Insects

Vernal Pool 1: Oh Baby(ies)

~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

Once the snow and ice began to melt, I started making almost daily visits to “My” vernal pool, located about a quarter of a mile from our house, and only a hop, skip, and jump, well maybe a few hops, skips, and jumps, from the cowpath, and more importantly, on neighbors’ property.

I met the neighbors for the first time last November when I spotted them walking their dog through their woods as I looked for any insects on trees. They were breaking branches to create a sorta trail, and I encouraged them to walk the cowpath instead because it’s flat and I try to keep it cleared of downed branches.

It was upon our second encounter when they did actually use the cowpath (and have done so regularly since though our paths haven’t crossed in months) that I asked them if they knew about the vernal pool. They did not. The dog was a rescue and they’d only had her for a few months and she was the reason they were out walking in the woods.

Being my blunt self, I did ask that they not bring their dog to the vernal pool in the spring and explained about the Wood Frogs and Spotted Salamanders who use it as a breeding pond. Yeegads. But they didn’t take it to be rude, and instead told me that they think they have another vernal pool elsewhere on their land, closer to their house. Then they invited me to walk in their woods and explore anytime. Um, I thanked them and admitted that I’ve been doing that for years; I just don’t go close to the house.

At last, about two weeks ago, the ice went out. But . . . there was no action. It was cold and seemed to snow every other day and the ground was still frozen and the breeders just weren’t ready. I waited.

Finally, on Sunday, April 13, 2025, we had some rain, and our local Big Night celebration was announced via text and email messages. Big Night is that night(s) when it’s been raining in the afternoon and evening and the roads are wet, and volunteers head out to locations close to home to help amphibians cross the road without getting smooshed. Or help most of them.

We didn’t hear any Wood Frogs or Spring Peepers as we approached the pool of our attention that night (not “My” vernal pool, which is thankfully not near a road), so we weren’t sure if we’d see any action. And others south and east of us had been posting for a week that they’d only found one or two frogs during any given rain event. Still, we went. And were glad we did because we helped a total of 158 Wood Frogs (including the one pictured above) and Peepers that night. There were still a few smooshed, but as always, we reminded ourselves that they become food for other critters.

Given that success, the next afternoon I visited “My” pool and heard not a peep upon my approach. But I did what I do, and stood as still as possible upon a rock at the edge, and within a few minutes this male Wood Frog surfaced.

And I decided that this year I am going to try to be more present at the pool and try to get to know all who venture in and around it, including Chippy, on an eternal search for seeds to stuff into his cheeks.

Mid-morning Tuesday found me making my way to the pool again and this time, I could hear the “Wruck, Wruck” calls of the male Wood Frogs as I approached. Spring has finally sprung. Oh, and the crocuses have finally bloomed. Beaked Hazelnuts with their tiny yet exquisite magenta flowers as well.

And then, my first peek into the pool, and there it was, a Wood Frog egg mass about the size of a wiffle ball and I wondered if it had been there on Monday and I just hadn’t seen it.

As always, I stood still, and as always, it took the frogs a few minutes to surface, but suddenly they were everywhere, and probably wishing, if frogs can do such a thing, that I would leave so they could begin their mating chorus again.

But I stayed. And wondered. Why is it that a Gray Squirrel, like the Chipmunk, can scamper about and rustle the leaves and make all kinds of noise and the frogs continue to float upon the surface, but the minute I flinch, they dive to the bottom and hide under leaves for minutes on end?

I did decide to change positions after a bit of enjoying the sight of so many frogs, because I wanted to see if there were any egg masses at the western end of the pool, but discovered none.

I did spy a bunch of Cluster Flies by the edge of the water.

And in the water, I watched Mosquitoes larvae wiggle about and a Predaceous Diving Beetle lift its butt to the surface to fill the air bubble located under its wings or elytra.

And then the Beetle surprised me and after swimming under the small log, it climbed onto it and gave me a whole different perspective for I never think about them as fliers, but they have strong wings and can do such, especially if the pool they are in dries up and they need to get to another pool. Apparently they are also attracted to lights, another reason not to keep outdoor lights on all night.

My morning visit came to an end when the frog nearest to me dove down and hid under the leaf cover. Well, sorta hid. Do you see it?

I was so taken with the pool, that I returned again in the afternoon. And this time I spotted something I’d missed in the morning. A more recently deposited egg mass. I suspect it had been there for at least a few hours because it was already bigger than a quarter, which is the size they are at first.

During this visit, I also spotted Whirligig Beetles gyrating around each other in breakneck speed, creating ripples everywhere.

And male Wood Frogs ever on the look out for a date.

In fact, so anxious were they that sometimes one male tried to grasp another, but the one underneath quickly squealed and swam away.

Then I spotted another old friend or its relative and wondered if the Long-jawed Orb Weaver that had created a perfect web between branches over the water was one that I’d photographed on the snow this past winter. Probably not. But a woman can dream.

Later in the afternoon on Tuesday it began to rain and while the storm didn’t last too long, it was enough to wet the roads and again the word went out for Big Night #2. This time there were a few Spotted Salamanders on the move as well.

The next photo may disturb you, so you may want to skip over it.

I included this picture of two squished female Wood Frogs because this is what happens when we drive by vernal pools and other wetlands on rainy nights. And I added the arrows to show the egg sacs that had popped out as the tires drove over these ladies.

We let out a communal groan as we heard the pop, and then made this discovery, trying to ease the moment by reminding ourselves that they would become food for others, but still . . . reinforcing the reason why we’ve been celebrating Big Night(s) on this local road for at least 25 years of organized events and I suspect many more before that.

All told for saves on Tuesday night: 836 live Wood Frogs, Spring Peepers, Spotted Salamanders, plus at least one Green Frog and one Eastern Newt.

That was a BIG night! And many thanks to Dawn and Maggie for organizing it.

And from the sound of the “Wrucks” on Wednesday, which was louder than the day before, I knew the ladies had returned to “My” pool as well. And the guys were feeling successful.

Within a minute of standing there, I looked down and spotted a couple embraced in what is known as Wood Frog amplexus, the smaller and darker male being on top with his forelegs wrapped around her, just above her enlarged belly.

She seemed to be in full control as she moved about the twigs, looking for a good location to deposit her eggs.

I thought the first spot was perfect because it was located near another egg mass and Wood Frogs tend to deposit their eggs in communal colonies, the better to avoid predation–especially if yours are among the first and are surrounding by other egg masses, and therefore protected.

Scanning the pool, I spotted another couple and decided that going forward they need names, so this is Couple 2.

Meanwhile, Couple 1 continued to move about the same set of twigs.

And then near my rock, Couple 3 appeared.

There were also lone males, and because it was breezy, no one seemed to mind my presence. In fact, a couple of males in the western corner even “Wrucked” a few times.

Couple 2 found a larger branch and hung out there.

But Couple 1, they were on the move again.

This time testing a different set of twigs. All I could do was wonder exactly what she was looking for. What made a prime location prime?

I don’t have the answer and probably never will, but still couldn’t believe my good fortune to have all three couples right there by my feet.

And then . . . and then Couple 1 swam off and disappeared under a recently fallen tree and I thought, “That’s a good place because there are so many branches to choose from,” but at the same time I was disappointed because I figured I’d never see the rest of the story.

Until . . . they swam back out and approached the twig of their first choice.

And seemed to be making a move to settle upon it.

Only they didn’t. Instead, they swam to another twig that they’d tried earlier; one that had no other egg masses.

And suddenly, right before my eyes, she began to lay eggs, which he fertilized externally. Can you see the black and white dots between their hind legs?

I could not believe I was finally witnessing this amazing moment. Magic in the making.

My body was stiff from standing so still, but it was so worth the effort.

With her hind legs, and I may be wrong about this, she appeared to be wrapping the mass around the stick so it would be well attached.

The eggs are black and white, the Pied Pattern, the top of the egg being dark so predators from above may not see it because it more closely matches the dark leaves and muck on the floor of the pool, and white on the bottom so that predators within the pool will think it’s just sky.

So, as luck would have it, and I was feeling super lucky and grateful for the opportunity to observe, my camera battery died. And the back-up battery was at home. (Note to self: carry it in my pocket.)

I pulled out the next best thing and shot this photo with my iPhone. He eventually moved off of her, but not too far away, probably exhausted from all the effort. And she remained below the quarter-size egg mass for a few more minutes.

As for the other two couples, one disappeared under the fallen tree and the other went under the leaves below my rock, perhaps seeking privacy.

Finally, I took my leave. With a huge smile on my face.

Oh Baby(ies), I know your parents will leave the pool soon, but I’ll be there to watch over you. Maybe not daily, but frequently for as long as the pool holds water, being ephemeral as it is.

The Exclamation Point

~ lmachayes

The crossover from winter to spring is actually emulating the same from autumn to winter with fluctuating temperatures and snow. But still there is so much to see if you can get outside.

Yesterday, My Guy and I paid a visit to “our”vernal pool (located on a neighbor’s back forty) and noted that it was still ice covered. That said, I know I’ll start making almost daily visits because any time now the ice will begin to melt and tada, the action will start to happen.

The day before, we’d walked a local trail that still had areas of snow here and there, but were delighted to spot our first Great Blue Heron of 2025, which was apropos as this morning I received an email from the state biologist asking if I’m still willing to monitor three rookeries as I have done for the past 15 years. YES!

And the day before that, while hiking another trail in a different town where there was almost no snow, we had a quick sighting of an Anglewing Butterfly that I couldn’t name to species because it flew off before I could spot the markings on the underside of its wings.

Now those sightings seem like only memories and how could they have possibly occurred given that five inches of snow accumulated quickly yesterday.

But early this morning, the snow turned out to be a tracker’s delight, for fresh tracks showed details providing names for the creators who passed this way.

And so along our cowpath (where cows haven’t walked in years), I followed the Red Fox, wondering where it might lead me.

I knew I should have backtracked it so as not to put pressure on it, but knowing and doing are two different things.

If I had backtracked it, I might have discovered the source of its scat left in such a location beside a tree stump, that I thought it was a boundary marker the Fox had deposited.

And it may well have been, but I suspect there was other important information given off by the scat such as the fox’s gender, age, and health, for a few steps later it left a sign and scent of its availability in the form of skunky-smelling pee. I thought mating season had come to an end, but apparently I thought wrong and the fox knows best.

We stayed together for a bit, though there were a few downed trees I chose to walk over or around, rather than under like the fox did. When it reached the stonewall between our land and the neighbor’s field, I decided to turn around and head toward the vernal pool instead to perform my daily check.

The transformation from yesterday to today should not have amazed me–My Guy and I walked in sleet and then snow yesterday, but still . . . the vernal pool seemed like a whole other place–almost like December 25th rather than March 25th.

To the left of the pool I noticed tracks that I’ve seen frequently here and beside the cowpath and knew that the resident Porcupine had been out and back overnight. I love the sashay of its track pattern and will miss seeing that when the snow does finally melt.

I followed Porky’s track to a Hemlock and noted that it had climbed up and down. I know about where its den is because I followed its tracks a few weeks ago over a couple of stonewalls and then into the yard of a neighbor around the corner, but decided to not locate the actual spot cuze it might seem a bit odd that I was looking for such.

Can you imagine seeing this woman show up in your backyard because she wants to know where the Porcupine she displaced this winter is now denning?

On my way out today, I did grab the game camera because I fully expected to see the Red Fox on it. For some reason, it alluded the camera, but I did find a couple of Porky videos. The first was taken about a week ago and I encourage you to watch the ten-second demonstration of the mammal’s behavior.

Not only do Porcupines sashay, but they have other dance moves as well, and I only wish I’d seen these in snow, but if I ever do, I’ll have a better understanding of interpreting them.

This behavior is one of self-defense–as Porcupines don’t see or hear very well, but it must have sensed danger. The camera didn’t pick up on a predator, but those erect quills being flashed all around indicate something loomed in the night.

