Canon

Great Blue Herons COUNT

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Community science, aka citizen science or participatory science, is an opportunity that allows laypeople like you and me to contribute meaningful data in a short amount of time that researchers can use to inform larger conservation efforts. And along the way, we get to learn more about a particular species, as well as those who share the same habitat.

For the past 25 years, I’ve had the pleasure of being involved in a variety of such local research projects, and one of my favorites is HERON Observation Network of Maine. For the last 16 years, friends and I have monitored first one and then several Great Blue Heron Rookeries (colonial nesting habitats).

With landowner permission, we visit the rookeries several times between May and July and our job is to count the number of nests, number of active nests, inactive nest, adults, adults incubating, young, and fledglings. It’s rather intense work to move binoculars or cameras from tree to tree and some trees have double or triple-decker nests, and some nests are tucked into the background, and young can be difficult to see if they are so tiny that they are tucked down into the nest, and it’s easy to get confused and then have to start all over again.

Ah, but I can’t think of a better place to be on a summer morning than in these wetlands where aquatic life explodes in color and sound and texture and even life and death.

Sometimes it looks like a female is merely rearranging sticks to create a stronger nesting site.

But then . . . much to our surprise and delight, a fuzzy head is spotted and we know we have babes to look for, and suddenly that makes the job more difficult.

Especially when one head turns into two and we have to add another line to the tally sheet while the adult cools off and seemingly shades the youngsters.

The adults, meanwhile, not only take turns tending to their young, but they also take turns heading off to fish for meals. And when one is secured, that adult flies back to the nest and takes a few minutes to semi-digest the food.

At this point, the young begin to squawk, and I’ve often wondered if their sounds encourage the regurgitation that follows.

Ever so slowly, we can watch the food item come up the big bird’s throat and then with mouth open wide, it coughs and tada . . .

The young ones are happy to dine on their own form of baby food.

Even as they grow, the feeding ritual continues. One parent will fly in and join the family, while prepping the meal delivery.

And the other will fly out the back door in search of more to fill those ever-begging mouths.

And the kids will squawk until the remaining parent provides.

As weeks turn to a month or more, the birds turn into tweens, growing to the point where one wonders how they can all still fit in the nest, despite the fact that Momma built it to be about three feet wide, using sticks that Daddy provided.

And those tweens, like so many of their human counterparts, start to preen between meals, fixing their feathers over and over again.

Preening is important for several reasons: to keep feathers clean, free of parasites, waterproofed, and properly aligned for optimal performance because that first flight is getting closer and closer.

Despite all their preening, however, the younger birds are still dependent upon their parents for meals on wings because they haven’t yet fully fledged and started their own hunting habits.

In the midst of taking count, life happens all around us and we rejoice in any other sightings that might distract, even if it means starting the count again. That’s why, at one of the larger rookeries, we have a few landmark trees so we know if we get confused we can locate said tree and count from there.

We also try to keep track of where each nest is located in the landscape, but if you were to read my notes, you might get totally lost. I do!

Other distractions include Red-winged Blackbirds, even if their meal of choice is one of our beloved dragonflies.

Spiders also make meals of dragonflies, but despite the fact that this female Eastern Pondhawk Dragonfly got snagged, she was still a picture of beauty.

And usually when we spot Wood Ducks such as this male, they fly at the first inkling of our invasion into their space. But when you are far enough back and tucked into the trees beside the wetland, sometimes you are offered a glimpse, and this was one of many in an old snag.

In the hike to and fro the wetland, there other offerings, like a Snapping Turtle on her way up a hill to lay eggs.

And while pausing to talk, a Tree Frog was spotted.

And we gave great thanks that it allowed us to invade its inner circle for a few moments. Look as those toes, the ginormous suction cups that they are.

Even a Little Wood Satyr added magic to the scene.

And under a tree we spotted a number of pellets full of bones. We don’t know the creator of the pellet, nor the food that was consumed, but someone had a favorite feeding tree.

And now the rookeries are empty and the tweens have turned to teens and must hunt for themselves. It’s a task that takes great focus, but those eyes are all seeing.

And the beak is quick to snag.

And though the meal may be small, its one of many to come and success is key.

I’ve tried to commemorate these morning’s with a few paintings, including this teen and its catch.

And an adult on the hunt.

The Tree Frog.

And one of the rookeries, this one being the most successful.

2025 numbers:

Rookery 1: zero nests as has been the case for about six years now and I suspect I’ll be told not to bother with that one next year, but then again, some other Great Blue Herons could decide it’s just the right place and build a new rookery. The last year that we saw nests and birds, a Bald Eagle was in the area and within a week there were no more Herons to count.

Rookery 2: 21 nests observed; 18 inactive; 3 active; 5 adults; 3 young upon the first visit in May.

21 nests observed; 21 inactive. Yes, all nests were empty two weeks later. We knew when we didn’t hear any squawking as we approached that things were not good, but we were totally surprised to not spy any Herons. What had happened during the two week interval we’ll never know. But we suspect maybe a Bald Eagle in this locale as well. Or maybe an owl? Last year, the rookery had declined drastically from the first visit to the second, but not to this extent.

Rookery 3: 1 inactive nest; 59 active. YES! 60 nests in all, an increase of 7 from last year. And of 2024’s 53 nests, only 46 had been active. So 59 was a huge number! Have you ever tried to count birds in a wetland, where the nests are at least a football field or more away from you? It is not easy. And takes about two hours plus the hike in and out to complete. Oh, and the count: the number of adults varied with each visit, becoming less and less as the weeks went on because they were out hunting for larger fish to feed their growing brood. The youngsters at our last count: 122, plus 7 fledglings. That’s a lot of mouths to feed. And think of size of those birds, some nests with 4 kids, plus the two adults. Talk about tight living quarters.

Shoulder and neck muscles tense. The brain gets befuddled. Mosquitoes buzz in our ears.

But at the end of the morning, I can’t think of any place I’d rather be than spotting these two sharing a moment and give great thanks for all the moments we get to witness because we take part in monitoring the rookeries and making the Great Blue Herons count.

Thanks also to my companions. I won’t name them because I don’t want anyone to bug them about locations, just like I won’t name the actual locations or their State ID numbers because these are special places that need to be left undisturbed.

Bee Quiet

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

They’re large. They’re robust. They’re in constant motion. Well, almost constant motion. You see, this story begins when I looked out a couple of windows at 6:00am. And then stepped outside.

For in the back garden, on the western side of the house, . . .

on more than one flower and in more than one pose, . . .

as well as in the driveway-side garden on the eastern side, Bumblee Bees slept.

I knew insects slept on plants and under leaves, but until this week I had only paid a wee bit of attention. And then, I went into my usual stalking mode and My Guy was rather amused.

Have you ever watched a Bumble Bee sleep? Even as the breeze blew its bed?

Because I was paying so much attention, I discovered one highly camouflaged Crab Spider had captured a Bee and turned it into a meal. While this may seem an easy task, for spiders capture insects in their webs all the time, I’ve come to learn that that isn’t always the case as I continued to watch this particular one. But I’m getting ahead of myself. In this moment, she had already immobilized her meal of choice and then secreted digestive enzymes into its body to break down its tissues.

That process meant she now had a Honey-flavored Smoothie or perhaps a RootBee Float to drink, the insect becoming a liquified meal.

As I moved back and forth between gardens, I realized I wasn’t the only one paying attention, though the female Hummingbird had nectar and not Bees on its mind.

After leaving home for a few hours, I returned to find this Snowberry Clearwing Moth resting on a Hosta. My, how its fuzzy golden body and black abdomen mimicked those of the Bees.

As for the Hummingbirds, the Bees were not bothered. As for me, I tend to get in the Bees’ way, but they gently let me know by flying toward me and then backing off.

One of my realizations was how much nectar the plants produce, and of course, how so many insects are rewarded with this sugary treat–as well as these little birds. Don’t get me wrong. I know plants produce a lot of nectar, but I hadn’t thought about how when it is depleted, it takes the plant time to create more. And each plant is visited over and over again. I guess I’m just jazzed that this year I’m seeing more pollinators in the gardens and field than I have in a long, long time.

Including a Tricolored or Orange-belted Bumble Bee, which I saw in the field the day before and then in the driveway garden adding its own buzz to the story.

And still the Hummingbird flew in.

When I was a kid, my mother planted Beebalm around the base of a tree in our front yard and I detested the smell of it. But as an adult, I cannot wait for these flowers to blossom in our gardens, and usually within a day the Hummingbirds arrive–seemingly out of nowhere.

Another learning of the day(s) was that because it’s cooler in the late afternoon on the eastern side of the house, the Bees slow down sooner and actually tuck themselves into bed over the course of several hours.

Not all beds are the same, and its interesting to see what the choice might be, like this Hosta flower.

It was after 7 pm before the Bees on the western, and therefore sunnier side, decided to find a place to repose for the night.

The next morning, while most of the Bees were still asleep, I discovered that Madam Crab Spider had turned her meal around overnight. I don’t know why, but I could also see the faint lines of silk that she had used to secure it in place.

She had a plan and it wasn’t for me to know, but I appreciated understanding that she had received energy from the Bee, who had ultimately received energy from the flowers, which had received their energy from the sun, and so the web she wove was full of the circle of life.

Meanwhile, on the shadier side of the house, the Bumblers were just beginning to rise after a long night’s sleep and given that the temperatures have been in the 50˚s these past few nights, it was heavenly naps I’m sure they experienced. I know I did.

Have you ever watched a Bumble Bee wake up? Notice its antennae starting to quiver, and the same for its abdomen. I had to wonder if both were an act to warm up its body on such a cool morning.

And before it had that first sip of nectary caffeine, the Bee seemed to wobble around, rather unsure of its footing.

Once the sun warmed the world up for everyone, the Hummer started flying as well.

A moment I didn’t capture that she and I both shared, occurred just after I took the videos above. She had flown into the garden much to my surprise because I was standing right there, rather than my usual distance away (think telephoto lens), and in flew her Mr. He alludes my camera because his visits aren’t as often, and they are fast. As was the case in this instance. All I could do was watch as she moved below the blossoms and paused on a leaf to watch him. And he performed an aerial dance creating figure eights over and over again, before flying off. It was one of those moments that will be forever etched on my brain.

As for the Bee that had been the Spider’s meal–once she was done with it, she had discarded it and I found the body on the granite stone below the flowers. The color was a bit different, and in my brain, I wonder if the Bee’s pollen bags had exploded upon impact.

I again left for a wee bit of time, but when I returned, much was still the same.

Except–the Bee’s body was missing. And only some legs and a wing remained. Where had they gone, I wondered.

Above, Bee after Bee tempted the Spider, but she didn’t make a move and I suspected she was sated for the moment.

And below, I suddenly figured out what had happened to the body, being the great tracker that I am (LOL!) An Ant removed the body parts one by one.

The Hummer still flew, and occasionally took a break right above my head and I was grateful for the opportunity to watch it without it realizing I was there.

The Spider began to change position, and move from one plant to the next and even when I thought she’d take a meal, she didn’t listen to me.

The Ant completely removed all signs of the Bee and I suspect there’s one mighty happy Ant family in the garden.

And the Bees. Well they are hardly quiet, but all that buzz is a wonderful thing.

I give thanks to them and their friends like the Great Black Wasp with its iridescent blue wings, and the Great Golden Digger Wasp with its orange and black coloration, and the Hover Flies, and the Skipper Butterflies and Tiger Swallowtail Butterflies, and so many others who feast here because I know that they are doing all of us a service by pollinating the food we eat–it doesn’t get any better than that.

Next time you see Bees in your yard, I encourage you to Bee Quiet and maybe they’ll share their stories with you as well.

Because of the Monarch

~ lmachayes

Just as a couple of friends and I were finishing a walk this morning, we spotted a Monarch Butterfly. One gal commented that it seemed too early, but I mentioned people have been posting pictures of them for the last couple of weeks. For all of us, that was the first of this season.

Back at home, I decided to do one of my favorite summer activities and stalk the gardens. Mind you, my gardens are not at all organized; they are rather like me–messy yet a wee bit colorful. I call them cottage gardens, but even those are probably not as random as these.

That said, they attract and provide for all kinds, including the Robber Flies who hide and wait and wait and hide.

Until a meal, such as an Oriental Beetle, enters the scene. I unfortunately missed the drama of the catch, but love that the Robber Fly was so focused on its meal that it stayed extremely still upon the granite post as it dined. As for the beetle, I was grateful for the fly because such beetles are garden pests.

In case you aren’t familiar with an Oriental Beetle, it’s similar in size to a Japanese Beetle, but as you can see, is much more drab in color. Those antennae, however, are fabulous and make me think that beetles with such are carrying around a set of forks, the better to create a salad.

Above the Robber Fly, a Silver-Spotted Skipper flitted between the Gooseneck Loosestrife that has taken over the driveway garden, and Hostas that are now blooming, seeking nectar wherever it was available.

Skippers are in the butterfly family and have you ever thought about how hairy they can be. Actually, I’m pretty sure the entire natural world is hairy.

Speaking of hair, its certainly true for the Common Eastern Bumble Bee, who stuck his red tongue into the plant’s nectary.

I’ve seen only a couple of Honey Bees so far this summer, but the gardens are full of Bumble Bees, as is the field beyond, and that makes me so happy.

And if you are worried about these critters stinging–they can and will if annoyed. But I’ve learned to be calm and quiet and they let me get into their space. If they don’t want me there, they simple take to flight and circle me or charge at me, but I know that is a warning and I need to slowly move away and give them their space.

Two-spotted Bumble Bees are also abundant. Notice his beard. And the yellow bands on his abdomen.

Also enjoying the offerings was a Gold-marked Thread-waisted Wasp, the first sighting of this species for me this year. Though in hind sight, I do think I spotted one dragging a dead spider across the patio the other day and suspected it was on its way to a nest to feed some young.

In another garden, I encountered a new-to-me moth doing its own wonderful job of pollination on an Ox-eyed Daisy. This is a Grapeleaf Skeletonizer Moth. Yeegads. What a name for such a lovely creature who held its wings straight out and flat the entire time I watched it. We do have grape leaves along a stonewall near the garden. And it also likes a relative of grapes, Virginia Creeper, and that too colonizes the wall.

One preferring not to be seen, was this little Crab Spider. I love that it has created a hiding spot by “sewing” the daisy petals together. And now it waits. Actually, by now, I’m sure it has had several meals and treats since I spotted it several hours ago.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t give time to the female Blue Dasher. I’ve seen her guy in the field, but she liked hanging out on the old Digitalis stalk. It was quite gnatty today, given the humidity, and I was hoping she’d make a meal or two, but I’m not sure that happened.

Instead, she spent her time in the obelisk posture, standing on her “hands” and sticking her abdomen up toward the sun to prevent overheating.

All of those creatures I saw because about an hour after arriving home from my walk, I saw a flash of orange out the window and realized that we too had a Monarch. It alluded me at first, but then I spotted it.

I remember when our 30-something sons were young, the Monarchs covered flowering shrubs with their presence. And now, sadly, we celebrate one.

I can only hope that as the summer progresses, this butterfly finds a mate, canoodles, and produces many more. I can only hope.

But . . . because of the Monarch drawing me back outdoors, when I was by one garden and had my back to our woods, I heard a scratching noise that didn’t sound normal.

Fully expecting it to be a squirrel, I turned around to peek. And was totally surprised by what I saw.

Oh, how I love it when that happens. Go without expectations. And be fully surprised.

As it crawled backwards down the tree, my heart sang.

One of my favorite critters was descending.

