing around boulders,

stepped from the trail out onto the summit of a ski area,

paused beside a teepee that has withstood man and nature,

strolled across an airstrip,

followed more ledges,

took in the view from a spot where a fire tower once stood,

spotted the ridgeline of our hometown mountain on the cloudy horizon,

danced with hang clouds,

looked back at a summit we’d conquered a half hour before,

considered taking a chilly bath,

and always found lunch rock with a view.

Our journeys found us hiking in to mountain ponds,

and paddling upon a pond by a mountain.

During fleeting moments we enjoyed fall foliage.

On each hike/paddle we saw so much including this Northern Pygmy Dragonfly,

a Field Sparrow,

a Silver-spotted Skimmer Butterfly,

and a spider wrapping a dragonfly feast,

And did I mention Lady’s Slippers?

Over the course of three hikes in one week, we counted 963 of these beautiful orchids.

And then there was the Blinded Sphinx Moth,

a Giant Leopard Moth,

and a Green Lacewing pretending to be a leaf.

Our hearts ticked a little faster with the spot of bear claw marks upon a bog bridge.

And occasionally we were honored to spend some time with one of nature’s great engineers.

There was work to be done as the Beaver’s dam also serves as part of the path to a summit and people kept ruining it for the rodent.

Often, we’d spy a stick that suddenly slithered because it wasn’t really a stick at all but a Garter Snake.

One day we even had the pleasure to go on a Puffin Watch and spotted over a hundred of these colorful seabirds.

Today, we actually spotted a Doe who posed for about five minutes before giving us a huff and dashing off.

And a post from me wouldn’t be complete without a photo of scat–this being classic Red Fox–tapered at the ends, twisted, and located upon a rock in the middle of a trail.

We had the pleasure of hiking with our youngest (though we missed his girl),

and relaxing after another hike with our oldest and his gal, plus their pup.

My guy posed as a lobster,

and a picker of blueberries beside the water’s edge,

and across a mountain ridge.

Recently, I was talking with a friend about wondermyway.com and how it serves as a diary of our adventures as well as all the cool stuff I learn about almost daily in the world out the door.

And she replied, “Your blog is a love story.”

She’s right for it is a love story on so many levels like this one. He’ll forever be a Maine Black Bear and if you are looking for me, I’ll forever be following him into the next adventure wherever our Mondates lead us.

The Richness of Life

~ lmachayes

In the midst of walking toward the vantage point upon the Mountain Division Trail in Fryeburg, Maine, grows a grass of distinction for its form,

All fluffy and arced as the seedhead is, Giant Foxtail seems an apropos common name, though its known as a pest to farmers who grow corn.

I’m struck over and over again as I walk upon the paved pathway,

by the colors and textures of so many seeds ready to float astray.

And then there is a tree that cannot make up its mind

and chooses instead to be two of a kind.

Its known as a conifer because it grows needles each year,

but this Tamarack sheds them in deciduous form as winter draws near.

I next pause beside one who displays all ages,

from yesterday’s cones to today’s catkins and tomorrow’s buds waiting to turn spring’s pages.

Some of the Speckled Alder cones hide beneath tongues imitating piles of snakes stretching out,

made from galls caused by an infection to increase the surface for spores from a fungus to spout.

Another with long, feathery white plumes overpowers a chain-linked fence along the way,

the seeds of this native vine, Virgin’s Bower, await a breeze to help them stray.

Other seeds also announce their presence, these hanging from trees.

Being Black Locust, their pods are inedible legumes related to peas.

Tossed into the mix these scale-like needles that make me think of braids form a flat spray.

The tiny flower buds at the tips of Northern White Cedar’s leaves preparing to bloom next May.

What amazes me most about this extremely warm November day,

is spotting flowers in bloom like the colorful Calico Aster array.

And then there was a plant bright yellow in flower with lance-shaped leaves of green on display for no apparent reason,

This Showy Goldenrod being one I couldn’t recall noticing before but will recognize when we meet again in another season.

Even the insects are confused this fall,

such as this flower beetle taking advantage of an in-bloom Yarrow offering a nectar haul.

One of my favorites though, knows that the flowering season should have ended by now,

As the Evening Primrose showed off a Christmas display of deeply-veined basal leaves meant to wow.

Thankfully, a nest the size of a basketball I spot dangling from a branch shows signs it is no longer full of life,

The hornets who built the papery structure have abandoned it, causing us who follow the trail no more strife.

At last, returning to the vantage point from whence I have come,

I’m filled to the brim with colors and textures that would mean only death to some.

At the end of today’s journey I realize

this place is as rich in death as it is in life and I have won the prize.

Celebrating a Gem-like Wonder

~ lmachayes ~ 7 Comments 
For several months

I’ve watched you,

always with awe, 

emerging from your aquatic form

and miraculously transforming

into a flying insect

that eats nothing

but other insects 

while combing 

woodland gaps.
Reaching maturity,

you find your way

back to the water’s edge

and hunt for a mate. 

Some say you aren’t territorial

but I know otherwise 

for I spend hours observing

as you land 

upon a leaf or twig

and then , , ,  

in a split second

chase a sibling 

or cousin off

before returning 

to your original perch

or at least another 

close by.
It’s in those spots

that I get to 

know you better, 

noticing your tan-colored legs,

which set you apart

from other 

Skimmer family members.
With a face 

of burgundy red

providing a contrast to 

that ruby red abdomen.

and your stigma,

those elongated spots

at the tip of your wings,

offering two-toned hues 

of the same theme,

you gleam like a jewel

in the sunlight.
At long last, 

you find yourself 

In the canoodle wheel, 

a dragonfly’s lovemaking form.
You grasp your betrothed

behind her head

while she places 

the tip of her abdomen 

under yours 

in a manner that allows 

your sperm to fertilize 

her eggs.
You, like your relatives,

stay with her 

in tandem

making sure 

it is the eggs

you fertilized

that she lays

upon the mosses

and other vegetation 

at the water’s edge.
Sometimes its

a group activity

with safety found 

in numbers I suppose.

Eating and mating,

your life 

as a mature being

isn’t long.

But still 

you live longer than 

most and don’t let

a few frosty nights

end your flight. 
Sometimes, though, 

a wrong turn

on the wing

and you end up 

on the water’s surface

struggling to fly free.

I watch for a few moments

until I realize 

what your 

frenzied behavior means.

It is then

I grasp a stick 

and offer it to you.
You follow suit 

and grasp from the other end

as I lift you out 

and find a sunny place 

for your wings 

to dry 

before night sets in.
When I visit again

I cannot find you

but can only hope

that the tiny red dragonfly

that poses like a brooch

on my blaze orange vest . . .
and then adorns my finger

is you . . . or at least another

saying thank you 

for the rescue.
On this 

fourth day of November,

 I celebrate you, 

‘Autumn Meadowhawk (Sympetrum vicinum)

for you are indeed

a gem-like wonder.