I’d love to call it a dance of joy, but know better. It was meant to be an intimidating dance. If a predator should get close, Porky could lash out with those 30,000 quills, which are easily detached and can become embedded in the skin of the attacker. Definitely not a dance of joy from the predator’s point of view.

A couple of days later, Porky was all business as he headed toward home, leading me to believe he felt no threat in that moment.

Here’s the thing. His den is the same den of the Porky by the vernal pool and I know he has sampled several trees poolside, as well as several trees cowpath-side, so I assume it is the same animal.

I left the pool behind and walked down the driveway of a local business and then slipped into a park where I again met Foxy Loxy on the move.

He wasn’t the only one moving, either. Do you see the tiny black mark by my tracking card?

Winter Stoneflies were having a heyday this morning. It always excites me to see them because their nymphs require healthy, clean water and so to live in a area where these tiny insects are abundant means we are among the fortunate.

How fortunate? Super! For my next great find was . . . drum roll, please . . . an Otter slide. My heart be still.

I’ve seen their slides in this very spot before, but it’s been quite a few years. Of course, I had to follow the path that they took, which was really a bushwhack, given that they crossed the path we humans have created.

This is the spot where the Otter came out of the brook and bounded up the hill. I assume it was one, but sometimes they travel in family units and follow the same route so what looks like one could be two. Foxes do the same.

Speaking of that, do you see a set of tracks coming in from the east to meet the Otter? Or at least sniff around and wonder where it went? Those belong to the Red Fox.

The same Red Fox who traveled through our woods? Possibly.

And this is the spot where the Otter slid back into the water.

Fortunately the Otter didn’t meet its fate by becoming a meal for the Red Fox. Yet.

I moved on from that spot, but it seemed no matter where I went the Red Fox had been there before me.

And always searching. Food is a strong motivator.

So is finding a mate. More urine and this time there were two foxes, so I wonder if he found a she.

And I’m wondering how many Gray Squirrels who frequent our bird feeders will become meals for kits. The squirrels are well fed; I can attest to that.

I felt like life couldn’t get much better, and then others made their presence known, like the Long-jawed Orb Weaver,

Winter Firefly,

and another robust spider.

As for those suddenly ubiquitous Stoneflies . . . I kept looking for one that had actually reached a tree and was at last successful.

Until it wasn’t, and I wanted to say (and actually did), “Hey Bub, you took a wrong turn. You’ll never find a mate if you don’t reach that tree trunk.”

Of course, there are many more trees in the forest and perhaps something didn’t seem quite right about this one.

Until it did. And the Stonefly started to climb up onto the bark.

Do you see it?

How about now? It’s definitely a Where’s Waldo moment.

Does the arrow help?

With his abdomen, he’ll create a drum beat only she can hear, and I left him to it in hopes that he was successful.

As I turned around, I met a young mother and her two-year old son out for a nature hike and so I introduced them to the Stoneflies. The tot was thrilled and he kept locating others. We chatted for a few minutes and then it was time to part and he turned to me, smiled, and said, “Goodbye,” and then blew me a kiss. His mother was as surprised as I was. I blew a kiss back to him.

There was so much out there to make my day today, and that kiss was the final seal.

It brought me back around to the Anglewing Butterfly. On Saturday I couldn’t tell My Guy if it was an Eastern Comma or a Question Mark, both species that as adults overwinter behind bark.

This is a Comma, where as the Question Mark would have this same line, plus an additional dot making it look like a QM.

My Guy’s comment, “For you, it doesn’t really matter. They are all Exclamation Points.”

YES! And today was full of Exclamation Points. I’m forever grateful.

P.S. As I headed home a couple of hours later, the temperature had risen and snow plops were falling from trees and the conditions for tracking had significantly deteriorated.

Part of the Neighborhood

~ lmachayes

The text arrived from one of my first playmates on Wednesday. “Good morning,” she wrote, “Just wanted to give you a heads up my fat and sassy Juncos are headed your way. Only had a couple yesterday and none this morning. Hope they had a safe trip! Blow them a kiss for me. Hugs.”

A few hours letter I wrote back that I’d let her know when they arrived.

And a few minutes, voilà! My second text to Kate: “No sooner said than BINGO! I looked out the back door and there were three!”

On Thursday afternoon, the Bluebirds arrived. Kate told me she’d had three couples all winter in Connecticut. “They are so stunning! They seem to be the kindest of breeds. They don’t squabble as much as others and share better.”

After that, it was a Tree Sparrow. And many more Juncos each day.

And today, the Chickadees and Tufted Titmice and Bluejays, of course, but also Goldfinches, and one Tree Sparrow, and Mourning Doves, and Red-breasted and White-breasted Nuthatches, and Downy and Hairy Woodpeckers, and I’m sure others that I’m missing, and suddenly, the feeders were busy. Toss into the mix Red and Gray Squirrels, and Crows, though the latter stayed about ten feet away from the action, while the former got right into it, and it was a full house.

This afternoon, I interrupted the action for a few minutes when I headed out the back door to go for a tramp in the woods and had just reached an opening when I heard, then saw this guy and knew that our resident Red-shouldered Hawk had returned.

According to Stan Tekiela’s Birds of Prey of the Northeast, “Adults return to the same nest and territory for many years; the young also return.”

Welcome home!

I had no sooner lost sight of the hawk, when movement from another source caught my eye.

Flying from the ground up to a tree limb was a Barred Owl. And my heart was even happier than it had been.

We spent a few minutes together and I gave great thanks also that the vernal pool over which the owl perched is still rather frozen. No frogs or salamanders would be on the menu yet. I did, however, worry about the birds in my yard, but there was nothing I could do.

Except, that is, watch my friend for a few more minutes before waving goodbye to him and moving on.

And that’s when I heard a song, or rather many songs, that took me back to a summer morning and realized that as much as I don’t want winter to come to an end this week, the time has come because there is so much more to see and welcome and wonder about. The Red-winged Blackbirds were in a large flock with Grackles, and Robins, and more Crows. And the chorus was most delightful.

I’d say the female Hairy Woodpecker was much quieter than the others, but it was her inflight song that encouraged me to look for her.

I just hope it wasn’t Emerald Ash Borers she was seeking as she drilled a few test holes in the tree. Of course, if she can help control them, then that’s a good thing.

My journey led me to a local brook where the Mallard flock is spreading out more as the ice is receding quickly during these suddenly 50˚ days.

That said, they are still there.

He preened . . .

as she looked on.

Others did what we should all consider doing on a Sunday afternoon: stick our heads under our wings and take a nap.

But I didn’t. How about you?

Upon a second brook that flows into the first, another species caught me by surprise as I rarely see it in this place. A female Common Goldeneye. I’ve always had a problem with the descriptor “common.” That prominent golden eye is hardly common in my book.

Moseying along, I realized it wasn’t just birds who were greeting the day. Chipmunks have been dashing about on the snow for the last week or two, taking advantage of any acorns the squirrels may have hoarded. (And birdseed–as I watched one stuff its cheeks the other day.)

One critter that surprised me was a Carpenter Ant making its way toward a boulder rather than a tree. Though I see the exoskeletons of these ants in Pileated Woodpecker scat all the time and even found some fine specimens in our woods today, I don’t recall ever spotting one on snow before.

Speaking of Pileated Woodpeckers, their freshly excavated holes are dripping with sap and by this hole I found a couple of Winter Fireflies. So, um, Winter Fireflies are fond of Maple Sap. In fact, some call them Sap-bucket Beetles. But White Pine sap? Do you know how sticky it is? As in, you can practically glue =-your-fingers-together sticky.

When I first spotted these two, I wondered if the sap might have given them pause. Were they stuck?

But then there was movement and in that moment, all was good with the world.

I had one more discovery to make–actually, it’s been my quest this year to find this species and its relative who is only about a half inch longer.

But I must have missed the mass emergence of Small Winter Stoneflies, and their cousins, Winter Stoneflies, for like today, I’ve only seen one or three or maybe five on any particular occasion near these brooks, when in the past there were so many more. Might last summer’s drought and water conditions be the reason for so few? After all, these species are highly sensitive to pollution and thus, are indicators of excellent water quality. I have to hope that I just missed the right day.

After the Stonefly discovery, I did find one more thing that always brings me around to the cycle of life. A small bird was plucked and became the meal of a larger predator.

Curiously, some feathers were stuck to the bark of the tree . . .

My thought was that the predator sat high above, and let the plucked feathers drop and being a pine, a few stuck to the sap, or maybe just to the rough bark. Or maybe the bird was consumed right there on the side of the trunk.

I don’t know and I don’t know who the predator was, but energy was offered and sunshine turned into seeds and insects that fattened up the smaller bird were passed on to the bigger critter.

Perhaps the Barred Owl knows the whole story. Or the Red-shouldered Hawk.

All I know is that I gave thanks for this day to wander and wonder and be greeted by so many who are all a part of my neighborhood. Well, really, I’m a part of their neighborhood, and I appreciate that they share it with me.

The Tale of Two Tails

~ lmachayes

We call ourselves the Trail Snails–a group of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church parishioners always accompanied by various non-parishioners who like to crawl at a snail’s pace.

Each week I try to find a different location, thinking fairly flat for locomotion and with natural elements that will bring out their sense of wonder. The first isn’t always easy, especially given the amount of snow and ice we’ve had this winter; but the second is a cinch since there’s so much to wonder about in our little corner of the world. When we started these walks in the fall, I did not expect that we’d continue weekly throughout the winter. But we have.

And so today six people (parishioners and non) joined me at my house to head out to the well-packed snowmobile trail. Of course, it wasn’t as well packed for the first thirty feet and that proved a bit challenging because we all wore some variation of micro-spikes rather than snowshoes, but they all persevered.

Once on the main trail, I showed them Porcupine tracks and then asked them to find the next set of such. It only took a minute for one to spot the pattern. While we looked at them and I shared some fun facts, I looked around and realized I was standing in the middle of recent Porky activity. Not only were there fresh tracks, but also scat and twigs cut at the traditional 45˚ angle, with buds and needles missing. We looked up into the tree, but fortunately no one was at home.

I think I know this Porcupine because he’s a frequent visitor to the Hemlocks in our woods and the neighbors’.

When I asked the group to share the findings and become a Porcupine, they did so, though I think they think I’m a wee bit crazy. Maybe I am. Anyway, Left to right: Nancy holding some scat on my scat shovel, Marion and another Nancy with twigs, Marcia smiling about it all, and Gary wearing my Porcupine socks to show how the feet are like sandpaper to gripe a tree as they climb, while his wife Julia was there for moral support and to help him up if need be.

We paused at many other spots along the way, including looking at the silk a Pine Tube Caterpillar uses to construct its tube.

And admire a perfectly round display of Lungwort, a foliose lichen consisting of a fungus and a green algal partner living together in a symbiotic relationship with a cyanobacterium.

Had I brought water, I would have poured some on it to show off how green it quickly gets since the alga would have kicked into action to provide food for the fungal structure.

Lungwort is sensitive to air pollution and habitat loss, so spotting it is always a treat and reminds us of why we love living here in western Maine.

We also looked at buds on an Ash to figure out which species and I told them about the Emerald Ash Borer and showed photos of what blonding looks like.

It turns out what we were looking at was a White Ash–hairless buds that dip into the upside-down, C-shaped leaf scar.

And then there were the Winter Fireflies that we found still as could be on the snow. I picked one up in the scat shovel and thought it must be dead.

That is . . . until we noticed its antennae began to move.

And then it started to walk. Last we knew, I’d left it and its kin on their favorite tree, a Sugar Maple, with hopes that as the temps warmed today and will continue to do so going forward, the insects will survive.

Just before reaching our driveway at the end of our walk, we also saw a Winter Cranefly, but moments after I scooped it up in my scat shovel, it flew. At least most everyone got to see it.