I did wonder, however, which way he would go once he reached the ground.

I had nothing to fear, for he headed toward another of the stonewalls that encompass our land.

He wasn’t aware of me, for the quills on this Porcupine’s back were not raised. Apparently I didn’t smell all that sweaty after all, for their sight and hearing are not great, but they do have a sense of odors, hard to believe given how much the scat that surrounds their dens stinks.

As he waddled over the stonewall and onto the trail I’ve created in the woods, I gave thanks for the butterfly.

Because of the Monarch . . .

Student Teacher in the Field and Yard Classroom

~ lmachayes

I am so thankful that I was born with a desire to learn and somehow landed in at a most pleasant neighborhood school. Of course, the classrooms vary depending upon the season. These past two days, and actually these past few weeks, I’ve been majoring in field and yard lessons.

Oh, don’t get me wrong–that doesn’t mean field and yard work, though I did help mow the lawn today.

Let’s begin, however, with the class in the field, which is really more of a meadow given how wet it can be and some of the species who call it home attest to that, including this Marsh Fern.

At first glimpse, I thought it was a Lady Fern, but there was something different about the leaflets–they seemed to present as three-dimensional.

When I turned the blade over, I saw why. On fertile leaflets, such as these, the subleaflets curl around the kidney-shaped indusia which cover the sori, or spore cases.

There are lots of other ferns out there including Interrupted and Sensitive, but Marsh is one I don’t often see, so to have it on display in the school hallway is exciting to me.

Meadowsweet, or Spirea, is another plant that doesn’t mind wet feet, also indicating that this class leans toward being a wet meadow.

And today, I met a new-to-me insect species with a funny name.

Tumbling Ragdoll, aka Mordella marginata, is a Tumbling Flower Beetle. I love the name, and am reminded that as a child I loved my Raggedy Andy doll made by an “aunt” who wasn’t actually related to our family; my sister received Raggedy Ann. Years later, my sister also later created Andy and Ann for me, so I have a complete set, plus one from “Aunt” Betsy.

Anyway, from Tom Murray’s Insects of New England & New York, I discover that these beetles are so named because “When threatened their escape method is to jump and tumble about wildly.”

For science lab, I will attempt a mere scare in the future to see if that is true; but today approached with care so as not to disturb them.

When I got up from my chair to sharpen my pencil, I spotted what my friend Amanda calls a B-52 Bomber Bumblebee. It was large and fast. But that didn’t disturb the Banded Longhorn Beetles at the top of the Meadowsweet.

They were mid-canoodle, and nothing was going to pause their intense interest in each other.

Upon another Meadowsweet, it was as if the whole community had shown up to pollinate the flowers, and miraculously, they all got along. At least while I watched. I love that the teacher had lined up this subtle lesson–about putting aside differences to work for the common good.

She reiterated it more than once.

Over by the window, there was another new-to-me species to meet. By their tiny, yet robust bodies, and long snouts that seemed to grow right out of their heads, I knew they were Weevils. If I got the answer correct on the homework, these are Rugged Flower Weevils, aka Odontocorynus salebrosus.

Ragged. Rugged. Interesting choices for today.

In the midst of it all, some old friends stopped by to visit, including a slew of male and female Calico Pennant Skimmer Dragonflies and this sole female Common Whitetail Skimmer.

I asked the teacher what is so common about this dragonfly that instead seems quite exotic with black splotches on the wings and a two-toned abdomen. I also inquired about the name Whitetail. She said she’d get back to me. Later, in the classroom next door, I saw a single male Common Whitetail, and its abdomen is much whiter (a light blue actually), so I know why that part of the name, but the female certainly wasn’t taken into account when naming occurred several hundred years ago.

And much to my surprise and delight, a male Spangled Skimmer stalked the halls, another indicator in my mind, that this is more of a meadow than a field.

Look at those white stigmas on the wings. It’s the only Skimmer I know of with such markings, thus making it easy to ID on the spot.

After recess, I crossed back over the wall to the classroom in the yard. Judolia cordifera is one of the Flower Longhorn Beetles, and those long horns were so obvious.

But that face. If I have nightmares tonight, I hope my mom will understand why. And my teacher won’t mind when I take a nap during class tomorrow.

Sweat Bees were also busy pollinating, especially the composite flowers, but its the Crab Spider who presented today’s challenge as the teacher wondered if I saw it. Camouflaged as it was, its duty is to mimic the daisy petals. For the moment the Sweat Bee survived, but the spider often wins in the end.

During lunch, this Gray Catbird landed about ten feet from the table where I sat with my classmates. As a person who dabbles in art, and loved Painting 101 with Miss Jessie, the many shades of gray stood out to me. But I was reminded that a Catbird is more than just a gray bird. First, there’s the small black cap, dark tail, and the rufous-rusty patch under the tail. Sometimes its hard to see the patch, but from my spot at the cafeteria table, I had a spot-on view.

And just before class let out, our school mascot flew in. Or rather, the child of our school mascot. Being so young, it was only an arm’s length away from me, but being the mascot, it seemed not to mind my presence.

Then again, maybe it did for the immature Red-breasted Nuthatch looke around, perhaps for back-up. I know it has several siblings, but the others weren’t feeling so brave as to stand so close to me.

At the end of the day, before the last bell rang, I realized that I was the student teacher–always learning something new and finding joy in sharing those learnings.

Today’s lessons were brought to you from the Field and Yard Classrooms. Stay tuned for more lessons.

Unexpected Finds On The Trail

~ lmachayes ~ 5 Comments

Being an overcast morning, it was rather dark as we hiked up a mountain through a hemlock forest, but that was fine for we began our journey on a trail new to us and it was on the cool side and best of all, not buggy.

And then, we reached the ridge and found ourselves on another trail we had hiked only once before in early spring. Suddenly we could see the sky. It was what was at our feet, however, that mattered most to My Guy.

His beloved blueberries were ripening. And tasted like sunshine despite the clouds above.

For Lowbush Blueberries, they were quite plump and oh, so plentiful. But we hadn’t come prepared to pick. And so we decided we’d move on. That is, until My Guy looked at his watch and realized it was noon, and wondered if we might want to find a spot in that vicinity to eat our sandwiches.

It was then that we both knew our lunch bag would become his blueberry bag.

Did I mind, he asked. Not at all. It meant I could wander and wonder and take in all that surrounded us.

And so he found lunch rock, chosen supposedly for the view in front of us, which included the Saco River, but also for the treats by his feet–an appetizer for sure.

After we finished our sandwiches, he took the bag and let the picking begin. I took my camera and let the sightseeing begin.

Pixie Cups and British Soldiers and so many more lichens grew among the mosses by my feet and I could have spent hours taking inventory.

I also found a sample of aged Red Fox scat that thrilled my soul. Back at home, my neighbor and I have watched our resident foxes pass through our yards and woods frequently, but being able to identify others who had previously traveled the route we chose today made me happy. My Guy was rather nonchalant about it, but I really wanted to add this specimen to my collection. He, however, had beat me to the bag and didn’t think adding scat to blueberries was such a keen idea. Oh bother.

There were White Pine pinecones to admire as well. It takes these cones two years to mature, thus reminding me that this will be a mast year, which the Squirrels and other Rodents will appreciate as they develop caches in their pantries.

I also watched Turkey Vultures ride the thermals, their wings raised in that telltale V as they teetered about in the sky.

And then My Guy called me over for he had made a friend. A small grasshopper hung out on his leg for a few minutes while he continued to pick berries.

But it was the call of another bird, that drew me away again, back to the edge of the ledges.

When we’d first started today’s hike, I heard the chick-burr call note of the Scarlet Tanager, but never expected to spot it a couple of miles later.

And tada, there is was, posing and calling in front of me.

As much as I wanted to call My Guy over to see, I didn’t want the bird to fly, so I took a hundred photos. Well, maybe not quite that many, but you know what I mean.

That beak–what a chomper. And that scarlet body. Those jet-black wings and tail. It was as if he was dressed to impress. I was impressed.

And only wish he’d brought his bride out to say hello. But . . . perhaps she was somewhere on a nest. Or tending their young, though we didn’t hear any sounds that would indicate there were hungry mouths to feed.

Still, he was sooooo handsome.

When the bird finally disappeared from my sight, I showed My Guy what he had missed. He was also in awe.

He picked for a little bit longer and I continued to wander, but the rain we knew to expect and had seen in a distance finally found us, so we eventually headed back into the woods to finish our hike, but first I stopped to admire a St. John’s Wort bejeweled with raindrops.

When we got back to the truck, it had stopped raining. I suggested that we had two choices for a late dessert–the brownies we had packed or a stop at Sweetie Pies Ice Cream. He agreed that the latter sounded ideal.

At the end of the day, he had his blueberries.

I had my time with the Scarlet Tanager. (Plus the fox scat that he pooh-poohed.)

And we both had ice cream to celebrate our unexpected finds.

Pineapple Orange for him. Death by Chocolate for me.

My Little World

~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

Between our six acre plot of land and our neighbors’ field, which is probably about three or four acres, I feel like we live in a special place. Oh, I know I’m not alone and so many others have their own special places. What I’m most grateful for, however, is the ability to enjoy it by wandering and wondering on an almost daily basis and getting to know it intimately. That said, there are always surprises and perhaps that’s what makes it extra special in my eyes.

One day recently, after spotting no activity for about two months at the Bluebird Box My Guy had nailed to a tree along one of the stonewalls, I noticed activity. In the form of a House Wren.

For hours, sticks were picked up and brought to the box, the better to build a platform for the nest cup to rest upon. Sometimes they were too big. At least to my untrained mind.

But a little finagling this way and that; I admired such perseverance. And knowledge.

Tada, in that stick did go to join the others. With many more to come.

For two days, the Wren worked in the same manner. And then. Nothing. Being a Male Wren, it was just being a Male Wren . . . filling a possible site here and probably in other boxes near the field, as well as in tree cavities and she chose a different piece of real estate to set up housekeeping.

To say I’m disappointed is an understatement, but it’s the Wren Way. And I’m only a guest here.

I love being a guest here because I see all sorts of Natives make themselves known, including this youngster who followed in the footsteps of its parents, crossing the yard at an angle. Fortunately, the backdoor often serves as a screen so I can photograph many of the species with whom we share this land and not disturb them.

That same “screen” helped me capture a shot of an immature Red-bellied Woodpecker, who has the slightest hint of his parents’ crimson red upon his head. He stops by at least once a day, but is always in motion. And never stays long.

The Cardinals also bring their young to visit on a regular occasion, and sometimes the young’uns even come on their own. Watching them reminds me that many wild parents are amazing caregivers. Beavers and White-tailed Deer and Moose and Coyotes are among those who stay together as a family unit for a year or more. But not all are the same, like the frogs and salamanders who lay eggs and then leave the vernal pool.

What I have to wonder is how does this all work–why do some stay with their young and others abandon them?

Speaking of young’uns a wee bit more, as I headed up to the field, I met a recently fledged Robin, its breast all speckled. Though the Robins are constant backyard visitors, it wasn’t till I wandered about the yard that I found their nest.

And now I regret that I didn’t realize its position earlier, for I would have enjoyed keeping an eye on it.

As I said, the field belongs to our neighbors and I’m eternally grateful that they mow a path meant for them and their dogs, but I’m allowed to trespass by climbing over one of our stonewalls . . . and I do. Daily. Sometimes several times a day.

It’s a place that serves as one of my classrooms and I’m always amazed at who I meet there, including this Frosted Whiteface Skimmer Dragonfly. The yellow and black thorax and base of the abdomen, indicate this is a female. And though you can’t see her white face, she has yellow spots on the thorax segments 4 to 7, with 7 being very small.

The most abundant butterfly of the season so far is the Tiger Swallowtail, and this one took advantage of the flowering Dogwoods at the top of the field.

Everywhere, there were Calico Pennants, one of my favorites (one out of a million), this being the female with her yellow markings.

While My Guy practices Yoga several times a week, the dragonflies do so even more frequently, especially if its super hot, like today’s temp of 91˚ that felt like 96˚, or so the weather app told me.

The Calico’s handstand is actually an obelisk posture, with the abdomen pointing toward the sun in a manner meant to minimize the surface area exposed to solar radiation. Again, I am in awe.

Calico’s male, bedecked in red, chose the same stance.

Back over the wall and into our yard, Oriental Beetles are making their presence known. What captures my attention is the texture of wings and thorax, and the hairy and spiky legs, and the funky antennae that look like handmade forks.

Apparently some mistake them for this, the Japanese Beetle, but though there are similarities in the wings and antennae, in my brain that’s it. These are not insects high on anyone’s list of favorites, but look at that iridescent green thorax and the hairy, dotted design on its abdomen.

I also spent time circling my newest pollinator garden and among the frequent visitors are the Fritillary Butterflies.

I do, however, worry about some other visitors who keep dining on the flowers rather than pollinating them.

In the wee hours of the morning and all night long, Deer stop by to nibble. There are at least two does and two fawns, and so far the garden has enough to offer them, and the pollinators, and me. But I do worry.

Especially since via the Game Camera I discovered that a neighbor I thought had moved on is still around, and the end of the garden may be in the mouth of the Woodchuck. I hope not, but we’ll see what happens.

That said, there’s another new neighbor in the ‘hood. Remember the male Wren who worked so hard to fill the birdhouse with sticks? And then I didn’t see him at this spot again. A few days later I spotted a male Bluebird checking it out. And tada . . . a female is sitting on eggs, I do believe.

My little world. It may be small, but really, it’s huge. This is only a smattering of what happens here daily and nightly and I feel so honored to be granted the opportunity to keep an eye on it all. It so enhances my life to spend time wandering and wondering upon these acres.

I hope you have a little world to explore and get to know intimately.

The Saga of Walker’s Rips

~ lmachayes

A friend recently mentioned a local road that I might want to walk down and determine if it was a good place to lead a walk for parishioners of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church and anyone else who joins us. As I drove in and the road changed from pavement to dirt, a rush of memories flooded my brain. And a smile embraced my heart.

About a half mile in, I parked my truck and decided I’d rather continue on foot to get to know the lay of the land better.

A flash of orange to my left and soon I was hunting for this Ichnuemon Wasp. It kept flying to the underside of fern fronds and upon reading up on it later, I learned that it was possibly an Enicospilus purgatus, a nocturnal species that likes night lights and gathers around them like moths. Maybe that’s why it was hiding from the daylight by landing on the underside of the leaflets.

Also hanging upside down was a Common Snipe Fly, aka the down-looker fly, which makes sense again given its location. They are known to prey on other insects, and I could only hope that Mosquitoes were on the menu for they were certainly all over me. Thankfully, only my face and fingers were exposed.

Within moments I arrived at the Mosquito hatchery and knew that there would be no relief, so I journeyed on because I’d come with a vision, but suddenly realized I was getting closer and closer to a memory of yore.

There were Racket-tailed Emeralds and other dragonflies on the move, but they hardly seemed to make a dent in the pesky population. But those great big green eyes. Oh my.

And when I went in for a close-up of a Whorled Loosestrife flower, I discovered a spider working on its web.

And gave great thanks, because certainly some Skeeters will get caught in there, and if you’ve ever looked around the natural world, you’ve realized that there are spiders and webs everywhere and the world is connected by silk.

And then I spotted one of my favorite spring ephemerals, Indian Cucumber Root, and celebrated the number of blossoms with their crazy large stamens nodding below and others slowly turning upward upon having been pollinated, and becoming green fruits in the shape of tiny balls. The root is a tasty little white tuber and it’s always fun to introduce it to people, though it shouldn’t be foraged since it isn’t an abundant plant most of the time.