As Trail Snails, we walked not quite a mile and a half in two hours, but saw so much, and I was especially jazzed by the new Porcupine evidence. I think they were as well. Maybe not jazzed, but curious.

And in our time together we saw only three snowmobiles. While it was brought up that those on the machines miss all that we were seeing, I did explain that My Guy often comes back from a ride and tells me of the wildlife he and friends sighted. There I am being so quiet and not seeing any, but somehow despite the machine he spies so much more.

And then this afternoon, I picked up a friend and drove to another section of the local snowmobile system. We walked and talked and talked and talked some more, catching up because despite retirement we are both incredibly busy. In a good way. Doing things we love to do.

As we walked, I kept pointing out Porcupine tracks and if we’d had snowshoes on, I might have convinced her to look for the feeding trees and den sights, but we chose to begin with micro-spikes and quickly ditched those since the snow conditions on the well-packed trail were just right.

We also paused to listen to a Barred Owl and tried to spot it to no avail.

And then, near water, we spied tracks of a different sort. And scat. And mud. And not quite open water.

The scat was from Otters. And I really wanted to take a closer look, but didn’t trust the trail down, despite it being well traveled.

What I now realize I didn’t take a photo of were tree marks in the snow, which in the moment I surmised were twigs blowing down toward the water.

I noted that the track continued across the road upon which we walked and so I suggested we take a look and see if we could note anything about the Otters’ behavior.

We certainly did not note anything about such, but instead discovered fresh Beaver works. And suddenly the indentations left by the twigs made sense–Beavers dragging tree branches down to the water to take back to their lodge or winter food raft.

Maybe like some people that I’ve heard are looking for more firewood right now to stay warm the rest of the winter, the Beavers didn’t realize everything would stay frozen as long as it has and so they needed to replenish the pantry.

Shortly after that, at about the 2.5 mile mark from our journey’s beginning, we turned around and started to walk back. And then something stopped us in our tracks. It took me a few moments to say, “Look,” and grab my camera and I feared this something would slip out of sight before I did so.

The Beaver must have come up the hill to cross the road to go grocery shopping by the trees he’d previously cut down, and then spotted us and we watched it waddle down its well packed trail toward the ice.

We thought our time together would end in a second as it slipped into the water, but then we realized it was looking for an open hole.

And scratching the snow and ice, even to the point of getting snow on its face.

It kept trying and we kept watching.

Still no luck for the Beaver, while we felt we were having all the luck in the world.

Traveling on land is such a vulnerable activity for Beavers and I could only hope that the Otter scat in this very spot where we stood above the water was the result of the Otter eating something else and not making a meal of a Beaver kit. Because really, they both can take advantage of the same hole in the ice.

We also wondered where the lodge might be but the bank’s edge was too steep for us to note if it was nearby.

And then, just like that, the Beaver found open water and this was the last we saw of it before it made its escape.

We knew we were blessed, Marita and I. And gave great thanks for hearing the Barred Owl, spying Otter Scat, and spending a few minutes with a Beaver.

What a day, from a Porcupine’s Tale to a Beaver’s, two mammals with tails of grand importance–the former being for defense and stability on a tree limb, and the latter for a rudder, as well as stability like a tripod when cutting down a tree, and fat storage as well.

In Search of Winter Stoneflies

~ lmachayes

I’ve been waiting for this day for the last few weeks. To that end, every couple of days I’ve snowshoed out the back door and made my way down to the park, eyes always looking down just in case. To no avail.

Oh, the ducks are always there, as its their winter hangout, being one of the few places with open water given how cold the temps have been. Even this morning, the thermometer registered -7˚ at our house.

What I love about the sun shining on the male Mallards heads was that some appeared green and others blue in their iridescent hue. They rather reminded me of Ebony Jewelwing Damselflies who have bodies of the same color, albeit a million times smaller.

But it wasn’t the ducks that I sought. Instead, it was this. A Winter Stonefly!

In winter, crazy as it may seem, the aquatic immature stage of a Winter Stonefly, aka naiad, crawls from the rocky bottom home of the brook where it has spent the last year or more maturing (going through as many as thirty molts) and shredding fallen leaves, climbs up through crevices in the snow that covers the brook, finds a plant or some other spot to emerge as an adult, and leaves behind its shed skin, much like a dragonfly or damselfly.

Today, though not abundant, the insects were all on the move and most headed west, as I’ve noted in the past.

Their mission: to reach a tree trunk.

Once there, they’ll crawl under the snow beside the trunk and I had to wonder if we’ll hear the sounds of their party reverberating through the cold night air tonight. That said, today it wasn’t hundreds of insects; but that day will come soon.

Why to the tree trunks? And why crawl under the snow? The bark is warmest in that spot, so it is a good place to get out of the weather.

Stoneflies have hammer-like structures on their abdomen that make noise when thumped against a surface, like a tree trunk or a twig or even the ground. This is a mating call. The males drum, and the females drum back, and voila, they find each other and canoodle.

And just to mix it up, this spot is also home to Small Winter Stoneflies.

Like Mayflies and Caddisflies, Stoneflies are particularly sensitive to pollution and serve as bioindicators of water quality. That means the brooks beside which I walked have excellent water quality. That is good news indeed.

Since I was in the park, I decided to look around to see who else might be living there. There was an abundance of Gray Squirrel tracks, and those left by a Red Fox or two, and even Raccoons. But then in a spot where I hadn’t spotted this tree for any reason before, I noticed that a Beaver had paid attention.

Can’t you just imagine the Beaver cocking its head to the side and trying to cut this tree down. From the looks of it, this tree was partially chopped down before ice formed over most of one of the two brooks that flow through the property, so I would imagine in early December. How did I miss this before?

And where there are White Pine Saplings, some times there are signs of a Pine Tube Caterpillar’s winter home. Well, it could have been in this one or any of the dozen others I spotted nearby.

The larval form of the Pine Tube Moth, Argyrotaenia pinatubana, binds clusters of needles together. What typically happens is that the caterpillar uses between ten and twenty needles to form a tube or hollow tunnel. (You might also see the little white Pine Scale insect to the left of the tube.)

In October 2021, I had the good fortune to watch some Pine Tube Caterpillars at work.

Back and forth they moved, excreting silk that formed a ladder-like web. The caterpillars moved up and down their silk-lined tunnels to feed on needles at the tip. When the time comes, each caterpillar creates one more tube and does the same thing until it is ready to pupate overwinter.

The moth will emerge in April, when I’ll need to pay attention again (if I remember). Two generations occur each year and those that overwinter are the second generation.

Those were all great sightings. BUT. Not all is perfect with the natural world. And the blonding on the Ash tree is certainly an indicator of one thing that is wrong.

Emerald Ash Borers are invasive insects that will attack and kill both weak and healthy Ash trees of all species.

Most of the EAB’s life cycle takes place below the bark.

Tunnels or galleries from feeding larvae accumulate and disrupt the flow of a tree’s nutrients. All wood boring insects leave behind tunnel patterns, but to my knowledge no others have the S-shaped or sinuous curves of EAB.

During the winter, woodpeckers probe for larvae feeding beneath the bark, and often reveal infested trees. The “blonding” I referred to earlier is the light color left behind as the birds remove the outer bark.

I checked some of the debris below one of the infected trees, in hopes of finding woodpecker scat filled with the larval and/or pupal forms of EAB, but so far have not had success. Though some towns are bringing in parasitic wasps to attack the mature insects, wouldn’t it be great to know that we have birds who can help in the effort?

While studying the Ash trees, I looked across the trail at a couple of Sugar Maples and discovered another insect whom I think the world of, the Winter Firefly.

So here’s the thing: fireflies are not flies; they are beetles. Unlike many beetles, however, Winter Fireflies overwinter as adults.

Also, they are diurnal and don’t have lanterns to light up the night sky.

Once I started looking, I discovered quite a few either crawling on the trunk or tucked just underneath where the bark curled away from the tree.

There were also a bunch on the snow, like this one above, and they appeared to be dead, which surprised me. Or maybe they were just taking a rest?

Back to the ducks I returned before heading home. And this time, it wasn’t just Mallards who came into my view. I would like to confidently say that the duck on the left is a female American Black Duck and on the right, a female Mallard.

BUT . . . yes, it’s true, there always is a but, I’m only basing my conclusion on the difference in their beaks and according to The Sibley Field Guide, there are hybrids.

The rest of the bodies of these two look almost identical, and perhaps not as dark as the Black Duck should be. Am I right? (You know that when I’m alone I’m 100% correct, but in blog-land, I’m not alone so I welcome any tips to help me have a better understanding.)

There were a zillion Mallards and though some seemed to be couples like these two, others ganged up and squawked and zipped about chasing each other in circles.

And then into the mix entered a pair of Hooded Mergansers, she being the more drab color. Actually, I spotted two males, but only one female. Then again, I stood only in one spot to view the open water, so I don’t know who might have been around the bend.

Both the male and female Mergansers were diving and feeding, possibly on small fish.

As I watched them, another duck paddled my way and I thought for sure it was a rare species and couldn’t wait to get home and check my field guides.

He had the green head and yellow bill of a breeding male Mallard, and gave chase to his woman.

But that white bib?

It was almost as if the White-bibbed duck had the opposite coloration of the male Mallard, with the light colored chest and dark flank versus Mr. M’s dark chest and lighter flank.

Mr. White-Bibbed also had a white eye line that I didn’t see in the Mallard. And his chest seemed to stick out prominently.

The best I can tell from a little research, is that this is the result of a Mallard canoodling with a domestic duck. Again, if I’m wrong, please let me know.

Some call them Manky Mallards or Domestic Mallards. Mrs. Mallard seemed rather pleased with her choice and if these two do stay together, I can only wonder what their offspring will look like.

Just before I walked home, I heard and then saw a pair of Northern Cardinals. She didn’t make herself clearly visible, because if you look closely, you’ll note the berries of another invasive, Bittersweet, that she was dining upon. Junk food for birds. And they are the reason it spreads so rampantly in our area. I have to say, I remember a time when I thought Bittersweet was beautiful as a decoration.

At the end of the day, I have to say I went in search of Winter Stoneflies and came home well rewarded.

Happy Belated 10th Anniversary, wondermyway.com

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

I can’t believe I missed the date by two days. I’d been planning this for months. Well, in the back of my mind, that is. No actual thoughts were jotted down on paper. I just knew what I wanted to do and when I wanted to do it . . . until I forgot. Or rather, it slipped my mind. Momentarily.

No harm done.

As the saying goes, “There’s no time like the present,” and so my gift to you dear readers will be to give you the present of time by taking you back to the beginning of wondermyway and then making our way to the present. And all of it is because I was given the gift of being present in the moment on so many occasions. Egads. That’s a lot of presents. And presence.

Wonder My Way

My first blog post was published on February 21, 2015, and entitled Wonder My Way. It began with these paragraphs: Wonder my way as I wander through the Maine woods. So often I see things that make me stop and wonder. Sometimes I figure it out, but other times, I’m just as happy that I don’t. It’s The Sense of Wonder that Rachel Carson wrote about which keeps me going. Do we need to have all the answers? I think not.

So join me for a tramp from our woodlot to the world beyond. I know not where this trail will take us, but I can guarantee that we’ll have fun along the way. Read more . . .

Spring in Slo-Mo

Spring is so fleeting in Maine. Oh, I know, it lasts the usual three months and the beginning and ending overlap with its seasonal partners, but really . . . one must take time to pause and watch or you’ll miss the most amazing action that occurs in slow motion right outside the window–and beyond.

For those who are new to my blog, Jinny Mae, who is featured in this and many blog posts, was a dear friend whose name I turned in to an alias as she faced cancer courageously and rather privately. In the end, the cancer consumed her, but the things we enjoyed along the way were bountiful, including this spring adventure to an incredible space in our little neck of the woods. Read more . . .

Universal Love

Written on Valentine’s Day, this post was dedicated to My Guy and all who wander and wonder with me.

When I wander, hearts frequently speak to me . . . Read more . . .

Nothing To Grouse About

I shared a unique experience with five other naturalists, the majority of them in the six to eleven age range. For twenty minutes the six of us watched a Ruffed Grouse at it moved about, overturning leaves and foraging on buds. When we last saw it, the bird headed off in the opposite direction that we intended to journey, and so we moved on with wonder in our eyes and minds.

And then the next day I returned on a mission to study some twigs at the same property. No sooner had I stepped onto the trail when I heard the sound of leaves cracking a wee bit and what to my wondering eyes should appear but the same bird.

The curious thing: the bird followed me, staying about ten feet away as I tramped on. I stopped. Frequently. So did the bird.

And we began to chat. I talked quietly to him (I’m making a gender assumption) and he murmured back sweet nothings. Read more . . .

Amazing Race–Our Style

Okay, so My Guy and I have enjoyed The Amazing Race show over the years and felt like there were some challenges either or both of us could face, but others that neither of us would dare attempt. And so . . . I created our own version.

The thing is that until I take the time to change the order of this post on my website, you’d be best to start at the bottom and read each entry, going up one step at a time. As in, this: Scroll down to February 18 on this link and then after reading that entry, make your way up one episode at a time, until you reach the last recorded on February 2, 2019. Oh heck, read it in any order that pleases you. Just get into the spirit of the race I created cuze I certainly had fun with it. And fooled a few people along the way.

The Amazing Race–Our Style

I’m sure when we said our wedding vows back in 1990, there was something in there about only riding a snowmobile once. And I did that once two years or so ago–mostly because I knew it would please my guy. Certain memories remain from that experience: I felt like a bobblehead inside the helmet; I lacked control as I sat behind him and couldn’t see; when I did peek around, I was sure my head was going to strike a tree so narrow was the trail; and I didn’t like the speed. Oh yeah, and at a road crossing, I do believe I jumped off and walked to the other side. With all of that in mind, I’m not sure what I was thinking when I created a Valentine’s gift for him–our very own Amazing Race. Read more . . .

wondermyway turns five

Five years ago today (ten now!) I turned from taking a hundred million photos on each tramp to taking a hundred million photos and writing about them.

Typically, on the anniversary I scan the past year’s posts and choose one from each month, providing a photo to represent it, with a brief (or not so brief) comment and link to the full read.

But . . . because this is a milestone I never imagined reaching (posts: 733; views: 76,793; visitors: 44371; followers: 578), I thought I’d take the time to thank you, the readers, for wandering through the wonders with me.

Thank you! Read more . . .

Dragonfly Whisperer Whispers

We had no intention of eating lunch in this spot today, but while looking for a mountain to climb, we kept encountering full parking lots and so our backroad meander put us beside a bog at lunch time and voilà, we managed to walk all of less than two tenths of a mile. Total.

But in that short distance, our eyes feasted. First it was all the Painted Turtles basking in the sun. Read more . . .

Surveying the Wildlife of Charles Pond

For the past two weeks at Greater Lovell Land Trust we’ve had the good fortune to conduct a wildlife survey in the waters that surround the newly acquired Charles Pond Reserve in Stow, Maine. Our hats are off to Alanna Doughty of Lakes Environmental Association (LEA) for her willingness to be the lead on this project and work in collaboration with us. Alanna, you see, has conducted previous surveys for Maine Inland Wildlife & Fisheries (MDIFW) at LEA properties, and was trained by wildlife biologist Derek Yorks to set these up.

MDIFW maintains a comprehensive database on the distribution of Maine’s amphibians and reptiles, as well as terrestrial and freshwater invertebrates and the data we’ve collected will add to the bigger picture. What we discovered was just as important as what we didn’t find. Read more . . .

Hightailing It Home

Friends,
At the risk
of sounding redundant,
I bring forth
a prickly topic.

A quick glance
while surveying treetops
and suddenly
my heart sang
as I spotted
a well-armored back.

Read more . . .

Happy 9th Birthday, wondermyway!

Thank you to all who read and comment and share wondermyway.com. Some of you have followed my blog posts since the beginning, February 21, 2015. A few have joined the journey as recently as yesterday. I’m grateful for the presence of all of you in my life.

To mark this occasion, I thought I’d reflect upon those moments when my wonder gave me a glimpse of the “Thin Places” that I’ve experienced either by myself or in the company of others.

To quote my friend, Ev Lennon, “A Thin Place is a spot of beauty, loveliness, space–an example of the wideness and grandeur of Creation.”

I think of them as places that you don’t plan a trip to visit, but rather . . . stumble upon.

Read more . . .

And that brings me to this year and this anniversary, belated as it may be. I can’t believe it’s been ten years since I started this endeavor, which has served as my diary and memory, and been a place for me to share so many incredible extraordinary ordinary experiences with all of you. Thank you for being faithful readers.

As I compare the numbers to year five, I haven’t written as often in the last five years, but your support has been incredible.

wondermyway.com by the numbers:

Posts: 1,076

Visitors: 135,888

Views: 205,389 and increasing constantly.

The most popular post of this new year was Giving Thanks for the Pileated Woodpecker. So far, anyway.

The Giant’s Shower

And since I retired as Education Director for a local land trust just over a year ago, I’ve added some other fun to the mix.

I did a thing. Years ago I wrote a children’s story. Well, a bunch of them actually. And I tried to sell this particular one to publishing houses. No takers. Then, a couple of years ago I purchased a Fairy Coloring Book created by the one and only Solana, teenage daughter of the Fly Away Farm Wards in Lovell and Stow, Maine, and approached her about illustrating my fairy tale. She took on the task and did an amazing job. Then I asked copyeditor Pam Marshall to wave her magic wand over it. And I asked local graphic designer Dianne Lewis to use some fairy dust and turn it into an actual book. I always said I’d never self-publish a book. And tada: I did just that. And now it’s even better because it’s published by http://www.indieauthorbooks.com.

Read more . . .

My Art Gallery

At the end of April I began taking an art class offered by one of my peeps, a young woman who walked into the lives of many of us one day about twenty months ago; a young woman with a million talents to offer. Among those talents, she is a self-taught artist and we’ve been begging her to teach us.

At our first class, we had to draw a small box in the upper left-hand corner of the paper and place the person who has been our biggest art critic into it. That done, the critic was forever boxed–well, until she sneaks out, which she seems to do way too much.

And then we looked at some photographs in magazines and had to sketch them and determine the direction the eye would travel in the picture.

Next we looked at lines and perspective. I’d brought along my favorite colored pencils, but immediately felt my inner critic jump on me because all of my classmates were working with watercolor pencils, watercolor paint or acrylics. And the artist herself, gouache. Until I met her, I’d never even heard of gouache. Or at least never paid attention, if I had.

Read more . . .

Lake Living on Lake Region Television!

And we said goodbye to Lake Living magazine, a glossy publication I’ve worked on since 2006.

We are movie stars! Well, maybe not quite. But, many, many thanks to Evan Miller of Lake Region Television for filming and editing Laurie LaMountain, owner and publisher of Lake Living magazine, and me recently as we said, “Fare Thee Well,” to working on this publication.

Read more . . .

And in the midst of it all, I still have the good fortune to share the trail with so many others . . .

and especially with My Guy, who is forever patient as I pause to consider the wonder of the moment.

My heart-felt thanks to him and to all of you for joining me so often as I wondermyway.

Wowza–ten years! I never imagined. No time like the present to wish wondermyway.com a belated 10th anniversary.

Love Bugs

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

It didn’t start out that way for me. Loving bugs, that is. I thought they were just that . . . bugs. Bothersome. Biting. Stinging. Needing-to-be-swatted critters.

And then one day that all changed for me as I began to take a closer look. And since the past two weeks a friend and I shared our keen interest in these critters during two Senior College (Lifelong Learning) classes, I thought I’d bring some of it alive again in this space.

If you attended these classes, there will be some repeated information, but it’s not all here, or we’d need four hours! And I’ve added a few things that I didn’t have time to include in class.

Enough said. Let’s get started.

Most, but not all, insects have mouth parts, but they come in a variety of forms. The most basic are for chewing, but sponging, siphoning or sucking, and piercing, then sucking are also important. Mosquitoes, adult fleas, lice, and some flies puncture tissue with a slender beak or proboscis, and suck the fluids within. Butterflies, moths, and bees also dine on fluids, but the proboscis of these species lack the piercing adaptations and extend only when their feet touch and “taste” a sweet solution. A spongy tip, aka labellum, on the tip of the proboscis allows most flies to sop up liquids or easily soluble food. Other insects, like ants, grasshoppers, beetles, and caterpillars nibble and grind their food with jaws or mandibles, which move horizontally.

Think mosquito: sticking a straw into a juice box (through your skin) and then sucking; bee and butterfly: using a straw; fly: adding a sponge to the tip of the straw; caterpillar: using pliers horizontally. You get the picture?

And then there are the legs and feet. Because insects live in a wide range of habitats, there are a wide range of structures to get the job done.

Cursorial: (running) Insects like Tiger Beetles, who have long and narrow legs and move swiftly (even when canoodling, though they do slow down a wee bit).

Saltatorial: (jumping legs) In this case, it’s the hind legs of Grasshoppers that are filled with bulky strong muscles to help propel them forward that come to mind.

Fossorial: (Digging) These insects, such as Dog-day Cicadas, live underground for the first few years of their lives and need their legs and feet, which look like modified claws, to dig. They tend to be broad, flat, and dense.

Natatorial: (Swimming) Aquatic beetles and bugs can move swiftly through water.

Raptorial: (Hunting) Enlarged with powerful muscles, these are found at the front of the insect where they are ready to strike at any time, then grab and hold prey, such as a Robber Fly has.

And just a reminder from science class all those years ago, without going into all of the details, like the fact that there are three sections in the thorax, the head contains the eyes, proboscis, and antennae, thorax supports three pairs of legs, and wings (and halteres or modified wings shaped more like clubs that help with balance and steering when in flight), and an abdomen.

I could share tons of photos of Bumblebees (and I’ve found it written as one word, and two), but this is one of my favorites because it shows the insect’s RED tongue seeking nectar from the Goldenrod.

This is another favorite because I sometimes forget that despite the rain, the insects are still out there during the summer, and perhaps finding the right spot to avoid getting wet comes with age.

Bumblebees are very hairy. They build underground nests and I have to wonder why this one didn’t return to hers, but perhaps the rain came down suddenly. It did rain a lot last summer.

In the spring, the queen who overwintered, conducts a reconnaissance mission in search of a good nest site and you might spot one in a weaving flight close to the ground as she checks out every little hole that might serve as the right underground chamber for her brood.

Paper Wasps are easy to identify because unlike other wasps and bees, they hold their wings out to each side rather than folded over the back. The fertilized queen also overwinters behind tree bark or under leaves.

So this wasp decided that a door jam in our house was the right spot to place a nest. Heck. It was protected. Out of the weather. Warm. All the comforts of home.

To build such a nest, fiber is gathered and chewed from buildings and trees and fence posts and then mixed with saliva until it becomes a papery substance.

The hexagonal cells created face downward and tada, a nursery is formed, each cell supporting one egg.

I am probably one of the few people in the world who spent several days standing on a kitchen chair to get a series of photos as this nest was being built.

And I was successful in my efforts, that is, until My Guy discovered it and decided that it really wasn’t such a good idea to have a nest in the house. I guess it speaks to how well the door didn’t fit into the door jam. We’ve since completed a reconstruction project of our own, so sadly, this won’t occur again, but never fear, there are usually lots of nests around the outside of the house.