The biggest surprise of all was the flowers of Poke Milkweed just beginning to open in the form of five-parted crowns. They seemed befit for a queen and I was feeling like royalty as I struck gold along this route.

You see, this story really began in 1985 when I was teaching high school and junior high English in New Hampshire. My summer job that year, after working at a donut shop and consuming way too much product the previous few summers, was as director of a tween program for Laconia YMCA’s summer day camp. I still remember some of the names of the cast of characters, including Starr and Rowdy and Melissa and Jess. There were ten of them who joined me daily for activities and each week we headed off in a 13-passenger van named Mabel for an adventure, including some overnight trips.

One of our adventures was a camping trip on the Saco River. At the Y, the executive director placed a canoe in the pool and we taught the kids how to do the J-stroke. They seemed to master it. Packing lists were made, food purchased, canoes rented, plans made with Saco River Canoe and Kayak in Fryeburg, Maine, and voila, the day dawned for our big trip north. Accompanying us was a 16-year-old lifeguard named George.

One special thing I remember about our road trips was that no matter where we went each week, it was always a new place for this crew as many had never traveled far from home. That, in itself, made the experience worth it.

On this particular mid-July day we departed from the Y at 9:15am, stopped in Fryeburg for a fire permit and some last minute groceries and then I dropped the kids and George off at Swan Fall’s Dam where they loaded their gear into canoes, while I followed Fred Westerberg of Saco River C&K to the site of our first night. The plan was to leave our food and tents in the van, and spend the day paddling to it, thus giving the kids time to practice their new skills without too much extra in the boats. The site, which is no longer accessible, was near Hemlock Bridge. Fred brought me back to Swan Falls where the canoes were ready and so were the kids.

Our journey began at about 12:30pm. Suddenly, the kids didn’t know how to paddle, despite all of our practice for days on end. At least three went in circles during the first hour. But, the river was beautiful and we stopped frequently to let everyone catch up and swim.

At about 4:30, we found the stream Mabel was parked beside and let the kids swim for a bit before paddling toward the campsite because Fred had told me our destination for the night was boggy and they wouldn’t want to swim near it.

With our campsite finally set up, dinner consumed and dishes cleaned, we went for a walk and then returned to enjoy the fire before settling into the tents for the night.

In the middle of the night one of the girls yelled out, “HELP! SOMEBODY! HELP ME!

Fearing the worst, I dashed to her tent and asked, “Melissa, did you have a nightmare? “

“The zipper on my sleeping bag just got stuck,” she replied quietly.

Wednesday morning we got up early, packed our gear in the canoes and headed downstream toward the main course of the river. Across from the mouth of our stream, was a sandy beach where we made pancakes for breakfast.

I’ve since learned that the stream we had camped alongside is really the Old Course. “The ‘New Saco’ also known as Canal River, or these days, simply the Saco, was dug as a diversion in 1817 to reduce area flooding and to shorten the distance to markets in southern Maine. This 6-mile canal cut 15 miles off the length of the ‘Old Course.'” ~AMC’s Saco River Map & Guide.

At last we were off and paddlig until lunchtime. At times we felt like we were traveling through a jungle and civilization was non-existent. Following lunch, we took a long swim break and then continued on, the kids having become proficient paddlers.

So proficient that a few got ahead of George and me and didn’t heed our warning to pause when they heard the water flowing over Walker’s Rips.

Two canoes went over the Rips without any problems.

A third got stuck on the rocks. The girls panicked when water began flowing in one side of their boat and out the other. George pulled his canoe over to help. I did the same. The girl in George’s canoe got out to go to the riverbank, where other canoeists also lent a hand. She slipped on a rock and got caught between the canoe and a larger rock.

My canoe mate and I quickly portaged. Meanwhile as George and the couple helped get the two girls and their gear out of the stuck canoe, and proceeded to get the boat off the rocks, several things went overboard. Thank goodness for Hefty trash bags.

I told the kids who were on a sand bar to pick everything up from the water and I swam out to get the now freed canoe.

At last we were all on the beach below the Rips, and I began checking for injuries. I had cut my toe just before I swam for the canoe, but I didn’t have time to deal with it and so I put on my sneakers to avoid further injuries. The girl who had gotten stuck between the canoe and rock complained of bruised ribs–painful I was sure. Another had hit her back on a canoe and a bruise was starting to develop. All were shaken.

The Caretaker at the AMC campsite by Walker’s Rips had contacted Fryeburg Rescue and Fred Westerberg. And ambulance and our van Mabel arrived within minutes of each other.

I followed the ambulance to Memorial Hospital in North Conway where the girls were checked over and the doctor kindly suggested that what they needed was supper followed by an ice cream. And maybe some Tylenol.

During all of this, I’d been in touch with the Executive Director of the Y and we decided it would be best if I drove the kids back to Laconia where we’d spend the night in the Rec Room and I’d have them call their parents in the morning.

Somehow during the night, I developed a nose bleed. And then I realized that my toe was throbbing.

The next morning, the kids packed up, we ate breakfast, and then their parents arrived to pick them up and hear the tale of our adventure, which got more embellished with each retelling. The good news was that they continued to let me take their kids, but we stuck to hiking and camping for future trips.

All of that said, it brings me back to why I wanted to remember this by writing it down (mind you, I have a couple of letters I’d started to family, that helped me fill in some of the details of my memories. But . . . when I walked down that road twice this past week, I realized that this was the road we’d driven out on and I suddenly knew the route we’d taken to get to the hospital.

You see, about thirteen months later I moved to the area and though I recognized the road where we’d pulled onto Route 5, I never gave much thought to how we got there. And we’ve gone down the river a bunch of times in canoes and kayaks and even once in an inflated boat and never had a problem.

What surprised me was to realize that the camping area is no longer open, but right in front of this sign was where the ambulance awaited the girls.

And the now seemingly abandoned Caretaker’s cabin had been open and campers and canoeists were all around the area. Now it was like visiting a ghost town.

I stood on what had once been the support for a covered bridge (Thanks to my friend Moose for piecing together a brief history of the bridge built circa 1866, which carried traffic across the river to Walker’s Island. It deteriorated and collapsed) and looked down at the Rips, which were under more water than they were on the July day of our visit.

Standing above the bridge I spotted the rock where the canoe got hung up–it’s near the upper right-hand edge of the photo, where you might see a bit of ripple in the water.

For a closer look, the rock which will be forever known as The Rock.

Below the Rips was the sandbar on the left, which was our gathering site as we collected all our belongings and assessed the situation. This week it was barely visible, but because the water was lower that day of our adventure, it was a more substantial beach.

I don’t know why I never thought to visit this site sooner via road, but am thankful that it was suggested and that I made the journey back in time.

I even dragged My Guy in one day because he had not been down the road either, and we then found our way to Pleasant Pond, which I think I may have visited with the kids shortly before we hit the Rips. Literally. Oh, and he’s not saluting the pond, but rather swatting Mosquitoes.

As for my throbbing toe all those years ago, after the kids went home, the Executive Director and I headed to the ER in Laconia and I received a prescription for an antibiotic and had to soak it and am here to say I survived. I do chuckle to think I was the only one with an actual injury.

The Saga of Walker’s Rips is one that has stayed with me all these years. And that summer job–one of the best I ever had. I only hope that the kids have as fond a memory of our adventures as I do. I’ll never know as we lost touch when I moved away to the Portsmouth area a month later.

In The Heat . . . of the moment

~ lmachayes

About dinner time yesterday, that is, dinner time for most people, as My Guy and I tend not to eat until about 7:30pm, as we sat on our patio, I suddenly saw action at a Bluebird house we’d nailed to a tree in the yard. After months of seemingly no action, a bird was flying to it and carrying sticks, and I realized that the male House Wren who has been singing from the trees had decided this just might be the place his loved one will want to set up housekeeping.

The action continued for about an hour last night, but then ceased.

And this morning . . . nothing that I could see.

And so deciding I wouldn’t have a chance to watch the fun of moving in today, I decided instead to head to a local wetland where the Painted Turtles taught me a lesson.

I love seeing turtles basking on logs and rocks in the water, but everywhere I looked today, they were not on any of these raised platforms. Instead, they floated. And it occurred to me that it was a brilliant strategy: stay near the surface of the water, but be a wee bit submerged, and therefore stay cool on the hottest of hot summer days thus far this season. Especially given that Painted Turtles have black carapaces or upper shells which are intended to absorb the heat . . . but extreme heat?

While I watched, I noticed that they all stayed in the same spot. How? By treading water, just like we do. Or so it seemed to me as I watched the feet move, but the head and shell remain still.

In all my years of turtle watching, I have never witnessed this before. Or . . . if I did, failed to take note.

Because I was by water, there were plenty of dragonflies as they defended their territories and ate some bugs on the fly and occasionally paused so I could admire and thank them. There were no Mosquitoes to speak of and only a few pesky Deer Flies.

This Four-spotted Skimmer and I spent quite a bit of time together because he was so beautiful and I could have looked at him forever, plus I loved watching him perch, then flight off to chase another dragonfly out of the area, and perch again, over and over.

But there were a few other things to observe. Well, more than a few, but only a couple that I’ll note.

Have you ever noticed how on a hot summer day the smell of fallen pine needles is intensified by the heat? I just love that smell. And where there are Swamp Roses, there is also an aromatic fragrance, and it seemed I wasn’t the only one paying attention.

Seeking nectar is the job of bees and wasps and flowerflies and other. Seeking a sugary substance is the job of ants. On Speckled Alders.

Ants “farm” or “milk” or basically tickle Woolly Alder Aphids that feed upon the shrubs’ sap and get the honeydew the tinier insects secrete.

That cotton candy look on the aphids is actually a waxy material they produce from their abdomens, perhaps meant to detract visitors. Or protect them from the weather. 

The relationship between the ants and the aphids is actually a form of mutualism as the ants protect the aphids from predators, while the aphids provide the ants with a food source. Hmmm. Maybe more of us need to pay attention to this way of living together.

At last I pulled myself away from the wetland, saying goodbye to all and thanking the Painted Turtles for today’s lesson.

Back at home, I heard the Wren before I spotted it and sure enough, it was back on the job of setting up living quarters. Male House Wrens fill cavities with a tangle of sticks and then he tries to persuade his betrothed to build a nest, which she does toward the back of the cavity.

He kept gathering sticks from the ground and returning to the box, though getting them through the hole wasn’t always an easy task. I wanted to encourage him to also try the slot at the top of the box, but my encouraging act would have had the opposite effect, and so I kept my distance.

It was rather like watching a gymnastics show, for such an acrobat was he. And like the turtles treading water, I’d never actually seen a House Wren build a nest before–my knowledge all gained from literature.

Smaller sticks worked well, but those larger ones were much more entertaining from my point of view.

And then there was a really complicated one. Such a challenge.

But a little wiggle here and waggle there and voila. The stick was in the hole. So was the bird.

Until the next one. And then more contemplation.

But all things are doable when you persevere, so of course, another lesson learned today.

I’ve read that House Wrens fill several cavities and then let the woman decide. Smart birds. The jury is out in our neighborhood because my neighbor and I know that either he or another Wren keeps visiting a different birdhouse that the Bluebirds have also considered for their digs.

Heading back in, I suddenly heard a Cardinal, and suspected it was the male because I haven’t seen the female in at least a week. Through the glass in the back door, there he was, feeding a chick! We have a baby!

And then I realized he was feeding two babies, and my, were they ever insistent.

I must say, the chicks look much more like their mother than their father. But he did a great job of tending to their needs, ever the nurturing one.

Today has been really hot, and I know you are all aware of that, but in the heat I managed to be present in so many moments and give great thanks for that.

Summer Fauna among the Flora

~ lmachayes

As spring bid adieu and summer waved hello, I found myself wandering and wondering with others and alone and stopping in my tracks repeatedly, which is kinda what I do all the time I guess you could say, but suddenly this week there were a few special events that called for attention.

The first was Momma Snapping Turtle that I spotted beside a trail as I co-led a walk with Dawn Wood for Loon Echo Land Trust. Thanks to the magic of a camera lens, it may appear that we were close, but believe me, we all realized the sensitivity of the situation as this mother was digging in the dirt and laying eggs right before our eyes and we were transfixed–from a distance. There were fourteen of us and we tried to stand quietly and watch and ask questions and after about ten minutes decided it was time to come up with Plan B and reroute ourselves so that we wouldn’t stress her out.

In another place a day later, it was a Painted Turtle upon which I focused and gave thanks that it didn’t consider plopping back into the water as they often do when we so much as breathe. From the spot where I stood, I think this was also a female, given the shorter nails, but I couldn’t say for sure because tail length and plastron (bottom shell) orientation are also key to ID. The male has a longer tail and a more concave or indented plastron, while the female’s is more convex or flatter.

That said, when I spotted this one, I knew its gender immediately, for like the Momma Snapper, this Momma Painted was also in the process of laying eggs. She pulled her head into her shell the moment I spied her.

In the few moments we spent together, however, she ever so gradually extended her head.

But I felt like she was keeping a wary eye on me. And very much wanted me to move along.

And so I did.

And then it was the insects that begged for attention, this being a female Calico Pennant Skimmer Dragonfly. Her coloration is yellow, while his is red. One of the things I love about perching dragonflies such as the Skimmer family, is that within their territory, they return to the same perches over and over again–flying off to capture food or defend said location, but usually back to the same twig or flower or one close by, making it easy to spend some time with them.

The Clubtail family is the same, this being a Lancet. These dragonflies often land on our dock or our kayaks and spend some time with us.

I swear they are as curious about us as we are about them. But maybe again, they are checking out our predator abilities. I much prefer letting them be the predators as they munch on Mosquitoes and Deer Flies and make time in the woods or on the water so much more comfortable.

And then there are those who seek nectar and Meadow Hawkweeds are a valuable resource right now for Flower Flies and Bees and Wasps and Butterflies like this little Northern Crescent. Last summer I spent a lot of time with this species in my neighbor’s field and was thrilled to realize that as long as there was food available during the fall in the source of Goldenrods and Asters, they were present.

One of the most abundant butterflies this year has to be the Tiger Swallowtail. Canadian and Eastern, and probably hybrids in the mix, they are everywhere. Everywhere. Adding grace in their flutter-bys and color to the landscape. As well as serving as pollinators.

Dropping drastically back down in size, my attention was also drawn to the Long Dash Skipper Butterfly. According to the comprehensive field guide, Butterflies of Maine and the Canadian Maritime Provinces, by PhillipG. deMaynadier et al, “The Long Dash is named for the conspicuous stigma on the male forewing. Found on forewings of most other small, orange and brown skippers in our region, a stigma is a specialized patch of scales that emits pheromones used during courtship. In the Long Dash, the stigma is surrounded by black scales, making it appear larger than it really is.” Thus, this would be a male Long Dash Skipper upon one of its favorite flowers, Red Clover. But from the book, I’ve learned I should also look for it upon Cow Vetch, Common Milkweed, Spreading Dogbane, hawkweeds, Ox-eye Daisy, and knapweeds.

Keeping pace with me despite its much shorter legs, the Six-spotted Tiger Beetles, which I love for the iridescent green, practically ran ahead, reminding of Chalk-fronted Corporal Dragonflies who insist upon flying five feet in front, waiting till I almost catch up, and then flying another five feet ahead, over and over and over again. The only time I’ve seen the Six-spotted Tigers slow down is when they are canoodling. But even then, they are on the move.