Another who overwinters behind bark as an adult is the Mourning Cloak Butterfly, so named because the coloration is supposed to remind us of a cloak one might wear while mourning the loss of a loved one.

One activity that butterflies engage in, and usually it’s the males who do this, is “puddling.” We think of butterflies as flitting from flower to flower, sipping nectar here and there.

BUT . . . they need more. Yes, flower nectar is good for energy, but when your mind is on something else, you want to supplement your diet. Sugar water won’t give you that something extra to produce viable offspring.

Puddling means injesting salts, minerals, and amino acids from mud, scat, fermenting fruit, or carrion. In this case, the Tiger Swallowtails are seeking these treats from a squished frog. When they get around to canoodling with a mate, they’ll pass along a wedding present via their spermatophore, which will give their brides an extra boost and the females will pass that on to the eggs, thus giving them a higher chance of success.

For me, it’s the last two items in the list that help me best differentiate between butterflies and moths.

Notice the feathery antennae of the Luna Moth, who by the way, has no mouth parts because as an adult the job is only to mate. Leave the eating to the caterpillars in their larval form.

It’s just the opposite for the Clearwing Hummingbird Moth, who has a long proboscis like a butterfly that extends into the flowers to seek nectar. When in flight, the proboscis curls up and is tucked to the side of the moth’s head.

Grasshoppers molt as they grow and this was a larval form I spotted one extremely cold and blustery March day. It hasn’t any wings yet, but those will come as it sheds its skin several times before reaching adult size. Still, the youngsters look very much like their future mature selves.

And to round things out, I found this molted skin in the fall and was totally intrigued by how much detail it included, right down to the spars on the hind legs. Of course, they should be there, but I was totally surprised because I hadn’t thought about it before.

My next friend is a “Where’s Waldo” feature because it blends into its surroundings so well. Curiously, I grew up with the ever present summer song of Katydids in Southern New England, but despite living in the North Country for all of my adult life, I haven’t heard one in years. Then again, I only see one or two a summer it seems, so maybe there aren’t too many around who will listen.

Both dragonflies and damselflies begin life as aquatic insects. Think natatorial legs.

As some of you know, I could share a million photos of dragonflies and I’d never get tired of it, though you might. I am limiting myself to just a couple, including this female Racket-tailed Emerald, so named for the abdomen that widens toward the end somewhat like a tennis racket. I love imagination!

But probably my favorite dragonfly is the Stream Cruiser, especially when it has newly emerged and presents in browns and whites that make me think of Oreo cookies or a no-bake Icebox Cake (which I was honored with for my birthday this past year–thanks Deb!)

Just like there are subtle differences between butterflies and moths, the same is true for dragons and damsels.

I often meet members of this Orange Bluet family of damselflies when I’m paddling near our camp. My only wish is that this one had gone for the meal that awaited–a Deer Fly; before I became the Deer Fly’s meal. It wasn’t my lucky day.

The Orange Bluet is a pond damsel, so called because its wings are clear and closed when it perches.

Among the damelflies, there are also broad-winged varieties, such as this female Ebony Jewelwing. If you are near a stream or damp spot in the woods, be on the lookout for these beauties. And note the white stigmas on her wings. Her guy’s wings are all black.

And one last damsel that I wanted to include is a member of the spread-wings. It’s easy to think of these as dragonflies because the wings are . . . spread a bit apart like the dragons. But . . . note the thin body. And the arrangement of the eyes. Damsel eyes are a bit like barbells.

Beetles come in so many shapes and sizes and colors. And their antennae are variable as well. I just love the antennae on this Oriental Beetle.

There are also a variety of long-horned (long antennae) beetles, but what caught my eye was that these two were totally undisturbed by an ant that was seeking nectar as they romped.

Because I stalk my “gardens” and the adjacent field, I happen to know that these two canoodled for hours. I did miss their point of departure, but can safely assume I’ll meet their children in the future.

My final beetle to share today is the Winter Firefly, who is fireless as an adult. Though I’ve never seen this, I’ve read that the Winter Fireflies eggs, larvae, and pupae glow. But not the adult.

Though visible all year, now is a fun time to locate these beetles. (Wait–it’s a fire”fly,” but not a fly? Nope! And if you call it a Lightning Bug, which are its close relatives, you should note that it’s also not a bug!)

Notice the pink parentheses bracketing the shield behind its head–as a former English teacher, that makes my heart sing.

One of the most mysterious true flies in my neck of the woods is the Phantom Crane Fly. Think Phantom of the Opera when you look at the coloration. And seriously, this crane fly literally floats through the air, looking like the small outline of a box if you are lucky enough to spot it.

Crane flies are not oversized mosquitoes and they will not harm you.

Another in the Crane Fly family is the Winter Cranefly, a tiny, mosquito-looking insect with super long legs. The lightbulb is two inches long, so that should give you a bit of perspective on this insect’s size.

Like all members of the family, these can be found in moist places. And the males form swarms in an effort to perform pre-canoodle dances to entice a mate.

Another who is closely related to the crane fly family is also most readily seen on snow, this being the Snow Fly. It differs from other crane flies, however, in that it is wingless.

When I first spotted this one about a month ago, on a frigid day, I thought it was a spider at first. Until I counted its legs. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. Yikes. Certainly not the eight legs of a spider. But . . . where’s leg #6?

Snow Flies, I learned, have the ability to self-amputate a limb that is beginning to freeze as a way to stop icy crystallization from spreading to the rest of the body, and especially its organs.

Since that first sighting, I’ve spotted a few more, and thankfully, all feature complete sets of three pairs of legs.

Next up in today’s lesson plan, the Robber Fly. This particular species has such a hairy body that it mimics a bee. Its proboscis, or mouthpart, is rather beak-like, the easier to consume insects.

Robber Flies wait patiently, or so it seems, and then when the time is right, they pounce. And stab the prey with their straw-like mouthparts, injecting the subject with enzymes that paralyze it before sucking the liquified guts. Yum.

While I found the Bumblebee hanging out on a rainy day, it was a humid day when I spotted this Robber Fly taking advantage of a little shade. And perhaps actually awaiting a meal that might fly or crawl into the plant.

The final order of the day encompasses the True Bugs. Most True Bugs suck juices from plants. Including this wooly aphid that looks like a snowflake when in flight.

It’s the white fluff covering their body that is their defining characteristic. The fluff is made of small waxy fibers that serve to help keep the aphids hydrated. The hairs may also deter predators from ingesting them.

Sap-suckers though they may be, they don’t harm their host plants, and are a delight to spot in flight–much like little fairies flying about the woods.

Another sap-sucking insect is another one of my favs: the Dog-day Cicada, this one being the cast skin of a nymph. I could wax poetic about them, but you can read more by visiting Celebrating Cemetery Cicadas, Resurrection, Consumed by Cicadas, My Love Affair, to name a few. I guess I really do like them since I’ve written about them so many times.

Love bugs yet? If not, I hope you at least will take some time to appreciate them. In winter and summer. And spring and fall.

Of all my favs, and there are many it turns out, this one pictured above probably tops the list. It is, after all, chocolate! Under those leathery elytra wings, of course. My friend, Aurora, gave this to me a year ago, and I don’t think she realizes how much I really love it and that it sits in a shady alcove on my desk so it doesn’t melt. Bugs should not melt! Nor should they be eaten! Especially Love Bugs!

Giving Thanks for the Pileated Woodpecker

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

While most critters in the woods make their presence known only by signs left behind, there is at least one who is bold and loud and ever present in my neck of the woods. It often begins the day with a salute of drumming on a hollow snag to mark its territory just after the sun rises, and then I hear it or see it fly about our yard and woods and across the field beyond the stonewall throughout the day.

Every once in a while it honors me with a chance for a closer look. And so this afternoon, as I headed off into the woods to snip some twigs for an upcoming class that I’m teaching, I noticed some evidence that my friend had been present in the recent past.

It was the wood chips on the snow that served as his calling card. Well, his first card that is. By these, I knew he’d been chiseling the tree above, but always, when I spot this behavior I look for a second sign. And came up empty-handed. No scat.

While I was looking, however, I began to realize I could hear a familiar tap, tap, tapping from another tree.

And so I looked around, expecting to find one of his cousins, for the taps, though consistent, were not as loud as the drumming he uses to advertise his territory or announce his availability to a potential mate, but rather featured a softer rhythm.

Much to my delight, there he was, high up in a White Pine.

I was sure we wouldn’t get to spend too much time together, and so I wanted to focus on him as best I could. And that’s when I noticed the bark had been sloughed off the tree. My friend was hunting for bark beetles.

I decided to take my chances and move a few steps in order to get a clear picture, and still he stayed, though I thought our time might be over when he looked away from the tree.

Thankfully it wasn’t. Do you see all of the tunnels the beetles had carved where the bark had once been?

Oh, and how do I know it was a male? By the red mustache on his cheek. His lady does not have such a marking.

He turned back toward his work and I loved how it was obvious that his tail feathers formed the third leg of a tripod to provide support against the tree. When you have a head-banging job such as his, and only two legs, that third is important.

Eventually I pulled myself away and continued on my quest to locate certain tree species and snip just enough twig samples for each pair of students. Along the way, however, there were other things to notice like this recently deposited Bobcat scat offering a classic look at its hair-filled contents and sectioned presentation.

There are a million tracks in the woods right now since everything has been on the move following the last snowstorm, and the Foxes and Coyotes and Bobcats have been in dating mode, so it was no surprise to find Bobcat prints on top of other prints left behind.

Besides all the mammal tracks, I found lots of evidence of Ruffed Grouse walking about as well. They always remind me of my friend ArGee, whom I met in 2018, and wrote about several times, including this post Nothing to Grouse About. I may never get to have the experience of spending some quality time with a Grouse again, but seeing the tracks of one so clearly defined always makes me smile.

Another who has become a constant companion this winter is the Winter Crane Fly. Like all Crane Flies, he’s not a mosquito, though he looks like an oversized one. Crane Flies have no mouth parts, therefore, they can’t seek your blood. It’s only job is to find a mate and breed.

They are called Crane Flies because of their long legs and beaks that long ago were thought to resemble a Sandhill or Whooping Crane.

So why fly in winter? Perhaps because your predators are few. And your chances of mating without being eaten better.

Sticking with the Crane Fly theme, in my recent post Mammal Tracking: It’s all about paying attention, I shared a photo of this fly, a Snow Fly.

Snow Flies have six legs, but if you look carefully, you’ll notice this one only had five. As for that missing leg, Snow Flies self-amputate so that ice doesn’t enter body. It’s a fighting chance to survive the frigid winter and this photo was taking on a very cold day. An incredible adaptation.

Fast forward to today, which felt almost like summer (in the 30˚s), and I spotted another, this one with all six legs still intact.

And those two yellowish bumps on its thorax? Halteres, or small club-shaped organs, that help provide information for wing-steering muscles of True Flies (Diptera). From The Snow Fly Project, I’ve learned that “Snow flies are distinctive in their appearance, with long, spindly legs. They lack wings but do possess halteres. It has been suggested that their lack of wings might have evolved due to exposure to cold temperatures and wind (Hackman, 1964; Byers, 1983; Novak et al., 2007).”

Eventually it was time to return to our woods where I noticed more works by my friend.

Below this tree, there was even more debris and by the number of holes, it was obvious that this was a much more bountiful tree than the first one that stopped me in my tracks. That is, if you are seeking insects.

And so, I had to bend down and take a closer look. It’s like a treasure hunt at the base of a tree and let’s me know if the bird was successful in dining or not.

And I was well rewarded. All kinds of scat packages sat upon the wood chips and I knew that while the woodpecker found plenty of Carpenter Ants in the tree trunk, it had also recently dined on Bittersweet berries. As for the berries, well, um, Bittersweet does grow locally.

There was even some scat dripping off the tree! My heart be still.