Another insect, which is much slower, may have significant value in our landscape. If I’m correct with the ID, and I’m waiting for iNaturalist to confirm, this is Atanycolus cappaerti, a parasitic wasp. I can only hope that my ID is correct, because . . . according to Cornell University’s College of Agriculture and Life Sciences, A.cappaerti “attack [Emerald Ash Borer larvae] at rates high enough to be considered significant for biological control. While studies are still ongoing, the use of the native parasitoid A. cappaerti for augmentative biological control would be desirable from an environmental perspective as it is already established and has a niche in the ecosystem.” That’s in Michigan. But maybe in Maine as well? Please let it be so. This past winter we all noticed that EAB had spread significantly in our area.

Basking just down the trail from the wasp was a Northern Water Snake who didn’t seem to mind my presence, and I tried not to mind its either.

He was aware of me, and I say he because in the Northern Water Snake world, the male is smaller than the female, and this one wasn’t really all that big, but still . . . a wee bit intimidating. Of course, it did nothing to make me feel that way, so the intimidation was all in my mind. Instead, he let me take a few photos and pass by without a confrontation, as is always the case. I remember once stepping out of a canoe and practically landing on one, who stayed put. And another time, realizing that one was basking in Maleberry shrubs at the edge of a pond as a few of us paddled by within mere inches–or so it seemed.

As spring gave way to summer this past week, I think one of the things that stood out most to me was sighting the turtles laying eggs. Though they don’t hatch at exactly the same time, it will take about two to three months for the eggs to incubate. Of course, temperature has much to do with that. But my experience in the past is that about the autumnal equinox we may see baby turtles crawling out of small holes, if not sooner. And if predators don’t get to them first. There’s always that risk.

I do love winter, but summer fauna among all the flora–so much life happening right before our eyes–its like an explosion of color and form and pattern and texture and sound. And it’s only the beginning. I can’t wait to see what the rest of the season has in store for us.

Vermonting We Did Go

~ lmachayes

Okay, so “Vermonting” is not a word. But we did go. And came home richer for the experience.

It takes us forever to plan a vacation, even a mini-one. Well, actually, it only takes a few minutes once we put our minds to it, but prior to that it’s a lot of “We should go to . . .” or “We need to get away,” or any of a myriad of other comments, and we do nothing.

So about a week ago we cleared our calendars. We knew kinda sorta where we wanted to go, but didn’t know where we might stay, until we discovered The Barn in Peacham. We have a red barn attached to our 1870s farmhouse and long ago turned the upstairs into a movie theater/rec room for our sons, all that being a rather rough rendition of either–the movie seats were from an actual theater in our hometown, which was the best part. The seats are still all up there. And there’s a pingpong table and an air hockey table and trophies (remember the Porcupine Invasion last November?) and various other things, plus now a Yoga area for My Guy, but it’s hardly like the space we rented for the weekend as pictured above.

Cozy, roomy, tons of natural light, everything we needed, even eggs and English muffins if we came up short for our first morning.

I think one of my favorite things, and I had lots of favorites, were the little windows that lined the floor in all four rooms. And above these in the kitchen, a Fannie Farmer Cookbook on a shelf. It was touches like this that enhanced the already perfect space.

And our host and hostess, Chuck and Mercy, were equally delightful, and full of information. Thanks to them we discovered Three Ponds Sandwich Kitchen in Danville our first night and marveled in the deliciousness.

But what we were really there for was to hike. And so Saturday morning we went in search of the trailhead to Peacham Bog. If you happen to see My Guy this week, ask him how that search went. We’re still laughing.

We did find the trailhead, but obviously not where we expected it to be. And at the recommendation of Brian at the Groton State Forest Nature Center, we decided to hike the two miles in to the Bog and then continue along a multi-use trail before reaching Devil’s Hill, circling back along the same route.

The natural communities along the way made us feel as at home as the barn, for we (read “I”) felt like we were walking among old friends such as the Mountain Woodsorrel. I love its peppermint ice cream presentation.

And then, in a damp spot Swamp Beacons lit the way and I was drawn back in time to my first encounter with them while tramping through the woods in Lovell with friends Parker, Joan, and Dave. RIP Parker–please know that you accompany me on and off many a trail and I know that you would be happy that I actually remember some of what you taught me.

Vowing not to count Lady’s Slippers, we didn’t. But they were there, though most waning.

At last we reached the coveted bog, where a boardwalk was long ago placed to keep hikers like us from stepping onto the fragile environment.

It was at this point that another funny story evolved, but again, you’ll have to visit My Guy at his store to get the rest of the story.

At last reaching the platform with a bench at the end of the boardwalk, we sat down to eat sandwiches and take in the scene and sounds that surrounded us.

Sphagnum mosses formed the peat base and laurels and Tamaracks and Firs and flowers and insects all expressed themselves.

I, of course, can never see too many Pitcher Plants and be forever wowed by those downward facing hairs that entice insects in to the pitcher-shaped leaves where the end-of-life lurks.

And the otherworldly flowers were in full bloom, including this one that hosted a long-horned insect and a sub-imago Mayfly (read: Dun).

I’ve been wowed by these for a long time and years ago drew this rendition as a teaching tool that now is the background for my iPhone.

There were Unadorned Bog Flies pollinating Bog Labrador Tea.

And Cotton Sedge showing off their hairy tufts.

Our next leg took us from the Bog to the Groton multi-use trail, being used mainly by horse riders and moose. We saw neither, but their tracks were evident in the mud.

What we did spot was this Aurora Damselfly being wrapped up by an Orb Weaver Spider. I knew the damselfly immediately because of the uneven stripe on the sides of the thorax.

And had recently tried to paint a mature form of the same species.

We also met a couple of Red Efts, the teenag and terrestrial stage of the Eastern Newt. The red spots act as a warning to predators because if consumed, they secrete poison toxins from their skins. As humans, we can touch them and live, but to ingest one would be harmful. So don’t try that.

A couple of miles later we reached the trailhead for Devil’s Hill and snaked our way up the switchbacks to the summit, where this view of the rolling hills and iconic geography of Vermont stood out before us.

On the way down, a male Luna Moth presented itself, hiding as it was under a Striped Maple leaf.

I love these leaves and their twigs, especially the growth rings that stand out so predominately, and My Guy appreciates that the leaves serve as Nature’s Toilet Paper. TMI? But really, they are easy to identify and they are soft.

Returning on the multi-use trail before retracing our steps on the Peacham Bog Loop, we had to walk through tall grasses and sedges, which did not make my heart so glad because this was heavy tick territory. I had on tick gaiters and repellant. We took at least five off My Guy.

But, this pair of Craneflies did share a canoodle moment with us, so that won me over for a second.

All in all, we hiked over eleven miles that day, and were too beat to go out to dinner, so instead drove to the West Barnet Quick Stop, about 1.5 miles from our weekend home. There we ordered Chicken Cordon Bleu Paninis with Pesto, and a salad to share. And while we waited for our meal to be created, noticed Shain’s of Maine Ice Cream in the freezer, which made us chuckle. Wait a minute. We were in Ben & Jerry Country. Never fear–they had a much better presentation in another freezer.

And, while we waited, I asked the woman who was creating our salad if she lived in the area. “All my life,” she said, and added, “So far.” We chuckled, but then I asked if she knew so and so, a couple I know from church who had lived just down the road for many years (a fact I’d only learned days earlier).

Her face lit up with a smile as she recalled them and said they used to frequent her other store and that their daughter had worked for her. As tired as I was, that smile of hers was the perfect ending to a great day.

Well, it wasn’t quite over yet. For there was no TV at our weekend digs. And so I taught My Guy to play Parcheesi, and then I beat him.

The next morning we drove north to Orleans to meet my first college roommate and her husband, Bev and Bill, at the Carriage House for breakfast. Funny thing–as I drove up Route 91, there was one car in front of us and approaching it, with its Maine license plate, I spotted Lakes Environmental Association and a Loon Echo Land Trust stickers on the rear window. It had to be someone from our hometown. Sure enough, as I passed it, I recognized the mother of one of my former students. And a wondermyway follower.

Betty, if you are reading this, that was us on the highway with you on Sunday morning at 8:30 or so.

We spent two hours talking and eating and talking and talking some more over omelets and coffee and Bev and Bill suggested that we hike Mount Hor, which overlooks Willoughby Lake. I’d been to Willoughby before with Bev and two other dear friends, but never hiked in that area. And so we did. They gave us easy to follow directions and we parked and then walked almost two miles up the CCC Trail. I love that this was another project meant to keep people working when times were tough.

Though the hard packed surface we walked on was not the original road, we kept spotting these posts and my theory is that they were original and held cables that connected one post to another and kept vehicles from catapulting down the steep embankment.

When we finally reached the actual trailhead for Mount Hor, I met a new flower. Canada Violet. It made sense since we were probably about ten miles from the Canadian border. Delicate. Pure white. A well-defined runway to the nectar. And leaves offering a different take on the violet theme.

What we soon realized was that it not only grew tall, but also in large clumps.

Oh my gosh, our next find–Maidenhair Fern. Such a unique presentation and color and, oh my gosh!

At the summit, we had three choices. First we headed to the Summit Vista, where the view included Cedar trees in the foreground and two delightful couples who were enjoying GORP and blueberries but when they heard that we had homemade Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip granola bars a la The Stow Away Baker in our backpack, they wanted to chase us down the mountain.

From there, we hiked another mile across the ridge line to the East View, overlooking Lake Willoughby.

While there, we spotted a Peregrine Falcon soaring on the thermals, but neither of us got a good shot of it. Still. Forever in our minds eye. And sometimes, those are the most memorable moments.

From the North Vista we looked across at the cliffs of Mount Pisgah and wondered how many more falcons we weren’t seeing.

Back down the CCC Road we did walk once we stepped off the mountain trail and my favorite find was a Mountain Maple, that stopped me in my steps for a few minutes as I had to remember who it was that I was meeting.

Back at Lake Willoughby North Beach, Mount Hor is on the right and Mount Pisgah on the left, creating a fjord-like presentation.

From there, we drove south to South Barton as I let my nose lead the way and found a cemetery I’ve visited in the past for some of my ancestors are buried here.

Recognizing family names is always a treasure. And actually, within the post railings of this place I noted at least three different families that have contributed to my DNA. I’m pretty sure my love of the north country, be it Northern New England or Canada, comes from these folks.

On the way back to our home base, we grabbed sandwiches to go from Three Ponds and gave thanks for their goodness.

And then this morning, after packing and cleaning and chatting briefly with Chuck, we had one more place to explore–Kettle Pond State Park within Groton State Forest.

So here’s the thing. My understanding of a kettle bog is that it’s kettle or bowl shaped. And has an outer layer of herbs, with the next layer surrounding it of taller herbs, and then a third layer of shrubs encircling the kettle, and finally, trees who like wet feet, like Red Maples, forming the final ridge around the pond.

None of this was present. Well, there were shrubs and trees, but not in layers like I’m used to seeing. And the shape of the pond was more north-to-south glacial-related than kettle-related. Hmmm?

Still, some great finds like this Spotted Salamander egg mass along with four others in a deep puddle along the trail. Can you see the embryos forming?

And a Garter Snake that had been basking on a rock in the trail until we happened along.

And Twin Flowers, each sharing a petiole, growing like a mat along a glacial erratic.

And Stair-Step Moss growing abundantly like a set of stairs here and there and even over there.

And a warning, which was more of an invitation at the only private cabin along the way, a route which offers lean-to shelters for groups to rent. I love this sign. We looked forward to meeting said dog, but sadly, no one was home.

Flat-fruited Pelt Lichen also lined the trail. So much to see. So much more to learn.

Oh, and an Eastern Newt in the water. It was like the Newt brought the trail to a full circle beginning with the Red Eft on our first hike of the weekend and ending with this adult form.

Our time Vermonting came to an end this afternoon, but oh, what a wonder-filled time we had. We hiked so many miles while meeting old and new friends, dined with dear old friends, met friends of friends who were old friends to each other and new friends to us, and just plain had fun making new memories.

Thank you Chuck and Mercy, and Bev and Bill, and Debbie and those at Three Ponds, and Brian at the Nature Center, and to all the others we met along the way for making our experience such a rich one.

Vermonting we did go. Word or no word, it was exactly what we needed.

Where The Moccasins Led Us

~ lmachayes

Rituals. We follow them. Some more than others.

For My Guy and me, there is one in particular that captures our attention beginning in mid-May.

And so I follow him . . . across Beaver dams,

beside the Atlantic Ocean,

up mountain trails,

even on the hottest day so far with Canada wildfire smoke casting a haze.

This year it was more trails than usual that were included in our ritual and along the way we spotted Wild Columbine in bloom, growing as it does among the rocks, and always pleasing our senses with its brilliant colors and artistic nodding presentation.

Fringed Polygala, and how I love the way those two words roll of my tongue, also showed off, making its common name of Gaywings so apparent. Doesn’t it look like a Bird of Paradise coming in for a landing upon its very own leaves?

Upon one of our journeys we found a few Red Trilliums still in bloom, though it seemed late in the season for them. But as My Guy teases, I did what I do and added this photo to the other trillion I have of this plant. They all need to be honored, don’t they?

Seemingly everywhere, Clintonia, aka Blue-Bead Lily bloomed, adding specks of sunshine to the path and lighting our way, even on the grayest or rainiest of days. Yes, we even hike on rainy days.

On sunnier days, the Tiger Swallowtails added their own yellow to the equation. Can you see the tiny pretarsi or insect feet of the butterfly as it held on why sucking the flower’s nectar?

This spring it seems the Tiger Swallowtails are everywhere we travel by foot or truck. What I love about this one is that it was taking a break upon the leaves and you might be able to see its proboscis or siphoning mouthpart coiled up because there was no nectar to seek in that moment.

Right now the Swallowtail butterflies are the largest we’ve seen flying, but during a hike the other day, we spotted one of the smaller ones, this being a Northern Azure feasting upon Black Chokeberry flowers at a summit.

Jack, or rather Jill-in-the-Pulpit, for she needed the extra leaves to help her in her mission of producing seeds, greeted us in various places where the soil was moist including beside the cow path in our woods, where it totally surprised me despite the fact that we’ve lived in this house and wandered about for over thirty years.

As one week turned to the next, and the flowers that were in full bloom kept changing, suddenly Bunchberry was added to the list. Again, like Jill-in-the-Pulpit, Bunchberry needs two extra leaves in order to have more energy to produce flowers followed by the berried fruits that bunch together in a cluster of bright red. You may look at the veins on those leaves and immediately know the family to which this wee plant belongs–if you guessed Dogwood, you are correct.

One of the earliest bloomers of spring, has already formed into a fruit, in this case three sided. Meet the Wild Oat of Sessile-leaf Bellwort. It reminds me that in a snap of the fingers, the season passes by much too quickly.

It wasn’t just flowers that marked our journeys. About the same time that we began the latest ritual, dragonflies and damselflies slowly began to emerge, for which we always give great thanks as they gobble up some of the Mosquitoes and Black Flies that so annoy us. This American Emerald had only just made the transformation from aquatic form to terrestrial hours earlier based on the sheen still visible on its drying, but not quiet dried yet, wings.

Much more mature were these two, who had formed the marital wheel in order to canoodle. I knew they were Emerald Dragonflies, but wasn’t sure which species until I searched my guides back at home: Uhler’s Sundragon, a new species for me.

And in at least one spot, some smaller female dragonflies deposited eggs as they tapped the water’s surface with their abdomens. Think of it as Naiads to come, who will live in the water for 1 – 3 years, depending upon species, before climbing out and transforming miraculously into terrestrial fliers.