As for Mr. Pileated, he’d moved on for the moment, but just before we’d parted ways earlier, he offered me a quick opportunity to spot his tongue between the upper and lower beak. Pileated Woodpeckers have sticky tongues, which they probe into the tunnels the delicious (to a woodpecker, that is) ants and other insects have created.

On this day, like so many others, I want to express my appreciation for the Pileated Woodpecker’s part in this world, for creating nesting sites that others, such as small songbirds, may use, and how he helps the trees in the forest by contributing to their decomposition, for as much as some think that these woodpeckers and their kin are killing the trees, the trees are already dying due to insect infestations, and the birds’ work will eventually help the trees fall to the ground, add nutrients to replace what they had used, and provide a nursery upon which other trees may grown.

Thank you, Pileated Woodpecker, and Bobcat, and Winter Crane Fly and Snow Fly. So many to honor.

Mammal Tracking: It’s All About Paying Attention

~ lmachayes ~ 3 Comments

I’ve been lamenting the lack of snow. That is, until I head out the door, don microspikes over my winter boots, and slow my brain down. And then . . . the winter world pulls me in.

It’s amazing what stories there are to interpret, whether in a dusting or a few inches of snow. But first, I need to think about the overall picture and consider where I am.

What state am I in? Maine

What season is it? Winter (my favorite)

What type of forest? Ah, that’s always changing and this week saw a range, for sure. Sometimes it’s coniferous.

Other days, deciduous.

But also a mixed forest.

Or beside a frozen wetland.

Or even a wetland with some open water.

When I do encounter tracks, I have to think–how is the mammal moving through the landscape? In more or less a straight line with a bit of a zigzag to it?

And if so, is it just one mammal, or more than one?

I need to look at the overall pattern, which might mean backtracking a bit (don’t want to put pressure on the mammal, especially if the tracks are fresh).

The thing is that the tracks in the three above photos were made by three different critters, all of whom often move in the same pattern–straight line with a bit of a zigzag as I already said. The left front foot lands and packs the snow, and as the animal moves forward, the left hind foot lands where that front foot was, and visa versa on the other side. So what is actually a set of two prints, one directly or almost directly on top of the other, looks like one print from our point of view. The front foot pre-packs the snow and the hind foot lands in the same spot to make it easier for the mammal to move more efficiently, especially since he doesn’t have a warm fire and dog food awaiting him after a walk in the woods.

“Who created them?” you ask, because of course, I can hear you wondering. The first with my foot beside the prints: Red Fox; second: Eastern Coyote; third: Bobcat.

Briefly, I want to share other forms of movement that we might spot in the woods. These are groups of four prints left behind by a leaper/hopper. Several critters move this way and the best way my brain can tell them apart is by the straddle or trail width–measuring from the outside of one of the larger prints to the outside of the other.

Just to clarify, what you are looking at in one group of four, two smaller prints are the front prints, which land first. The hind feet swing a bit forward just before the front feet lift off and so the hind feet appear to be in front of the front feet.

“What?” Yup. Thus, this mammal is moving toward the top left of the photo, because the hind feet always appear in front of the front feet. Have I lost you yet?

Together, they look sorta like a set of two exclamation points. In deeper snow, they can also look like double diamonds, or even Batman’s mask.

My game camera recently caught a Gray Squirrel in this motion, and if you look closely, you can see the back feet swinging around in front of the front feet.

What is the trail width or straddle for a Gray Squirrel? 4+ inches

Red Squirrel? 3+ inches

Chipmunk (who does come out occasionally in the winter)? 2+ inches.

Another leaper/hopper also leaves a set of four prints, but usually (not always) the two front feet are not parallel like the squirrels. This mammal is hopping toward the lower right hand corner, with the hind feet being out in front to indicate direction.

If you take that photograph and flip it 180˚ so that the world appears upside down, cuze sometimes it just does, you may see what I see that helps me with a quick ID: a snow lobster: the two hind feet out in front, being the claws and the two staggered front feet behind forming the tail.

“And the creator of the snow lobster?” you ask.

Snowshoe Hare.

Just when you think you are getting it, a wee critter enters the scene because, well, it’s everyone’s favorite food (for those who are predators that is), and I have a hunch you’ll spot these tracks rather often.

First, the wee one moves in the direct registration (zigzaggy straight line) gait of the coyote, foxes, and bobcat.

But then it changes things up and may even start tunneling as it leaps forward. And in deeper snow, you’ll see a hole beside vegetation and know that it ducked under to try to avoid becoming a meal.

These are the tracks of a Meadow Vole.

There is a group of mammals who are bounders, so much so that their bodies move almost like accordions, and as the hind feet push off, the front feet land on a diagonal, and the hind feet follow suit and land where the front feet had been, while the front feet are airborne once again.

Do you see the diagonal pattern of the impressions. For the most part, they move on the same diagonal for a while, and then might change it up.

It’s the weasel family that leaves this pattern, and these are from a Mink. Long-tailed weasels and Ermines leave even smaller prints.

Fisher prints are larger and they sometimes change their gait a bit, but always you can find evidence of the diagonal in the middle of pattern; and Otters LOVE to slide.

Finally, in this discussion of patterns, there are the waddlers, those critters with wide bodies (Think Beaver, Porcupine, Raccoon, Black Bear). Their forward motion varies, but this is one of my favorites: the sashay of the pigeon-toed Porcupine.

Another waddler, or wide-hipped critter is the Raccoon. It’s feet look a bit like baby hand prints. But a key (pun intended) characteristic is the switch of the diagonal when looking at how this critter moves through the woods.

Now that you’ve thought about the surroundings and looked at the mammal’s gait, it’s time to consider the size and shape of the print, count toes that are visible, look for nails, examine the overall track and prints from different angles, and take measurements.

We often talk about the X ridge between the toe pads and metacarpal pad of the canines. But sometimes people have a difficult time seeing it, so I find outlining it may help.

Think about this cast of a Coyote print: In your mind’s eye, flip it over so that the oval shape is actually at ground level, and the prints, that were in the mud were below the oval. If you look closely, you’ll realize you are looking at two impressions. The smaller one on top, would have been at the bottom of the impression as one foot landed. And then the second foot landed almost directly on top of it.

“Wowza,” you exclaim.

And notice the toe nails–how they are rather close together and not splayed like your fur baby’s nails when you go out to play in the snow. Conserving heat. Brilliant.

Here’s a look at what you might see when you spot an actual Coyote print.

Another with the X that I didn’t outline, but I hope you can see, is the impression of a Red Fox print. I made this one with an actual Fox foot courtesy of the Maine Master Naturalist Program (and Dorcas Miller). What I love is that you can see the chevron that appears in the metacarpal pad of the fox’s foot .

Sometimes I can see the chevron, sometimes I can’t. It’s all about snow conditions. Some days are perfect for tracking and others are a challenge. But I’ve said a hundred times, when I’m alone, I’m 100% correct in my ID.

To differentiate the walkers/trotters, there’s one more letter to consider, this one being closer to the beginning of the alphabet: C. And it indicates a Bobcat. C is for Cat. Another thing to think about when looking at the zigzaggy straightline, are the toes symmetrical or is there a lead toe?

Symmetrical: Coyote and Foxes. They are also more oval shaped; or kinda like an ice cream cone with one small scoop on top.

Lead toe: Bobcat. Round shape, about the size of a fifty cent piece, while your cat is a quarter.

I’ve been seeing lots of Bobcat prints and tracks this winter. And Snowshoe Hare. Hmmm.

Okay, so enough for the lecture. I want to show you what else I’ve seen in the past week, cuze part of the fun is interpreting the stories.

Last weekend, in the midst of a snowstorm, I taught a tracking lesson for this year’s Maine Master Naturalist class. One of the activities, that also served as an icebreaker for the students, was that within their mentee groups, they were assigned a critter and they had 15 minutes to figure out how to portray that critter so that their classmates could ID it.

This group created a Beaver Lodge and had beavers swim in with sticks from their winter feeding lodge, and one added mud to further insulate the lodge.

I won’t share them all, but this group represented a Red Fox, except that the tail (scarf) got caught. The Xs created by humans were intended to be the X in each print.

And then on Sunday, while hiking in to a wetland a mile plus behind our home, My Guy and I spotted Snowshoe Hare tracks aplenty, but something else caught my attention.

I thought it was a spider in the Hare print because I’ve seen so many on the snow in this area this winter.

That is until I took a closer look and realized it had five legs rather than eight. Oops, I wonder what happened to the sixth leg.

Despite the lack of that other leg, it moved across the snow as best it could. This being a Snow Fly. As for that missing leg, Snow Flies self-amputate so that ice doesn’t enter body. It’s a fighting chance to survive the frigid winter.

Oh, and it’s not always about tracking, especially when a bit of bird calls and color drew our eyes skyward, where we watched and listened to a flock of American Robins, and . . .

Cedar Waxwings on a chilly winter day.

On Monday, My Guy and I made a quick journey around the trails at Viles Arboretum in Augusta, and I actually never took a photo. Yikes. I bet you didn’t think that was possible.

On Wednesday, fellow Master Naturalist Dawn and I spent time at Loon Echo Land Trust’s Tiger Hill Community Forest in Sebago with a group of people curious to learn about tracking and came away jazzed by their level of interest and involvement as they took measurements and noticed details.

On Thursday, My Guy and I climbed the Southwest Ridge Trail on Pleasant Mountain in Denmark, where there wasn’t much snow given the trail’s orientation to the sun, but we did spot quite a few deer prints and runs. I love how deer follow the same trail, making it easier to get from a sleeping area to a feeding area within their “yards.” For years. We’ve lived in our house for over 30 years and I can tell you where the deer runs are located. Always have been. I pray they always will be.

Despite the lack of snow, the views were grand. And he was pleased that nature didn’t slow me down too often.

On Friday, I spent a few hours with these four and two more as we explored at Loon Echo’s Crooked River Forest in Harrison.

One of our cool discoveries was a Porcupine path that led to a den, in the same location we found it last year. I was happy to know that there was no need to move.

And based on the hoar frost around the entry way, we surmised there was at least one Porcupine inside.

We left it or them alone and followed the well worn track in the opposite direction to the feeding tree, an Eastern Hemlock, where there were plenty of downed branches cut at the typical rodent’s 45˚ angle.

And we found the curved scat that had dropped from the animal as it fed while sitting on a branch up in the tree. Happiness is!

And then we made a discovery that didn’t make sense at first, but I think we interpreted correctly based on the evidence provided. At least this is our story: Deer tracks led to the steep river embankment, which in this spot was two-tiered before it reached the water. From our spot at the top of the embankment, we spotted deer tracks leading down to the next level and saw this crazy writing in the snow. And then it occurred to us. There were no human prints or any other prints in the area down there. Only the deer prints leading to it. And on the ice-covered river below, more deer prints. What we surmised is that the deer leaped down to the next level because we could see a couple of prints on the embankment leading to it. And then slid. This way and that. And as it tried to steady itself, it fell on its side, and did a full body slide all the way down the ice and over the leaves and directly down the second embankment to the river below, where it continued to slide once it got upright, and wobbled a bit (wouldn’t you?) before it crossed to the other side.

Regrettably, I didn’t take any more photos, but we discovered that at least one more deer had done the same to the left of where we stood, and it ended up sliding down in the same spot as this one pictured, all the way to the river.

Knowing that deer have traditional runs or paths, I can’t help but wonder if this is one of them, and usually the trip down to the water isn’t quite so perilous. You can bet I’ll check again.

And finally today dawned, and after some errands, I headed into the woods to reset our game camera. That’s when I began to spot blotches of black on the snow. Huh?

Not blood from an animal. What could it be?

Some were rather big. But a closer look soon gave me the answer as it looked like pepper grains were on the move.