Being beside water in another place, and looking between tree branches, we spied a Common Merganser taking a bath.

We stood just far enough back, that it didn’t realize it had an audience as it splished and splashed.

And finally shook itself off, with water spraying everywhere, before it continued on its journey . . . and we did the same.

Basking Painted Turtles became a common sight as well, and this one had the cushiest place upon which to recline, all others being on fallen logs or rocks and boulders in the water.

One, however, that I assume was a female, though I didn’t want to disturb it and get any closer to check the length of its nails, I surmised had been laying eggs or was about to. Our time together was limited so I don’t have the entire story, but she was in a safe place, no matter what.

One of our most unusual sightings as we performed the ritual was spying a Bald Eagle steal a fish from the grip of an Osprey. If you look closely at the center of the photo, you might spot the thief on its get-away mission–it is flying above the picnic tables, about in the middle of the trees.

As it flew over our heads, the Eagle had the audacity to look back to see if the Osprey was hot on its tail. It was. We don’t know how this story ended either, but we assume the Osprey had to cast its fishing line again.

Another fun sighting occurred as we crossed under a powerline on the return trip of a seven mile hike around a river, over to a pond, up a hill behind the pond, and back down and out. Almost the color of the grass that sparsely grew along this section of the trail, a green snake slithered across just after My Guy had stepped that way.

I just love its forked tongue–sensing the trail in snake manner as it did.

The two tines at the tip of the tongue, seen here as it withdrew this sensory organ, help it to smell in stereo and thus find its way and find a meal.

All of these things we saw because of the ritual that we perform every year at this time. It’s one that we now realize involves some greed, but still we feel compelled to do it. We count Lady’s Slippers.

I always thought that orchids were something you received on Prom night and that they grew at the florist. I had no idea that they were actually wildflowers until about thirty years ago. According to Orchids of New England and New York by Tom Nelson & Eric Lamont, Lady’s Slippers are one of 65 species and variants found in our region.

And so they deserved to be counted.

But, oh, how they hide. Do you see the one in the photograph above?

How about now?

Knowing that they can be elusive causes My Guy to slow down for a change. It’s no longer the destination that counts, but rather the number of Pink (and their white variants) flowers that we can spot.

Some are tall, and others quite small. And some are sets of leaves with no flowers yet as in the foreground. We don’t count those.

Here’s the thing about Lady’s Slippers. It takes a long time for a minuscule seed to become a plant. The seeds, developed in capsules, are beyond numerous, but each one has no food source or endosperm. So . . . it must develop a relationship with a Rhizoctonia fungus in the soil to survive. From the fungus the plant gets nutrients for germination and growth. The fungus, in turn, receives nutrients from the orchid’s roots.

BUT . . . all of this takes time. And the presence of the fungus.

Years. First, after at least three years the plant produces a pair of two basal leaves that fold like accordions and remind me of the paper fans we used to make as kids.

One author says it’s another 5 – 10 years before the plant produces a flower; another states 10 – 17. Either way, by the time you spot one, it’s been working for a long time to become a thing of beauty. (And should not be picked or transplanted.)

We found one that stymied us for it appeared to have three basal leaves. I can only wonder if there was a second plant there and something happened to its other leaf.

In one spot, we found what we call a bouquet. Sometimes we see three or four grouped together, but in this case 14 plants in bloom.

And in another spot where we expected the same, nada. What happened. My Guy was disappointed because this is his favorite and he loves to show it off to anyone who happens to be hiking that way.

We have a theory, though we don’t have scientific knowledge to back it up. But here goes. Last summer, our count was quite high. The previous spring and summer it had rained. A. Lot.

Last year, we experienced a drought. This year fewer flowers in most places that we hiked in the last few weeks. Perhaps less of the fungus?

And sometimes the flowers are spotted growing in a bit of a line, making us think perhaps there is a rotting nurse log beneath the soil. As for soil and habitat, acidic seems to be the favorite and we often find them among Low-bush Blueberries and towering over Reindeer Lichen.

And then there’s pollination: Lady’s-slipper pollination is a curious thing. Bees are lured in by the guide lines to a slit in the front petal, the slipper-like pouch, or flower’s labellum. Once inside, the bee cannot exit the way it entered because the petal structure turns inward.

The exit is at the top of the slipper, but to reach it, the bee must move through a hairy interior and rub against the flower’s stigma, depositing any pollen it may have carried in and brushing against the pollen mass called the pollenia before flying out. It strikes me as being like a house of mirrors. And all I want to do is quickly find my way out.

Some bees get frustrated with the dilemma of discovering there is no nectar and the task of finding the exit and instead chew their way out, which seems to be what happened to this flower.

It looks like the bee frantically tried to escape this one.

I tried to honor them with a painting, but our best way is by counting each and every one. I’m going to share last year’s numbers and this years. Also, this year, we counted along a bunch of other trails than just the Big Three as My Guy refers to the first three for which I have been keeping records since 2000.

Wolfe’s Neck State Park: 2024: 475; 2025: 159

Albany Mountain: 2024: 364; 2025: 411

Sanborn River and Overset Mountain: 2024: 598; 2025: 526

Grand Total of the Big Three: 2024: 1,437; 2025: 1096

Plus these trails all from this year only:

Mount Tom: 25 (but we were there on May 18, and this was the kick-off event that got us going this year; more may have bloomed since then. Actually, after spotting the first one, My Guy wasn’t sure he wanted to count this year, but let me tell you, he still has the greed!)

Mount Tire’m: 31

Proctor Pond Reserve: 41

Kezar River Forest: 63

Narrow Gauge (only 1.5 mile section): 56

Sleigh Trail at Notch View Farm: 44

Home woods: 2

Grand total of all trails: May 18 – June 6: 1,358

Even with the extra trails, the count was down.

But still . . .

Where the Moccasins (Lady’s Slippers) Led Us–up and down many a path with so many wonder-filled moments and sighting along the way. Counting Lady’s Slippers is a ritual that we love to share together and with others.

Zodiac One: Maiden Voyage

~ lmachayes

The message arrived the day before: Leigh, I am ready for the morning. The truck is loaded. I suggest wellies unless you don’t mind wet feet. I plan on being there for 6:00am. All you need is your camera.

And so I set the alarm for 4:30am, spent an hour reading and sipping coffee in the peace of a quiet kitchen, and then headed out the door with my camera on my shoulder.

As the sun rose, it became apparent that the smoke from the Canada wildfires was going to cast a haze upon this June day.

And indeed it did. But, at 6:00 in the morning, with the temperature at 48˚, lake fog, or in this case, pond fog, danced across the surface of the water like fairies performing a swirling ballet. Actually, the fog occurs when cool, moist air meets relatively warmer water, causing the water to evaporate and condense, thus creating mist that burns off as soon as the sun rises.

With Pleasant Mountain’s Southwest Peak in the background, I knew my place in the world.

The captain of the boat wondered if I’d ever been on the pond before. I have. Once. This past winter when Laurie LaMountain, of Lake Living magazine, and I spent a day tramping through the snow and across the pond and sometimes getting fake lost, but finally finding our way back to her house seven miles later.

I had not, however, ever seen it in the spring or summer. Well, except from the teepee on the Southwest Ridge of the mountain.

Once upon the water, we first heard, then saw a pair of Common Loons swimming and diving for breakfast. Bass are plentiful in this body of water, and we saw plenty of them as well.

There was a third loon that the other two greeted, but within a half hour it took to the air and flew south.

I found that curious because in the wee hours of the previous morning I heard one fly over our house, announcing its presence with a Loon tune, and wondered if it was a teenager looking for a place to find a mate or at least hang out where the resident pair(s) wouldn’t mind. Maybe this third Loon was doing the same and the others suggested it move on. Or maybe they were its parents and again, they looked forward to be empty nesters for another week or so.

After spying the Loons, our tour took us near Pickerel Weeds and suddenly our eyes clued in on the beginning of other life forms.

By now it was 6:20am and obvious that the Damselfly Naiads had already chosen this day to climb up the stalks maybe as early as 4:00am to begin their new life as terrestrial fliers. I’ve seen this occur later in the morning, but did not expect that they emerged so early when the air was still a bit chilly.

I probably should not have been surprised, for a few weeks ago I saw them emerging in another place on an equally chilly day.

Of course, where Damselflies are, so often are there Dragonflies, and this Darner spread its wings in our presence, so shiny and cloudy as was to be expected until they dry out.

With its wings spread, thorax and abdominal colors would begin to transform providing a clue to its name, but I suspected it was a Common Green Darner. We didn’t have time to watch that color change and so we silently moved on, for such is the ability with an electric motor.

Among the vegetation behind the Pickerel Weeds there were many orb spider webs and among the webs, looking as if they, too, had been performing a dance, were little Whiteflies taking their final bows.

Posed above and ready to fly off at any moment were Kingbirds with their handsome tuxedo appearance, looking like they were ready to attend a formal dinner.

And perhaps they were.

For everywhere on the northwestern side of the pond, more Dragonflies had emerged, and after a few minutes it became obvious that they were all of the same family: Calico Pennant Skimmers.

In fact, they were also all the same gender, the yellow hearts on the abdomen and coloration on the thorax and wings all leading me to think they were females.

The Calico Pennant in the name comes from the design on the wings, which once opened and dried is really stunning.

Although, I say that they were all females, it could be that all begin life with this hue and it only changes to red for males and bright yellow for females as the individuals mature.

In one spot, we found at least five, plus a bunch of Damselfly exuviae also upon the stems and leaves.

Do you see all five, two being almost a mirror image? Why “almost”?

Loons and Kingbirds weren’t the only ones on the morning hunt. This handsome male Red-winged Blackbird seemingly had a family to feed and wanted to make sure we didn’t approach. Thank goodness for telephoto lenses.

In the midst of the shrubs below, his Mrs. was on the hunt and had a full mouth. If you look carefully, you may notice some Dragonfly exuviae below her, their shed skins left behind once they took flight–the insects, that is.

We wondered if the Mrs. was taking advantage of this morning’s Dragonfly offerings and capturing those that were just emerging, an easy meal for herself, but probably also for some wee chicks she may have tucked away in a nest nearby. Their meal would have to wait until we moved on, and so we quickly did.

But not without pausing for a moment to admire the newly opened Blue Flag Iris among the Royal Ferns. Though the ferns have their own crowns of fertile stalks, the irises looked like exquisite tiaras fit for queens.

Finally heading back toward the boat launch, we saw explosions of Red Maple seeds dangling like chandeliers that perhaps the Queen Irises had ordered.

And another Red Maple that gave us pause for it deserved being noticed since it had obviously fallen years ago, but lifted its branches upward and was still in rather good health, its roots at least partially intact. Perseverance.

And then we noticed the tip of it. Across the pond we’d spotted a small beaver lodge in an adjacent wetland, and wondered about the Beaver’s own peserverance–it looked as if the tip of the tree had been harvested this past winter from the ice, and looking at other parts of the tree behind the tip, there’d been some harvesting previous years. We didn’t get close enough, but suspect the Beaver may have felled the tree, and its been a source of building material and food ever since.

Two hours later, Captain Bruce landed the Zodiak at the boat launch, and I gave great thanks for the invitation to explore Beaver Pond in the quiet of the morning.

The Black Flies were plentiful as they buzzed in our ears, but they weren’t biting so that was good.

We also saw several turtles swimming, including one huge Snapper that swam under the boat and neither of us captured in a photograph, and possibly a Water Snake.

Zodiac One: a maiden voyage for me. Here’s to many more! Thank you, Bruce.

Memorial Day Dragons and Damsels

~ lmachayes

It finally stopped raining and with a wee bit of sun late this afternoon, the temperature broke 60˚ and I found myself exploring a local wetland where all kinds of interesting things happen daily. And yearly. In cycles. And sometimes I happen to be there.

One of my favorite events is the emergence of dragonflies and damselflies. It seems like we endure Black Flies for most of May, all the while looking forward to our champs, the Ondonata family, to step in or rather up out of the water and transform before our eyes and take on the world. This usually happens by Memorial Day.

And this year is no different. The dragons and damsels have been emerging for the past couple of weeks, but now is prime time. And they are just in time because the Black Flies and Mosquitoes have had a heyday with all this rainy, cold weather, and today . . . as it warmed up, so did they and I have red welts on my neck to prove that they are biting. It’s all good, I remind myself. It’s all good. They are bird food. And so are the dragonflies, who eat the Black Flies, et al, and if they become bird food, all the more energy sent the bird’s way.

Cloudy wings and clinging to its shed skin indicated that this dragonfly had just made that magical transformation from its aquatic life to terrestrial existence. And I was there to protect it. For a while anyway. Until the Black Flies sent me scurrying onto the next great find.

That next being a damselfly, also with cloudy wings indicating it had also just emerged. Though I don’t know who the first dragonfly was that I met today because it didn’t yet have enough colors and pattern to make that determination, I did learn that this damsel is called Aurora! I don’t recall ever greeting it before, but based on the the lack of shoulder stripes, black patch with wavy edges on the thorax, and yellow sides led to this ID once I consulted Damselflies of the Northeast by Ed Lam.

Now it’s one I don’t think I’ll forget. AND, I love that it is named for my ten-year-old naturalist friend, Aurora. Or she for it. Or neither, but they both share the name of an electrical phenomenon.

As I looked about, I spotted several other newly emerged dragons and damsels, all with their signature cloudy wings, but then I spied this one.

Yes, it’s wings are cloudy, but this Lancet Clubtail has an issue going on, for its wings are folded, rather like the main character in my fairy tale, The Giant’s Shower, for Falda’s wings are also folded.

That didn’t stop Sir Lancet from climbing up a fallen branch with gusto. But I did wonder about his fate.

That said, I moved on because I had some Painted Turtles I wanted to meet, figuring that they’d be basking after several days of temps in the 40˚s. Being ectotherms, they rely on external heat to regulate their body temperature. Sun is their friend.

Being in a wetland, the bird song was plentiful, but though the Merlin app included a chorus of plenty including Redstarts and Towhees and Common Yellowthroat and more, the only one who posed was a Song Sparrow.

I walked about a mile away from my starting point, but really was eager to return because I knew there was more to see and learn in that spot.

Almost back, I met a Dreamy Duskywing Butterfly, a species I’ve met in this place before but not sure we’ve encountered each other anywhere else. I love the tapestry of its dusky wings.

A moment later, an old friend flew in–Hudsonian Whiteface–this being a male, for the female’s markings are yellow. These are early spring skimmers, and I have to remind myself not to confuse them with Calico Pennant skimmers who have similar, yet different abdominal markings, he being red and she yellow. Also, the Calicos, being pennants, have a stained glass basal wing pattern that the Hudsonian’s don’t exhibit.

Back at base camp, or rather, my starting point, I checked on Sir Lancet. He’d crawled up the branch to a rather perfect hiding spot at the Y, at least to my eyes. And look into his eyes I did. Including the three simples eyes, singularly called ocellus, which are arranged between the two large compound eyes. Each ocellus offers a single lens with which to view the world, while the compound eyes offer multiple lenses. Amazing. I can’t even begin to imagine such sight.

But what I also noticed about my folded-wing friend was the green “blood” that seemed to be stuck within those wings. Dragons and damsels and other insects that emerge from an exuviae break through their old skin, their wings coming out first with the head, and then pulling the abdomen out slowly and pumping their insect blood first into the wings until they reach full length before drawing said blood back into the body and allowing the abdomen to extend to full length and slowly take on the hues of its adult self.

I’ve seen this in others with folded wings though, where the insect blood seems to have become blocked and is still visible in the transparent wings and maybe that’s why they are deformed? But what causes this?

I don’t have an answer, but try to remind myself that eventually this dragonfly will become units of energy for a bird or another insect and that’s its way of giving.

Meanwhile, though it was getting late and the temperature was starting to drop again, two immatures caught my attention–a Mayfly subimago or dun and another Lancet. Both had cloudy wings announcing their age.

And both were fairly safe in each other’s company, for the Mayfly has no mouthparts, not that it could eat anything as large as a dragonfly at this point, and the Lancet wasn’t quite ready to eat yet for it had some more work to do in order to become a flying predator.

Slowly Lancet’s wings became more transparent and though dinner prep was on my mind and I knew I needed to head home, I waited until it spread its wings and then without a backward turn or wave goodbye, took off. Despite that, I wished it my usual, “Fare thee well.”

And as I walked back to the truck, a young Lancet met me. I was totally surprised to find it land with wings folded over its back. Had we just met only steps away by the water? How cool would that be if it were true.

And then my all-time favorite appeared, a Stream Cruiser with its Oreo Cookie coloring. I was asked the other day what my favorite bird is and I came up with at least five different species, but the Stream Cruiser will always be my favorite dragonfly.

And dragonflies and damselflies on Memorial Day weekend–another favorite for we all know that the Black Flies will now be on the decline.

Memorial Day weekend not only means a return of the Dragons and Damsels who slay those other pesky bugs, but also a time for us to remember those who died serving our country, like my Mom’s brother, age 19, who died in World War II. Thank you Uncle B. We never met, obviously, but Mom brought you alive in my mind for you were her best friend and I know you are with me and trust you would approve my curiosity and adventures and reverence for the natural world .

Giving Thanks to the Ovenbirds

~ lmachayes

On my way down the cowpath to retrieve our game camera, I heard among other bird songs, the “Teacha, Teacha, Teacha” of the Ovenbirds. But it wasn’t until I was headed back home a little while later that I actually spied them, which for me is a rare treat–maybe because I don’t spend enough time trying.

In the past, however, it’s always seemed like the minute I get anywhere near them, they stop singing and I can’t find them.

Today, that was different. And I did get to watch. BUT . . . there’s always a BUT in my posts, or so it seems. Anyway, but . . . then I spotted something else.

A beautiful pink Lady’s Slipper. And the leaves of four others–that I hope in future years will bloom.

With fingers frozen because it was raining and the temp was only in the 40˚s on this May day, I headed back to the house, pleased with my finds.

All the while, however, I kept wondering if there are other orchids on our land and so after lunch I donned my rain gear again and headed back into the woods.

First, I stumbled upon this fern, which grows in a vase-shaped form. There’s plenty of it along our stonewalls and at the edge of the field beyond, but while hiking with My Guy yesterday, I pointed some out and called it Interrupted and he wondered why such a name.

Because, I explained, ferns have sterile fronds for photosynthesis and fertile fronds for reproduction and in this case its fertile fronds have interruptions of spore cases in the middle of the blade upon which they grow, while most ferns carry their spores on separate stems or on the undersides of leaflets.

After the spore clusters ripen and drop away, the mid-section of the frond will be “interrupted,” leaving bare space between the leaflets, further reminding us of its name.

And where there is Interrupted Fern, there is often another member of its family, the Osmundas that is, this being a Cinnamon Fern. One of the differences is that the fertile frond is more like a wand that rises from the center.

There are no leaflets on these fertile fronds, and again, the sporangia are like tiny beads that will turn a warm cinnamon brown when the spores mature. And then, it really will look as if the frond is covered in cinnamon.

While the Interrupted will grow in forests and wetlands, the Cinnamon prefer wetlands, which tells you something about our land. Another that also grows here, though I forgot to photograph it, is their second cousin, the Royal Fern.

If an Interrupted Fern doesn’t have fertile fronds, it looks very much like a Cinnamon, but one of the key characteristics to tell them apart is that Cinnamons have hairy (wooly) armpits like this one above where you can see the wool on the underside where the leaflet meets the rachis or main stem. And Interrupteds don’t.

Being a bit of a wetland, I shouldn’t have been surprised by my next find, but I was. Jill-in-the-Pulpit! You may think it’s Jack, but like some other plants, including the Canada Mayflower that grows beside these, in order to flower the plant needs the additional energy stores of a second leaf (with three leaflets).

Once I spotted one, I began to notice they were everywhere in one spot on and near the cowpath, but the curious thing–the leaves had been devoured on some. By whom?

And do the leaves also contain Calcium oxalate, which this plant like some others stores in the roots and can cause blisters and other medical problems if consumed? Is that only in humans? So many questions.

That said, my quest now was to seek not only any other Lady’s Slippers, but also Jack-or-Jill in the Pulpits. All told on the latter, I did spot about twenty, but didn’t take time to differentiate how many of each gender.

At last, I reached the powerline that crosses our property and it was there that some feathers decorating a pine sapling surprised me.

A closer look and I found a slew of feathers, all plucked. By one of our predatory birds–we do have Sharp-shinned and Broad-winged Hawks in the neighborhood. Or by another?

We also have a neighborhood Red Fox who passes through our yard and over the stonewall or up the cowpath on a regular basis. Plus Coyotes and Bobcats.

Mr. Fox needs to eat too. And in this case, he marked his territory–right at the end of the ten-second clip.

The question remains–who made a meal of the Turkey?

Again, I do not know, but as I searched for evidence or more remains, look what I found–another Lady’s Slipper hiding among some Low-bush Blueberries.

And so back to my original quest did I return.

And smack dab beside that orchid, another plant that I love, but didn’t realize we hosted–Indian Cucumber Root, with a root that is edible and delicious. And a flower or in this case, flowers, that will delight my soul in a week or less. And yes, this too, is a plant that needs an extra layer of leaves in order to produce a flower. So do we call this a female plant and all plants that only have one level or tier of leaves males?

I don’t know. But I had circled around, zigzagging actually, through the five acres of woods that we own beside our one-acre house lot, and landed back at the first Lady’s Slipper, delightfully decorated with the rain of the day.

Across the way, right where I’d first spotted him, an Ovenbird paused and called. I tried to capture both in a shot, but they are scurry-ers, if that’s a word for scurry they both did as if they were in a hurry and perhaps a wee bit confused. Maybe they were trying to distract me from finding their nest?

I didn’t look for it, but have an idea at least of its whereabouts. And I can only hope that any offspring they produce are well protected cause this is a wild place.

With fingers once again numb, I finally headed home, but first I stopped to check on these Jack-in-the-Pulpits that were the only ones I thought we had, growing as they do by a split-granite bench we made. I remember seeing Jack standing tall in the pulpit one spring as I headed out to the vernal pool, and upon my return someone had nibbled him. Whodunnit?

That said, I decided to place the game camera by all the other Jacks and Jills that I’d found earlier today and I’m curious to see if anymore get nibbled.

All of this because the Ovenbird called. It felt like Thanksgiving. Complete with a Turkey dinner. (Sorry, but I had to say that.)

And to think I thought I knew our land. There’s always something to learn. Or some things!

Wednesday Wanders=Wonder-filled

~ lmachayes

You know when you start something and you have no idea of what the future will hold and yet, you forge ahead cuze that’s what you naturally do? Well, that’s been the experience fellow Master Naturalist Dawn and I have had since I retired in October 2023.

At the time, I knew I would deeply miss outings with the Greater Lovell Land Trust docents, a group of dedicated volunteers who love to learn and then share that knowledge with the public. But, I’d made a promise to step away so the new person could have some space.

I’m a teacher at heart, however, and needed to continue down that path. So, prior to retiring I had approached Loon Echo Land Trust and asked if I could lead some winter walks for them, sharing the art of tracking and other winter wonders with their participants. That idea was well received and I invited Dawn to help. We began in November 2023 and when March 2024 arrived, and we should have been winding down, I realized we were having so much fun that the program needed to continue and so it did until last July. And then we took a brief hiatus.

The hiatus ended in September 2024, and on our first outing among our finds were a few Brown Hooded Owlet larvae, with their striking colors and pattern.

On that same journey, we reached a wetland where Black Ash grow, and encouraged participants to poke their thumb nails into the bark. I love it when people are willing to try and in this case, they realized the bark is corky. Especially after it has rained.

October found us being wowed by rose hips. Because–look at those spikes. We thought maybe a slime mold, but instead discovered it’s the gland-tipped hairs on the hips of Ground Rose. Otherworldy indeed.

And speaking of otherworldly, the larval form of Lady Beetles also caught our attention, this one having been predated. So spiky as well, and especially when you think of what an adult Lady Beetle looks like–it doesn’t seem to match up. But . . . that’s how the natural world works.

In November, we were only a wee bit surprised to still be greeting Meadowhawk Dragonflies. Notice the tattered hind wing–this one had met with some difficulties we could only imagine.

On another November expedition, while exploring an area where Beavers were quite active and had been busy mudding/insulating the outside of a lodge, plus gathering their winter food supply, we asked participants to become the critters and cut down their own trees. But . . . they had to hold the tree trunk as upright as possible and turn it, because certainly they couldn’t walk around it like a Beaver can.

Timber!

With a bit of snow in December (actually on Thanksgiving Day we had a lot of snow, but then the amount dwindled daily), we started tracking in earnest, spending the start of each walk with a brief explanation of how mammals move and clues to the prints they leave behind.

Measuring took on new meaning as stride (length from the front of one foot to the front of the next in a track) and straddle (length between the outside of one track and the outside of the next in the pattern, for example, put your feet together and measure from the outside of the left foot to the outside of the right and you have determined your trail width or straddle, which is key for some mammal print ID) were taken into consideration.

On a cold winter day in January, you would have thought that we’d bring hot cocoa. We had the cups. And we had the thermos. BUT . . . inside the thermos we had what we call mammal blood (red gelatin), and the group split into pairs and went off to find just the right spot to protect their “mammal’s blood” so we could check its temperature about twenty minutes or more later. It actually turned out to be later because we got caught up with tracking an actual critter in the meantime.

When we did check, it was the pair with the highest temperature that won bragging rights. They had found a suitable protected spot for their critter to survive.

We were still tracking in February, and were excited to follow a Porcupine to its den, and then backtrack to its feeding trees, where Eastern Hemlock branches minus buds and some needles, decorated the ground.

And though we had to dig to find, Porcupine scat in its typical comma shape, did happen.

In March, it was the large red buds of Basswood that garnered our attention. And after posting photos of these, an arborist friend commented that the buds look like a mouse wearing a helmet and I’ll never unsee that going forward. Thank you, Eli!

As the temperature began to rise with the March sun, we also spotted deer beds such as this one and knew to look for deer hair! The red arrows point to some as it was time for them to shed their winter coat and with their body heat melting the snow, some stuck to the edges.

In April, on our way to a vernal pool, one of the many curious naturalists among us found an Oak Apple Gall, that would have been bright green when first formed last spring/summer.

Though it had snowed the day before, we did find Fairy Shrimp in the pool, and rejoiced as always because finding just one of this species makes the pool significant by Maine standards.

As I mentioned in a previous post, there are four species, each with a different count, that help determine if the pool is significant, but any pool that dries up in the summer and then fills up again in the fall is considered ephemeral or vernal.

When the calendar turned to May, we turned our attention to dipping in rivers and streams, curious to see what macro-invertebrates we might meet in those spaces. Out came the D-nets, which we don’t use in vernal pools, because we don’t want to disturb the egg masses of Wood Frogs and Salamanders.

It’s always fun to meet the different species, including a variety of Mayflies in their larval form, with gills along their abdomens and three tails. Long tails quite often. And all that come out of the water, including Mosquito and Black Fly larvae, must go back in.

All of this brings me to this morning, when our group was quite small because some had apparently cancelled for various reasons and others were no-shows. That said, we had the best time, as we always do. But today felt extra special. You see, we had a plan to walk down an old trail, but since we were waiting for the no-shows, we thought we’d give them some time to locate us if we first visited a pond located about a hundred feet from the parking area and in the opposite direction of our intentions.

It was while squatting there that we realized miracles were taking place. But . . . we still wanted to share the trail with the participants, so we promised we’d return to the edge before it was time to depart. (As for the no-shows–we’re bummed they missed out.)

One of the participants who is a fungi enthusiast, and has eagle eyes, somehow spotted these mushrooms. None of us knew what they were, but iNaturalist’s SEEK app identified them as Devil’s Urns.

When I arrived home, I looked them up my Audubon Field Guide, and bingo: “Large, leathery brown, urn-shaped cup; Season: March-May; Habitat: Clustered on fallen deciduous wood, especially oak; Comments: This is one of the first mushrooms to appear in the spring in the East.”

Well done, Julie.

Woolly Alder Aphids were also visible, and once we saw one clump, we began to notice several. As we described how ants “farm” or seemingly tickle them to get them to secrete honeydew, one participant saw an ant and another saw drops of said liquid. Can you see it?

Well done, Marie.

And remember the little girl who found last year’s Oak Apple Gall on the way to the vernal pool in April? Well, another among us today found this year’s galls on newly emerged Oak leaves. It got us all thinking about leaves and insects and how mature insects lay or inject eggs into buds when they first form in late summer and so the moment the leaves begin to unfurl the following spring, larval forms jump into action and leaf miners and rollers and gall makers and everyone else have a heyday.

Well done, Heidi.

Marie, Julie, and Heidi also took an up-close look at last year’s Speckled Alder cones and we noted that the male catkins have already fallen to the ground for this year, their pollination duty now completed.

Lady’s Slippers, and Wild Sarsaparilla, and Star Flowers, and Canada Mayflowers, and Rhodora, and Dewberry, and Bastard Toadflax, and even Poison Ivy were admired and noted.

But, we all had a mission that we wanted to fulfill, so with about a half hour left, we retraced our steps rather quickly.

And into the plants at the pond’s edge we peered. Do you see it? A dragonfly naiad (nymph or larval form) upon a broken branch, with the adult form starting to split through the exoskeleton at the point between the wing pads. How could this be? Yes, we’ve seen dragonflies for the last week or two, but it was cold this morning. Raw. Breezy. Seemingly inhospitable for these summer fliers.

Apparently not, for once we looked around, we began to notice them everywhere. The dark naiad climbing up the rock was in search of the perfect spot. And if you look below the rock, you’ll see two naiads, one that is grayer in color, because its adult form had already eclosed or emerged; and the other browner one with the adult starting to pull out of the aquatic skin.

Here’s a closer look at the ones under the rock. Notice the eye placement. That is key to Identification according to family. In this case, with the eyes spaced far apart, it could be either a Petaltail or a Clubtail.

As I said, they were everywhere, and we felt it our duty to watch over them. To protect them from being predated, which is actually kinda funny, given that they are predators. But predators of the best kind because they feast upon Mosquitoes and Black Flies and Deer Flies, and others, of course, but it’s for those first three that we appreciate them.

Can you see how the adult is pulling out of the skin?

And do you see thin white strings extending from the exuviae to the back of the dragonfly? Those were the spiracles or underwater breathing tubes, which are no longer needed by the adult.

A few minutes later it is further out–can you see that? Once it gets its abdomen all the way out, it typically holds onto its shed skin and then pumps its insect blood into its wings so that they expand, before drawing that blood back into its body, allowing its coloration to eventually take true form.

Look for the white strings again.

Do you see them now? Completely unnecessary and therefore left behind.

When the wings are at full length, they are held over the back and cloudy in color until it’s time to spread them and let them dry before first flight.