After a frigid few days and before what could possibly be a real snowstorm tomorrow night and the next polar vortex to follow, Springtails (Snow Fleas that aren’t really fleas and don’t bite) were doing their thing–springing from the furcula, an appendage under their abdomens, as they fed (though I could only imagine the feeding part because I couldn’t see that action) on decaying plant matter.

What I really wanted to see, I suddenly spied–a predator in their midst! The spiders that I often find on the snow, feed on Springtails. Tada!

Dear Readers, this has been a long post, and even the Robin would agree. But I wanted to share all of these amazing things with you with hopes that you’ll head outside and look around and see what you might see. The stories are yours to interpret. It’s really so much fun. Thank you for sticking with me.

I received the best compliment this morning when a current Maine Master Naturalist student sent me some track photos to check on ID: “Thanks for your assistance- after your presentation I’m finding tracks in places I normally frequent yet I wasn’t paying attention!” ~J.K.

Thanks for paying attention. Happy Tracking!

CBC: Everything Counts

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

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

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

Focus area: Sweden Circle, Maine.

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

Partner in counting: Dawn Wood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We also found another spider to admire.

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

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

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

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

Distance covered: 5.8 miles

Time of travel by foot: 6 hours

Mallards: 100

Downy Woodpeckers: 5

Hairy Woodpeckers: 3

Pileated Woodpecker: 1

Blue Jay: 5

American Crow: 10

Black-capped Chickadee: 17

Tufted Titmouse: 3

Red-breasted Nuthatch: 1

White-breasted Nuthatch: 9

Golden-crowned Kinglet: 5

Dark-eyed Junco: 2

Bald Eagle: 1

Barred Owl: 1

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

Caterpillar: 1

Moth Cocoons: 2

Tracks: a zillion including Ruffed Grouse and Turkey.

Surely the bird tracks count for something as everything counts.

My Bright Idea: Filled with Awe and Wonder

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time Travel: Trail Until Rail

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

Picture this: It’s 1888. You’re in a train car on what was once the Portland and Ogdensburg Railway (P&0), but is now leased by Maine Central (MEC) and renamed the Mountain Division Trail. You are making the journey from the White Mountains of New Hampshire to Portland, Maine, with a brief stop in Fryeburg, Maine.

Off the train you hop, and suddenly you find yourself wandering down the Mountain Division Trail in the year 2024. Only, it’s not the rail bed that you walk upon, but rather a paved path beside the tracks.

And you give thanks, because this is the season of doing such, though really we should do so every day, for the Mountain Division Alliance, formed in 1994, out of concern that the rail right of way would be lost. MEC had sold the line to Guilford Transportation in 1981, about twenty plus years after the demise of passenger service. About seven years later, freight service also ended.

In 1994, The Mountain Division Alliance, under the direction of Alix Hopkins, Director of Portland Trails, “brought people together from over 20 groups. Out of this group came the vision for a rail with trail connecting the nine communities [Portland, Westbrook, Windham, Gorham, Standish/Steep Falls, Baldwin, Hiram, Brownfield, and Fryeburg] along the rail corridor from Portland to Fryeburg.”

The Alliance was started to “convince the State of Maine to purchase the rail bed right-of-way. The vision that a bicycle and pedestrian trail could be built along the rail line connecting Fryeburg to Portland came about at this time [1994],” wrote Dave Kinsman, former president of the Mountain Division Alliance in an article published by The Brownfield Newsletter.

So back to going for a wander down the trail. I did such this afternoon, and it’s a path I love to follow at any time of year, because it offers such diversity so I hope you’ll not hop right back on the train just yet, but instead wander with me.

Some may see it as the land of dried up weeds and some trees, but oh my. There’s so much to see.

For starters, Black Locust trees, with their two-toned braided bark.

Dangling from the locust twigs are the “pea” pods that contain “bean-shaped” seeds ready to add another generation to the landscape.

And then there are the oaks, this being the blocky bark of White Oak, which is always a treat for because I have to travel to locate it.

I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll say it again, but I LOVE White Oak leaves in their autumn/winter presentation. While they look like mittens with a thousand thumbs, it’s the salmony color and way that they dry on the twig as if they were caught in an awkward dance move that really captures me. Maybe because I can relate to those awkward movements, having never had a sense of rhythm.

Behold also, the White Oak’s cousin, Northern Red Oak, with its raised ridges offering ski slopes for those who dare, accentuated by the red in the furrows.

It’s like a perfect classroom along the Mountain Division Trail because the bristly lobed leaves of the Red Oak are so shiny in their shade of mahogany.

And not to be left out in this lesson: Bear Oak (aka Scrub Oak), growing in a more shrubby manner than the other two. It’s the leaves of this species that remind me who I’m meeting–notice how the second set of lobes from the stem are larger than any of the others.

In the mix of deciduous or broad-leafed trees are plenty of conifers, including those we encounter often in this neck of the woods from White Pines to Eastern Hemlocks, and Spruce and Balsam Fir. But . . . there are a couple of standouts along the Mountain Division Trail such as this one with three needles in each bundle.

It’s those bundles of three, and the fact that occasionally a clump of needles grows directly out of the bark rather than on a twig that provide the clues for this species: Pitch Pine, three strikes and you are out. Get it? Baseball–pitch–three needles/bundle. I wish I could take credit for coming up with that mnemonic.

I promised more than one interesting conifer and tada. Only thing is, all the other conifers retain their leaves (needles) throughout the winter, thus giving them the name of Evergreens because they are forever green, even when they are shedding some needles.

This pyramid-shaped tree is the only deciduous conifer in Maine: the Tamarack (Larch and Hackmatack being its other common names).

Tamarack’s needles turn a golden yellow in autumn, and eventually all fall off. But, it’s a cone-bearing tree, thus it’s a conifer.

Picking up speed now, along the rail grows Great Fox-tail Grass, and its name seems a great descriptor.

Then there’s the Sweet Fern, which isn’t actually a fern for it has a woody stem, but what I love most about it in fall and winter is the way its leaves curl, each doing its own thing.

In a wetland, for the habitats vary along the way, Winterberry is now showing off its brilliant red berries. And the Robins are thrilled as are many other birds seeking fruit at this time of year.

Mullein, tall as it stands, has already spread many of its seeds as evidenced by the open pods.

And the same is true for the even taller Evening Primrose.

It’s the fruiting structures of both of these plants that make them beautiful standouts as winter weeds.

Aster seeds are slowly taking their own leave, one hairy parachute at a time.

But here’s the thing. Not all Asters have gone to seed and I was surprised to find several Calico Asters still flowering. Given that the past few days have been quite brisk, this didn’t make sense.

But the same was true for Yarrow.

And I saw a bunch of Blue-stemmed Goldenrods still blooming. While the Asters and Goldenrods flower late in the season, perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised, except that this past weekend’s wild rain and wind, and temps that felt more like November than we’ve experienced lately, made me question what I was seeing.

I was thrilled as I approached the airport end of the trail to find a few Dog-day Cicada exoskeletons still clinging to the underside of the fence railings. My, what large lobster-like claws you have, the better to dig yourself out of the ground when you are ready to emerge from your root-sap-sucking days to form wings, and fly away, and find a mate.

Because my imaginary train had let me off at Porter Road in Fryeburg, about halfway between the two ends of this four-mile route, I wandered and wondered for about two miles toward the airport end, located just beyond the mileage sign.

Portland: 47 miles away.

But it’s not all rail trail . . . yet.

As I looked across Rte 5, I imagined what will happen next. “A twelve-member Mountain Division Rail Use Advisory Council was created in June 2021 to study and review the 31 miles of state-owned, inactive rail line in order to make recommendations for its future use. Frequent meetings occurred . . . at which the civil engineering consulting firm, HNTB, ‘presented feasibility studies for future rail, rail with trail, and interim trail/bikeway use options and economic benefits. It was determined that restoring rail use would cost $60,000,000. For rail with trail, the cost would be $148,300,000. Removing the rails and building a trail until rail, which would keep the rail bed intact so the trail could return to rail if needed, wold cost $19,800,000. The final vote was 11 – 1 in favor of Trail Until Rail . . . After thirty years of work and thanks to the efforts of so many people, on July 6, 2023, Maine Governor Janet Mills signed LD404 into law, authorizing MaineDOT [Department of Transportation] to remove the railroad tracks and construct a 31-mile, multi-use trail until rail on the Mountain Division Rail Line between Fryeburg and Standish . . . Trail Until Rail means that this will be an interim trail because it can be pulled up and the tracks restored to rail should the return of train operations be economically viable. As stated on the alliance’s website: ‘Most major rail corridors are federally protected in perpetuity (that’s forever!). If the tracks ever need to go back in for train service, they will.'” ~ from my article Trail Until Rail: Mountain Division Trail Expansion in published Lake Living, Fall 2024, vol. 17, no. 2.

I turned around by Route 5 and followed the rail with trail back to my truck. Though I’m a hiker, wanderer in the woods by nature, the Mountain Division trail always amazes me with all that it has to offer and today was no different.

If all goes as intended, this 31-mile rail until trail project will be broken into six segments and within two years work will get underway to connect the airport end to this spot by the intersection on Route 160 in Brownfield.

Thanks for taking the time to travel with me today.

Thanks also to Terry Egan, vice president of the Mountain Division Alliance, and Andrew Walton, secretary of the organization, for walking a section of the trail with me several months ago and sharing their stories and visions of this asset to our area.

November 11, 2024 Mondate

~ lmachayes

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take a second to admire those layers of paper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doesn’t it have the cold November look?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I digress.

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

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

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

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

But we did have an unusual sighting . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where The Beaver Led Me

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snow–Bugs and Flakes

~ lmachayes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Q: What’s white and goes up?

A. A dumb snowflake.

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

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

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

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

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

The Long Farewell

~ lmachayes ~ 5 Comments

Saying goodbye is so hard to do, yet at some point we all must. These last few days I’ve been trying to wrap my brain around how best to do that and not feel melancholy.

But then again, maybe the future isn’t all that far off. Wait a minute. Blueberries in flower? Yes! Sadly so. Over the past week or so friends, relatives, and I have noticed various species flowering due to warmer than normal autumn temperatures. These of the low-bush variety are along the path that my neighbor mowed through the field where I’ve spent many a glorious hour observing.

It’s in the same field where I delight in spotting bowl and doily spider webs and this one, a funnel web with the funnel weaver sitting inside waiting for a meal to arrive.

Orb weavers have also been mighty abundant this year and at first I assumed this was Ye Olde Black and Yellow Garden Spider that I love to watch at work–usually wrapping its prey as this one was doing.

Before I say more, take a look at the silk coming out of its spinnerets. I like this explanation by Naturalist R.J. Adams about spider silk: “Within each spider’s abdomen are a variety of silk glands which can vary in number depending on the species. Some of the oldest lineages, including relatives of California’s tarantulas and trapdoor spiders, have only a single type of silk gland, while some orb weavers can have up to eight different kinds. Each gland produces a protein-rich liquid which connects to numerous minute spigots at the tip of the spider’s spinnerets. When silk is needed, tiny valves behind each spigot control its release, and as the fluid is compressed through the spigot’s openings, tension orients the molecules into a solid, thread-like structure.”

Liquid. Spigots. Thread. What an amazing invention!

As I watched the spider move away from its packaged meal, walking so confidently on those guide lines, I realized its coloration was a wee bit different than that of the Black and Yellow Garden Spider.

Not only was the design/coloration different, but also the fact that there was no Zig-zaggy stabilimentum, an ultraviolet runway of multiple threads which perhaps provides stability or attracts prey or tells others to stay away, a trademark of the Black and Yellow.

That’s because this was a Banded Orb Weaver with a different pattern. And now I can’t wait to look for these again next year.

Until a couple of days ago, I was still seeing Black and Yellows, but not as frequently as I had all summer long. It seemed like this gal had stocked her pantry, perhaps knowing her days were coming to an end.

The good news is this sac, soft on the inside and parchment-like on the outside, was created by a Black and Yellow, and within her eggs will survive the winter months. Where there is one sac, I suspect there are dozens more.

Do you see them? The egg sacs I mean? No, I don’t either. Camouflage is the name of the game as the goldenrods and asters go to seed.

Despite or because most of the flowers have gone to seed, those that still thrive are the subject of heavy pollination activity. Frenzied in fact. From Honey Bees to . . .

an American Lady, to . . .

Female Pearl Crescents (gender ID based on orange color of antennal clubs versus dark colors for males) and their counterparts who all greet me each day, to . . .

Yellow-collared Scape Moths, to . . .

Locust Borers, to . . .

long-bodied Sweetfern Underwing Moths, to . . .

Paper Wasps, to . . .

Bumblebees, this one special because it showed me that its proboscis is orangey-reddish, to . . .

Flower Flies with big eyes.

The plants literally tremble with all the activity so it’s easy to figure out where the insects are located.

The best part of greeting so many is that occasionally a tiny new visitor enters the scene and I have to watch for a few minutes to get a good read on who it might be as it flits and flutters and finally lands.

It wasn’t the diminutive size that made my heart skip a few beats, but rather the color when the Eastern Tailed-Blue Butterfly opened its wings–a mixture of blue and pink that made me think of skyblue-pink we often see at sunset.

And then another sighting stopped me in my boots. It’s camo is incredible and it could simply be another goldenrod leaf.

But rather, it is a Katydid, only the second I’ve spotted this year. Katydids always make me happy because they remind me of my forever-since-birth friend and at about the same time that I spotted this insect she just happened to comment on a photo I’d taken during a hike this past week–of a mountain stream–because it reminded her of our “fishing” adventures as children, sticks being our poles and leaves our fish. Katydid. Of course she did.

But of all my finds, my heart was the stillest for this magnificent creature, also a gossamer-winged butterfly. I noted it first on August 3, 2024, and again on August 26. But to see one on October 4, 2024 . . .

Incredible. And RARE! I contacted Dr. Ron Butler once again as he’s one of the co-authors of Butterflies of Maine and the Canadian Maritime Provinces.

Different Bat Time, but same Bat Place for this sighting.

Ron’s reply, “Lucky you. I’ve only seen them in more southern states. I’ll add this to the database.”

Lucky me indeed. According to the book, White M Hairstreaks have only been spotted in our region four times (prior to the three I’ve now noted) and they were seen from late July to late August. So, um, that can now be updated to early October.

BUT . . . what does that mean? Ron has only seen them in more southern states. Blueberries are flowering in October. My nephew shared a photo with me this past week of a Lilac blooming in New Hampshire.

Climate change.

All that said, saying goodbye to all that the field has offered this summer and early fall is not easy. I’m going to miss the spiders and butterflies I had the honor of greeting each day. Oh, I know there’s so much more to come as the days grow shorter and temperatures drop and my favorite season arrives. I live where I do because of the change of seasons.

Still, it’s a long farewell as we transition from one season to the next and for that I’m grateful.

When Is A Moss Not a Moss?

~ lmachayes ~ 5 Comments

Sometimes I need to slow my brain down to figure things out. And other times . . . I need to slow my brain down to figure things out.

That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do lately. Figure things out. Green things. Evergreen things. That means they add color to the forest floor year round.

Pour a glass of water or a cup of tea and join me as I take a closer look.

At first glance, these green growths appear to be miniature trees. But what I wanted to know was this: is the smaller “tree” on the left directly related to the larger “tree” on the right?

There was only one way to find out and though you aren’t looking at the same two in this photo, the question was recently answered when I began to dig into the ground and a friend lifted up the root system. If you look closely at this photo, the two species we were studying looked less similar than the two in the previous picture.

But indeed they were connected . . . with underground horizontal stems called rhizomes.

Meet Dendrolycopodium obsucurum, aka Flat-Branched Clubmoss or Princess Pine. Some of you know this well as your parents used to create Christmas decorations with it. I caution you–don’t be like your parents. Well, in this case anyway.

Clubmosses are vascular plants like our trees and flowers (but not mosses), thus they conduct water and food through their xylem and phloem. Their reproductive strategy is primitive. See that yellow “candle” or club? That is the strobilus (strobili, plural form) with structures called sporangia (sporangium). Some clubmosses have this structure and others have sporangia formed on the plant’s leaves. More on sporangia later, which means you’ll have to continue reading.

As I get to know these green things better, I’m trying to figure out their idiosyncrasies. And just when I think I know, I get zapped. But . . . the species above is closely related or a variant of the first species I shared. And sometimes they look super similar. The Flat-topped has smaller leaves on the lower part of its branches, but without a loupe, I can’t always spot that. And even with a loupe, my mind gets boggled. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing. One thing that has helped me is that species, Dendrolycopodium hickeyi, or Hickey’s Tree Clubmoss, prefers drier soil. But really, they could be twins. And truth be known, they do hybridize.

Right now, I’m thinking that Hickey’s leaves, as shown above, are consistently the same length and thicker in presentation as the branches are more rounded than those of the Flat-branched.

On our land, it grows abundantly along Central Maine Power’s Right-Of-Way and like Flat-branched has underground rhizomes. In fact, this afternoon I had a vision of a bedspread from my youth that I turned into roads and drove little rubber cars and trucks along when I played “Town.” I could easily have driven my little cars from one “tree” to the next and followed the rhizomes as if they were invisible roads.

Cool sights reveal themselves when I do slow down like this and I thought that CMP had killed the Sundews that grow under the powerlines when they sprayed herbicides along the route several years ago. I’d given up on being the guardian of such special plants, and was delighted to discover their dried up flowering structures today and locate the wee carnivorous leaves below. Yahoo! High five for Sundews!

Where Flat-branched and Hickey’s have underground rhizomes, this particular member of the club features horizontal stems that are above ground runners.

And while the previous two were tree-like in structure, this one reminded me of a cactus.

Furthermore, I got all excited because I thought I’d discovered a species considered threatened in Maine. I talked myself into it being Huperzia selago or Fir-Moss. It looked so much like the black and white sketch in my field guide.

Until I realized the Fir-Moss has a sporangia-bearing region in the upper stem. And my species has strobili located at the tips of long slender stalks. And there is no mention of those transparent hairs in the description of the Fir-Moss (after all, it’s not Fur-Moss), but Running Ground-Pine or Staghorn Clubmoss does have this feature. Thus, this is Lycopodium clavatum.

Back at home, it was time to set up the mini-lab and take a closer look. I try not to collect too much; in Ferns & Allies of the North Woods, Joe Walewski suggests we “consider the 1-in-10 rule: collect no more than one for every ten you see.”

The microscope has opened a fascinating world to me–as if it weren’t already fascinating enough. And see the pattern of cell structures–an art form all its own.

And then there was the strobili that covered the sporangia. That word sounds like dessert and this look at the structure made me think it could be some decadent butterscotch offering.

I cut a cross-section and was surprised to see the hollow center.

All those minute spores. Actually, I accidentally nudged a few as I walked in the woods this weekend, and had the honor of watching the “dust cloud” of spores being released.

One family member that doesn’t live in our woods, but is located close by is this, Diphosiastrum digitatum or Fan Creeping-Cedar, so named for its resemblance to cedars.

This specimen had followed me home a few weeks ago, and when I pulled it out of my now warped field guide, for so damp were the pieces that I stuck in there, it had dried into a flattened form of its former self.

I stuck a piece under the microscope and again was floored by the thickness and cell structure.

And then I had a surprise. A hitchhiker! Do you see the long legs?

Here’s another look. I don’t know who this was, but I do know that it was minute in size and it appeared to be a shed skin after the insect had molted.

Suddenly I was eager to find more. And so I checked out a piece of the Flat-branched . . . and wasn’t disappointed.

Here it is again. The second critter that is. Or was. And now I can’t wait until next spring and summer to find out what tiny creatures use these structures as places to molt. And maybe feed. The mouth structure, if that’s what it is on this one, appears to be almost fan-like and kind of reminds me of that on a slug.

The home lab grew into an art room as the hours passed.

Recently my sister gifted me a sketch book and it begged to be opened. After running my fingers over the cover first, of course.

I have the perfect bookmark to mark the pages, created for me this past year by one of our first playmates.

Getting to know a species better through close observation and by sketching is one of my favorite pastimes. And I’m so glad I slowed my brain down, especially when it came to hickeyi on the left and obscurum on the right. The differences seem so obvious with these two examples, but step out the door and I suspect you may be thrown off course as well.

When is a moss not a moss? When it’s a Clubmoss, which is actually an ally or relative of ferns. And horsetails. All are non-flowering vascular plants.

Before you depart, dear reader, please remember that these are ancient plants that take a long time to germinate as most need a symbiotic fungi to provide nutrition to the gametophyte stage (think gamete, eggs, and sperm). They may lie dormant underground for up to seven years and then take up to fifteen years to develop reproductive structures. In the great coal swamps of the Carboniferous period, they reached heights of possibly 100 feet, something I have a difficult time comprehending when I look at their small forms in our woods. Their growth is slow and they deserve our respect.

And now I can’t wait to meet some others and get to know them as well. I spotted One-Cone Ground-Pine or Lycopodium lagopus on a hike the other day and kick myself for not taking its photograph. All in their own time. I’ve made a start and hope you will do the same.

My Love Affair . . .

~ lmachayes 
I have no expectations
and only so much time
to take a walk 
along a nearby trail.
Hiding below a wooden rail,
An arachnid known as a Brown Harvestman rests.
Though spider-like, it's not, 
for its body is single segmented.
Curious to see
what else the posts may offer
I meet a slow-moving Yellow Bear caterpillar,
It's rusty-brown hairs warning me not to touch. 
A few feet away,
Whimsical with its brilliant red caps,
known as the apothecia or fruiting bodies, 
a British Soldier lichen protrudes with a pop of color. 
As I continue, one Harvestman 
becomes two, or three, resting below,
and the long legs of these Daddies
is all I can see.
And then by complete surprise,
Hunchbacked in its former nymphal form, 
with legs so stout and lobster-like claws,
I find a shed exuvia and my heart skips a beat. 
Like the Harvestmen, 
where there is one, there's another,
and I can only imagine
their watermelon tourmaline bodies slowly emerging.
It's when I spot a crawling creature
colored with vivid camouflage
and golden-veined wings,
I realize I've missed one of my favorite views of metamorphosis.
But still I am there to watch 
as the adult form reaches out, 
one muscular foot at at time,
as it walks first sideways and then skyward.
I know from experience
its tented wings will soon spread,
but worry it will meet the web beside it,
and rejoice when it instead finally flies into the forest. 
On this late summer day I find another,
and can only hope these Dog-day Cicadas
have time to sing their raspy love songs
that will continue the circle of life as they know it. 
A few more steps and I must backtrack,
for something large garners my attention,
its mottled pattern resembling the post 
upon which this Carolina Sphinx moth rests. 
A rustle and wing beats cause me to turn my gaze upward,
and I spot a Broad-winged Hawk landing,
and surveying the territory
for a consumable meal. 
Intently, it looks down,
and all around with ten times the focus of my sight,
those predator eyes fixed as they are,
it must turn its head to see.
As I move the telescopic lens
I begin to wonder if it thinks its a creature
and I must admit that I duck
when it flies off . . . first toward me before swerving.
All of these sights I spy
in the course of forty-five minutes
and maybe three quarters of a mile
along the Mountain Division Trail.

On this day, 
I develop a love affair
with the fence posts and all who gather there. 
Can you imagine if I'd gone any farther?

Porcupine, Snakes, and Bears, Oh My!

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

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

Do I have your attention now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Basking in the Sights

~ lmachayes

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, we’d ventured there to paddle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And suddenly lifted off. My Guy counted 30.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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