The eyes on this newly emerged dragonfly, along with its abdomen markings and cerci or claspers at the tip of the abdomen, tell us its in the Emerald family, and I suspect a Common Baskettail.

As we watched, we noticed some had wings that were stuck together, and this one with a curved abdomen. It was curious that it had left its exuviae before its wings emerged and so I wondered if they would unfurl.

A few delighted us because we got to watch them spread their wings apart–translucent and shiny as they dried.

By the eye placement and beginnings of the markings, my identification stab is for Lancet Clubtail–one of the friendliest dragonflies who likes to land on us when kayaking. Or even on the dock.

As you can imagine, we had to pull ourselves away. The walk was supposed to end at noon, but it was 12:40pm when we finally finished–and honestly, I think we could have stayed a few more hours if we had food and other necessities.

All of our Wednesday Wanders for Loon Echo Land Trust are incredible because each one offers its own moments of awe.

Being honored, however, to share the emergence of dragonflies from their aquatic forms to terrestrial–and helping the ladies to understand that it takes hours for this process, and being surprised that so many had chosen what we considered to be a chilly spring day . . . it was beyond wonder-filled. As every Wednesday Wander is. But today, today was over the top.

Senior College: Forever Students

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

We honestly weren’t sure anyone would sign up. Or show up.

Vernal Pools and Macroinverebrates
Leigh Macmillen Hayes and Dawn Wood
Friday, April, 25, May 2, 9, and 16th, 9:30 – 11:30 am
April 25: The Hidden Life of Vernal Pools
Discover the wonders of vernal pools—seasonal wetlands vital to forest ecosystems. Learn how wood frogs, salamanders, and fairy shrimp rely on them for breeding and why protecting these fragile habitats matters. Join us indoors at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church for this engaging workshop.
May 2: A Day at the Vernal Pool
Meet at Loon Echo Land Trust’s Raymond Community Forest, Conesca Road, Raymond. Walk ¼ mile to the vernal pool, where we’ll provide tools to explore its temporary residents and their unique ecosystem.
May 9: Meet the Macros
Ever wonder who lives in local streams? Join us to discover the tiny creatures that call them home! Dive into the world of macro-invertebrates—those fascinating “big bugs” without backbones—and learn how macros tell us about the health of the environment. This hands-on workshop will take place indoors at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church. 
May 16: Macro-invertebrates Up Close
Explore the role of macro-invertebrates in stream health and the ecosystem. Join us for hands-on dipping and rock turning to assess water quality at Northwest River and Douglass Brook, Tiger Hill Community Forest, Sebago.
Maine Master Naturalists Leigh Macmillen Hayes and  Dawn Wood of Bridgton will lead these experiential classes. Both have a sense of wonder about the natural world and spend hours exploring only a few feet from a trailhead.

And then they did. Almost 30 of them. The first class, as you can see, was an indoor introduction to vernal pools where we shared our photographs, ID books, and models, and told stories about our experiences in these ephemeral habitats. Their questions were numerous and they shared stories as well, making it an even richer experience.

And then we ended with a musical treat since we knew that there was at least one conductor in the audience. As you click on the arrow to listen to the Springtime Chorus, remember that Wood Frog calls sound like “Wruck, wruck.” Spring Peepers: “Peep, peep, peep.” Green Frogs: “Ga-dunk, ga-dunk.” And Bullfrogs: “Jug-a-rum, jug-a-rum.”

Thank you, Jan, for leading this, and thank you to everyone for participating so willingly.

The following Friday we awoke to rain and again we were sure no one would show up. BUT . . . that did not stop them and we slowly snaked through the forest on our way to the vernal pool.

Of course, we all suffer from that most wonderful of syndromes: Nature Distraction Disorder (NDD), and the summer grape that grows along the Grapes Expectations Trail at Raymond Community Forest was the first thing to draw our attention.

Trailing Arbutus with its sweet little flowers also caused us to pause.

At last we reached the pool and because the sky was overcast and some raindrops and mist fell, we couldn’t see into the pool very well, especially to admire the egg masses deposited by Wood Frogs and Spotted Salamanders. But . . . we could dip.

And within a few minutes the prize of the day was discovered and everyone came to take a peek at what Dawn had found.

Soon one Fairy Shrimp (just enough to make the pool significant by Maine standards) was followed by multiple more. This particular one happens to be a female with a full brood sac at the top of her abdomen.

I’ve said this before, but it’s worth mentioning again and again:

40 Wood Frog egg masses make a pool significant; OR 20 Spotted Salamander egg masses; OR 10 Blue Spotted or Jefferson Salamander egg masses; OR a single, yes one, Fairy Shrimp.

Fairy Shrimp are cool because in order for eggs to be viable, the pool must dry out. And they can survive being dry for multiple years. And in any given year, not all eggs will hatch, thus saving some in the bank for another year or ten.

Our other finds that day include Phantom Midges–with inner workings visible through the translucent body.

And Predaceous Diving Beetle larva, plus . . .

the shed skin of a PDB, with a split where the wings of the adult emerged first and then the rest of the body squeezed out through that slit that the arrow indicates.

This is the adult, with an air bubble on its back end; and if you look closely, you may see a few Mosquito Wrigglers twisting and turning in the photo as well.

We always remind everyone that all larval forms must go back into the pool or stream or whatever waterbody, because in the whole scheme of things, everything is important.

I laugh when I look at this photo because as a youngster, my brother always noted that my mouth was always open in pictures–apparently he thought I talked too much.

But obviously, on this Friday I was waxing poetic about something.

Before we left the pool that day, the students had a surprise for us. The previous week I had pulled out a party noisemaker and reminded those who had attended our winter class on insects that it served as a great tool to illustrate how a butterfly or moth proboscis (mouth part) curls up in flight, but upon a flower, they extend it to reach the nectar. Turn the noisemaker over, however, and suddenly you have a frog tongue–as they snap it out to capture an insect.

And tada, unbeknownst to us, everyone was suddenly a frog. Heck, if we were going to make them perform in the frog chorus, then they might as well be frogs. It was awesome. And yes, they did perform in the chorus once again, after which we left the pool and headed home.

Week three found us back at the church, where we began with a slide show about Benthic Macro-invertebrates.

Benthic: Living at the bottom of a body of water (stream, river, pond)

Macro: Large enough to be seen with the naked eye

Invertebrate: Animal without a backbone

Macro-invertebrate: Large, water dwelling animal able to be seen with the naked eye.

Prior to the class, Dawn and I spent an hour or so trudging to and fro a local wetland to retrieve containers of water so that after the initial presentation, the students could take a look–up close and personal, in the comfort of a building. (Never fear: all critters were safely released in the same spot where we captured them with our D-nets)

They started starring into the water and began to notice movement. And then, using spoons and small containers and lids, all recycled, they were able to glimpse the wonders of the water.

One of the favorite finds was the larval form of a damselfly, with three paddle-shaped tails that serve as gills.

The critters love to hide under the leaves and muck that we’d pulled up so sometimes it took a few moments to wait for the water to settle before spotting something moving.

But they did. And with the use of loupes on lanyards that we borrowed from Loon Echo Land Trust, they found Mayflies and Damselflies and Dragonflies and Backswimmers and more.

Finally, today dawned. The forecast kept changing all week, so we were pleasantly surprised by the sun. That said, you know those Mosquito larvae we always encourage everyone to save? Well, they are hatching. But, just as for the rain, everyone was prepared.

Oh, and yes, another moment of NDD hit us only a hundred feet from the parking lot. We love mud.

Especially when it tells us who passed this way during the night. In this case, it was two critters: a Coyote and a Raccoon. If we can’t have snow, mud is great. In many ways, it’s even better than snow for the prints are much crisper and easier to read. (Don’t tell the snow I said that. Ever. If you do, I’ll deny it.)

But . . . we had a mission and a time frame. The Black and White Warbler didn’t care. Apparently, we had entered its territory and despite our presence, it went right on collecting nesting material.

When nature surprises us with these moments, I always feel we’ve been blessed to be witnesses.

Finally, it was time to dip the D-nets into the river.

We’d placed a few tables near it so everyone could take a look without risking going into the water. Plus, the trail to the water is narrow and once we realized the bird was building a nest there, it made it even more important that we not spend too much time.

The most prolific finds of the day: Mayfly larvae.

There are so many types of Mayflies as everyone soon realized. What I love about them: their feathery gills on the sides of their abdomens, and the three long tails that most feature, which they even had as adults, probably helping with balance for one thing.

Again, it was an enthusiastic crew and any time something interesting was discovered, all wanted a chance to see.

We had a damselfly that at first I thought was a Water Scorpion because the three shorter tails were held together so that they looked almost like the tubes at the end of the abdomen, but then I took a better look and realized that they weren’t elongated and in every other way, it had damselfly written all over its head and body.

Caddisfly larvae also entertained us and we found a Northern Case Maker, plus . . .

what might have been a Giant Case Maker, who built its home from the broken off tube of vegetation.

Everyone was fascinated, but we had one more stop to make so eventually we had to pack up shop in this location and move down the road to another trail.

Another NDD moment happened as we walked beside a vernal pool where we could not only spot Spotted Salamander egg masses, but also these of the Wood Frog variety, and tons of tadpoles feeding on the green algae. It actually created a full circle from our first classes about vernal pools.

A Pickerel Frog also caught our attention and delight. Bruce caught an amazing photo of the underside of its rear thighs–with the yellowish coloration. Both Pickerel Frogs and Northern Leopard Frogs have spots, but one of the defining differences is the yellow, or sometimes orange color that you see here.

Our final destination was Douglass Brook, where the water flowed faster than it did in the section of the river where we had dipped only a half hour earlier.

Our reason for this location was because it has lots of rocks and we wanted everyone to see how some critters use them as places to cling.

So once again, we took an up close and personal look.

And scooped up anything we could find.

Including Black Fly larva which like fast-flowing water. I think folks were not quite as keen on saving every little critter given how many Mosquitoes swarmed us, but still they did.

We also found a Dobsonfly Larva, aka Hellgrammite, who prefer the fast flowing water and hold onto rocks with strong claws on their legs, or so I read in A Guide to Common Freshwater Invertebrates of North America, and that’s exactly what this one did.

Two hours passed quickly and finally it was time for the four-week class to come to an end. And we were all smiles.

Senior College is an awesome opportunity for us mature beings to learn. The curriculum is diverse; there are no prerequisites, term papers, exams, or grades.

Hats off to the all-volunteer board. And to the students. We can’t believe how many of you joined us each week. And thank you all for helping us carry equipment today.

Many thanks also to Dawn for co-leading with me. And to Bruce for taking so many photos so that I could use them to share all of these incredible learnings with you.

Mr. Cretella, my high school Spanish and Latin teacher, popped into my head just now. In my yearbook, Mr. C. wrote, “Never lose your desire to learn.” Those words have reverberated with me over the years. I don’t remember what anyone else wrote, but his sentiment struck a cord. Pretty amazing, given that when I took Latin I my senior year, I was forever substituting Spanish words if I didn’t know the answer on a quiz or test.

Wherever he is now, I’m grateful that Mr. C. encouraged my desire to learn. And love that so many are the same.

Senior College: Forever Students indeed!

A Visit From Mom

~ lmachayes

We stood in her bedroom and peered into her closet, then I grabbed a shirt and was about to close the sliding door. It was Dad sitting on my shoulder, who reminded me, as he always does, to pull the string and turn off the overhead light.

Next I remember, she was getting ready to walk the three of us down the road to the bus stop. And grab the next-door neighbors on the way. We all always walked together.

That was my childhood neighborhood. My adult neighborhood is a wee bit different, but in a way, really the same. The length of our road is the same, with the same number of houses lining the street. We live at the dead end as my family did growing up. And it’s nothing but field and forest beyond.

One of my favorite parts about my current neighborhood is the vernal pool that I refer to as “MY” vernal pool even though it’s on a neighbor’s property. So, neighbors are still an important part of my life.

And while visiting the vernal pool to check on my amphibian friends yesterday as days of rain drew to a close, I discovered two new residents I hadn’t met in this space before.

Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Mallard have visited before, but in 30+ years of my journeys to this spot, I’d never encountered them. My first response was to scare them away. Thankfully, I came to my senses quickly.

But in those first few moments, all I could think about were the tadpoles that were using the pool to develop. Their moms and dads had left the pool just after the eggs that contained embryos that turned into the said tadpoles emerged. And because those moms and dads only spend about two weeks in the pool and then return to their upland habitat for fifty more weeks of the year, I always feel it is my duty to watch over and protect them. And the ducks . . . might gobble them up.

But she excited the pool and looked tall and poised and I was certain their visit was just for a moment and so I gave thanks that I’d had the chance to spot them.

He added his own stature to the landscape. And my presence seemed not to annoy either of them.

Though my concern was that they’d gobble all the critters I chose to protect, I did think that if they had any interest in the larval Mosquito wigglers or their pupal tumblers that looked like little bullet forms, then have at it and eat away. Just don’t touch my Wood Frog and Spotted Salamander tadpoles. “MY” tadpoles. Synonymous with “MY” vernal pool. Located on a neighbor’s property.

As I walked around the pool, the Mallards swam, and I realized that I’d forced them into the spot where the egg masses had been laid and I wondered how many they’d already eaten.

And then . . . they did start foraging. My only hope was that I know tadpoles quickly dart under leaves, so that might protect them. But what else could the ducks be consuming? Aquatic plants are few in this particular pool. Seeds, however, are abundant, so there was that thought. But really, I’m sure they were dining on my buddies as well as macro-invertebrates.

I tried not to think about it. Until I did.

Two years ago, we had rain all spring and summer and this pool, which typically dries out by mid to late June, was full until September, and for the first time in my memory of decades of visits, I witnessed the tadpoles developing hind legs first and then front legs.

Last year, however, due to drought conditions, all dried out in a short time, and if any tadpoles metamorphed, it was quick. And I think this year’s egg masses spoke to that for there were far fewer Wood Frog masses, but over forty Spotted Salamander masses. Perhaps the latter sensed the changing conditions last year and enough were able to develop quickly into adults.

On the way home, I searched the trees in our woods and finally was rewarded with one showing off the suds of a rainy day–when pine salts turn into bubbles at the base of a tree.

The better surprise occurred just up the trunk, where I suddenly keyed in on intense activity, in the form of Crane Flies canoodling and jockeying for a chance to canoodle. They were fervent in their attempts.

Today dawned SUNNY, and after church I headed back out to the pool. At first I didn’t see the ducks, but within moments realized they were still present. And I began to come to terms with their presence because really I love them too. I just don’t want them to eat all my other friends.

While I looked down, a cat-like meow called my attention upward and there I spotted a female Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. And I was drawn back in time to watching Sapsuckers raise families in our yard and on land trust property and I wondered if this female was a momma and if so, where had she hidden her gang?

And then, because of the sunshine, I could peer into the water through my polarized sunglasses and tada, I still had tadpoles. This momma was pleased and proud. So, maybe I could share the space with the Mallards after all–as long as they promised to not eat all of my babies.

In the mix, I also spotted Predaceous Diving Beetles, and of course, the ubiquitous Mosquito larvae.

As for my ducks, ah yes, I’d now accepted them as mine. Really, they are a handsome couple. My next question for them is this: how long will they remain? That, I know, depends on how long the pool holds water. Which depends on how much precipitation falls from the sky. One thing leads to another, which leads to another, and so life goes on.

Upon a floating log within the pool, more life happened, this time in the Midges trying to canoodle with other Midges as a Crane Fly looked on.

As for the ducks, they again moved under the branches where the egg masses had been, but this time they preened.

And into the midst of all, in flew a couple of Black and White Warblers, and I felt rewarded once again for being in this place at this time.

Zebra birds might be another suitable description.

A few minutes later and Mrs. Mallard demanded my attention once again as she took a bath.

And then she climbed upon a rock in the pool, while he circled around for a while, protecting her or so it seemed.

She finally settled and he joined her, pausing to preen.

And then they both took a nap. Apparently my presence wasn’t a concern.

Thank you, Mom, for your visit. It was so awesome to spend some time with you last night. And thank you for making me realize that we don’t have to necessarily be moms to human children, though I do give great thanks for our boys who have been in touch throughout the day even though we couldn’t be together, to be nurturing. To all who guard and watch over human babes, and amphibians, and birds, and insects, including monarchs, and furbabies, and you name it: Happy Mother’s Day. Your efforts are gallant. Your souls are brave. Your hearts are full.

I love it when my parents show up in my dreams, but couldn’t believe my good luck today to wake up after a visit from Mom.

Dragons of the Future

~ lmachayes

Spring is actually a combination of many seasons, beginning with winter that doesn’t want to let go, followed by mud, and then road-repair, with bug quickly taking form following several days of rain, and soon to come, my favorite of all–dragonfly season.

And so I thought I’d take some time to honor friends I’ve met in the past and try to get to know them better . . .

With my pencil first. Sketching is such a wonderful way to slow one’s self down and try to capture the essence of the object. Thankfully, with pencil and a good eraser, changes can be made and believe me, I have, and will continue to edit these.

Darner Naiad

And then I decided to take it one step further–by painting the Naiads (larval form) of six dragonfly families.

One of the incredible wonders of this world is that the aquatic form of dragonflies become terrestrial and we anticipate and celebrate their emergence every spring, knowing that BUG season won’t last too much longer. Well, in some places. Right Jenn?

Usually, they begin to emerge by the end of May and then it’s an ongoing process, with some waiting until late summer or early fall to transition from one world to the next.

This is a Black-tipped Darner that I met in the fall a few years ago when it was barely alive. It was on the grass by the outlet of Deer Hill Bog in Stow, Maine, which is a typical habitat for this species, though it isn’t common.

Stream Cruiser Naiad

After painting the Cruiser Naiad, I thought I’d use the iNaturalist APP: SEEK on it and bingo, SEEK identified it as a Stream Cruiser. All the rest came up as dragonfly/damselfly, so at least AI knew I was painting insects, but I was excited that it could reach the species with this one.

When immature, Stream Cruisers remind me of Oreo cookies, or maybe an Ice Box cake, which is actually rather funny because a few days after my birthday last year, I was the surprise recipient of an Ice Box cake. Thank you, Deb!

There are not a lot of cruisers in the Cruiser family, and as far as I can tell, this and the Swift River Cruiser are the only two found in New England.

Emerald Naiad

Okay, so I tried to show the hairy body of the Emerald Naiad. If you’ve ever looked through a loupe or hand lens, you’ll know that the whole world is hairy!

Most Emeralds have greenish eyes and this Kennedy’s Emerald is no exception. In his field guide, Dragonflies of the North Woods, Kurt Mead writes, “Named for Dr. Clarence Kennedy, a professor at Ohio State University and a pioneering odonatologist.”

Also in the Emerald family are the Baskettail dragonflies, this one being a COMMON Baskettail. I’ve commented before on the word “common,” and probably will again, but seriously, do you see anything common about this intricately-designed specimen?

Spiketail Naiad

So, um, I drew and painted this Spiketail Naiad, but to my knowledge, I’ve never encountered a Spiketail. I guess that should be one of my goals for the upcoming season. And I’m sure that having said that, I will start receiving photos of such from friends who have spent time with the adult members of this family.

Clubtail Naiad

Clubtails, however, I do know and meet often. They are so named because most adults have clubbed abdomens.

One of the ones I meet most frequently is the Lancet Clubtail–who loves to greet me on our dock or accompany me for a kayak ride. Do you see how the end of the tail is more club-shaped?

I will say that I often have to slow my brain down to differentiate between a Lancet, Dusky, and Ashy Clubtail.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the biggest Clubtail of all: Meet the Dragonhunter. Yes, he has a clubbed tail. But also yes, as his name implies, he eats other dragonflies. Oh, there are plenty of other things on his menu, but at up to 3.5 inches in length, this big guy may also eat butterflies and even other Dragonhunters!

I would also be remiss if I didn’t share this photo of a Dragonhunter exuvia, which Dennis Paulson, author of  Dragonflies and Damselflies of the East describes as “wide, flat larva that resembles a wood chip.” The legs alone speak to its strength; formidable in the water and out.

And this is just a reminder to self that though I sketched and painted one form of a dragonfly naiad for six species, some may have other shapes. It’s the cerci at the tip of the abdomen that becomes key for identification to family.

Skimmer Naiad

My final painting completed this afternoon is that of a Skimmer Naiad. This is the largest family of dragonflies and every ID book includes a thick section for skimmers.

That seems apropos because not only are there a lot of family members, but their abdomens are also quite thick or chunky.

Pictured above is a male Calico Pennant Skimmer. His counterpart has all the same markings, but where you see red, she sports yellow. And soon, a pair of cousins will fly before the Calico Pennants. The cousins are the Hudsonian Whitefaces. Their abdomens are similar, but they have clear wings and as the name suggests, white faces.

That being said, I again have to slow myself down when I spot a Hudsonian because I often mistake it for a Calico at first glance.

I share thousands of photos (and probably have shared at least a million over the last ten years) of Skimmers, but thought I’d keep it simple and end with this one–a male Spangled Skimmer. Note the white stigmas on his wings. That I am aware, no other dragonfly has these white stigmas.

Thanks for stopping by to check on my current Naiad collection.

Naiads are the dragonflies of the future.

And the future is close at hand.

I can’t wait for spring 2025 to debut her dragonfly season.

Shout-out to the Universe

~ lmachayes

After he finished Yoga, and we both purchased veggies, eggs, flowers, jam, and goodies at our favorite farm market, aka Fly Away Farm, and picked up sandwiches at The Stow Corner Store, it was time to pull into a parking spot and head off on a journey, knowing full well that it would probably begin raining before we returned. That said, we left our rain gear in the truck. Wouldn’t you?

Our trail of choice this morning was actually a dirt road. One with a million names, but possibly most easily identified as Forest Road 9.

Because the gate is still locked, we had a two-mile walk ahead of us before we reached our lunch spot, but actually, that is my preferred way to travel this route. As I reminded My Guy, when we walk another road during the winter to a location very close by, we get to see bear hair on telephone poles. There were no poles along today’s road, but there could be other things worth noting.

Like Sessile-leaved Bellwort, aka Wild Oat, showing off its drooping bell-like flower that almost blend into the roadside scenery and if you don’t know to look, you might miss it.

And Coltsfoot! What looks like a Dandelion, but isn’t a Dandelion? I LOVE this flower because like all spring ephemerals, it is so fleeting.

In the Aster family, the flowers can be distinguished from Dandelions by the presence of obvious disk florets and ray florets. The stems are unique in that they are covered in tiny bract-like, scaly leaves, and the actual leaves for which the plant received its common name, don’t grow out until after it has flowered.

At last we reached our destination, after, of course, My Guy showed me where the snowmobile trail turns to the left and comes close to a trail around Shell Pond that we’ve viewed while circling that body of water.

Today’s water body: Deer Hill Bog. One of my favorite places to go, especially when the gate is closed and there is no traffic.

But, I’ve been thinking about that descriptor: Favorite. It’s rather like this one: Common. So many species are named Common This and Common That. And I find nothing common about them at all. I guess it’s true for favorite places. On any given day, no matter where I am, it is my favorite. Unless it isn’t, of course, but that doesn’t happen very often. Thankfully.

Beside the water, we heard a loud BUZZ, and there was a huge Bumblebee nectaring among the tiny bell-like flowers of Leatherleaf and I’d forgotten that they should be in bloom already.

All along the road, and then right in front of the wildlife blind, was another fav that I can’t resist photographing: Hobblebush. I’ve yet to find one with the tiny fertile flowers open, to that means more photos to come.

While munching on my sandwich, I saw fast movement on the water surface as it appeared the critter was running. When I zoomed in with my camera lens, I realized it was a Fishing Spider, who has a hairy, water-repellent body that help it move across the water.

It was while looking down, that I heard a high-pitched whistle I recognized, but was surprised to look up and watch an Osprey land on a snag right in front of us. My, what intent looking eyes, most useful for detecting objects under the water, with fish being its main food source.

That said, the Osprey is a raptor, and I suddenly spied a Canada Goose on a nest atop an old Beaver lodge, and thought about the breeder’s camouflage and how well its wings blended in with the nesting materials making it not quite so noticeable from the air.

Really, though, I think I was the perceived threat since the Goose held its head low and pointed at me as it guarded what I assumed were eggs below its body. Thankfully, it didn’t hiss at me, and when I realized the situation, I moved on.

All the while though, I kept an eye on the Osprey who had flown across the bog and perched–looking in the opposite direction of the Goose. I didn’t want to find out if Goose eggs were on the menu along with a fish. Though it would have been great to have observed it catch a fish.

Mergansers were also out and about on the pond and these two vocalized, which drew my attention to their location upon a log where I fully expected to see Painted Turtles basking. But today wasn’t that day–basking day.

Instead, as had been predicted, it began to rain and we had two miles to walk out and unlike the ducks, could not oil our feathers and let the water roll off.

That said, it wasn’t a raw day and we really didn’t mind. I know I rather like rainy days. Besides, we both had extra clothes waiting for us in the truck.

As we walked out, I mentioned that I was surprised we hadn’t seen any Red Trilliums in bloom.

I kid you not, a minute later I spotted a Painted Trillium, the first of the season for me.

My Guy wasn’t surprised, but wanted to know if I could make a Moose appear.

No, but about a mile later . . . a Red Trillium. We had missed both of these flowers on the way in, which is another reason why though loop trails are wonderful, I don’t mind retracing my steps because there’s always something different to see.

As for the Moose, no sightings today, but . . . I still want to give a Shout-out to the Universe for what we did spot both at the bog and along the road.

My Guy, The Giant Butterfly Whisperer

~ lmachayes ~ 3 Comments

It’s Monday. And that typically means a Mondate for My Guy and me. Especially if he’s worked all weekend. And a Mondate most often means a hike. So, that being that, we headed off to conquer two trails today. Neither was overly long, and one was rather easy, while the other was moderately difficult. But both offered sightings that have us still smiling.

I’ll start with the second hike of the day because this is my blog and I can do that sort of thing. We were in Shelburne, New Hampshire, and so on our way back to Maine, we stopped at the Shelburne Forest, a trail we tried to hike a year or two ago, only the Mosquitoes or Black Flies or both were so thick, that after about a quarter mile we turned around and raced out–treating ourselves to ice cream sundaes in Bethel, Maine, instead.

Today was different. Blue Sky. Slight Breeze. 75˚.

We soon began to notice a theme along the River Trail. First we encountered several Fox scats, indicating this spot may have marked a territory. It seemed like it was important enough to return and leave a sign again, and again, and again.

A wee bit farther and more Fox scat.

And several displays of Moose scat, this one being from this past winter, while another had more debris on it and was starting to break down, indicating a previous winter.

We also noted Beaver works in the form of a dam, plus some cut trees on the trail beside a steep embankment to the river. And deer prints and scat. And coyote scat.

I mentioned that I’d like to come back in the winter to see who spends time here.

My Guy’s response, “Anyone else might think you were talking about people, but I know you are not.”

He gets me!

I had two other favorite sightings along this “Scat” trail. The first being the leaves of Trout Lilies. NUMEROUS leaves of Trout Lilies. So now I know I need to return soon to see the flowers, rather than just wait until winter.

And a Garter Snake that surprised My Guy because it was in the middle of the Forest Trail as we completed a loop, but quickly slithered away.

I kept hoping it would stick its tongue out to get a sense of its surroundings, but for some reason it didn’t honor us with such.

Now it’s time to turn back the clock and head off on the Peabody Brook Trail, which was our late morning hiking spot, the first hike of the dat. We were grateful for signs like this when the trail crossed a logging road.

We chose this trail because we’d read about it in New England Waterfalls, by Greg Parsons and Kate B. Watson. I know Kate from church and love that these two visited waterfalls throughout New England to include in their comprehensive guide. We’ve visited some, but have so many more to do.

At the beginning, the Peabody Brook flows through a ravine and due to a rainy weekend, it cascaded over, around, and under the boulders, and was an ever-present companion for much of the trail.

Other companions included several Anglewing Butterfies, that I couldn’t identify until I saw their underwings, as the markings indicate either a Comma or a Question Mark.

And there were Hobblebush leaves, with their corrugated presentation, beginning to unfurl.

Plus a few Painted Trillium plants showing off their leaves of three, though no flowers yet, and causing My Guy to comment, “You’ll probably take a trillion Trillium photos again this year.” Did I say he knows me well?

Upward we climbed into the great blue beyond, for so it seemed on this gorgeous day.

And then we reached a junction, and I, for one, was excited about what might be ahead.

Would we meet Devlin, the giant in my fairy tale, The Giant’s Shower? After all, he lives only a giant step away at Arethusa Falls.

I also thought we might see a few fairies, including Devlin’s favorite, Falda, for such was the neighborhood, with lots of mossy areas among the Hemlocks.

And then My Guy got excited when he spotted something? A giant? Maybe, but in the form of Giant Falls, and if you allow your eye to move a wee bit to the right of his pointer finger, you’ll see the white water through the trees.

Where we’d left the brook for a bit as we climbed up, the spur trail led us back down and suddenly there was fall after fall after fall beside us.

We considered eating lunch beside a large pool. But then reconsidered, but not before I noted some features of the brook that I’ve been sharing with a homeschool family this year. A POOL.

And EDDIES. And FLOWS.

And FOAM. And that very foam was being picked up by the breeze and “snowing.” Oh how my ten-year-old friend would love that.

Do you see the little white dots above the water and rocks?

We decided to hike farther up the steep trail to reach lunch rock so we could enjoy the power of the falls fanning over the boulders.

Take a moment to listen to this incredible force of nature.

After taking in the scene around us, it was time for lunch. And that’s when the magic began to happen.

A fairy flew in. I kid you not.

That’s just a butterfly, you might think. “Just”? No, no, no. I’m sure it was a fairy disguised as a butterfly, because the fairies don’t want us to know that they are present.

And . . . it landed on My Guy’s right leg.

As we both watched quietly, it walked down his pants to his hiking shoe.

And then it began to puddle. PUDDLE. ON. HIS. SHOE. LACE.

Puddling is a butterfly act intended to seek minerals and other nutrients from things such as scat, carrion, puddles, etc., but a shoe lace? And on My Guy’s shoe lace? What, indeed, could the lure be?

We’ll never know. But what we do know is that the Anglewing Butterfly was an Eastern Comma, based on the white comma shape on its underwing.

Spectacular.

The butterfly spent at least five minutes with My Guy: who seemed to appreciate that he had suddenly turned into a Whisperer. I don’t know that he’s ever held that status before.

When we finally departed, we had to hike back out along the same trail upon which we’d journeyed in, and . . . cross a bridge that bowed in the middle. Certainly the sign that a giant frequented it.

My Guy: The Giant Falls Butterfly Whisperer.

Worth a wonder.

P.S. No, there will not be a sequel to The Giant’s Shower. Self-publishing is expensive and I still have a bunch of books left from the second printing because I’m terrible at promoting it. It’s easy to do here on the blog, but not in real life.