snow

Finding My Way, Naturally

~ lmachayes ~ Leave a comment

The older (and possibly wiser) I grow, the more gratitude I find in my heart for all those who have paved the path for me. Beginning with my parents, who first grounded us in the natural world, sending my siblings and me out to play and not giving us limits so we could go to places like City Mission and Lost Pond to ice skate in the winter, and follow the old trolley line to the town dump or in the opposite direction in the summer, and certainly disappearing behind the houses across the street from us and down to the brook any time of the year, as well as taking us on long walks in the woods and along the Connecticut shoreline and encouraging us to learn–always.

And then there have been so many others who have crossed my path and I dare not name them for fear of leaving some out, but knowing that there were those who were obvious teachers for me, and others who I didn’t realize were such at the time, but I still came away with lessons learned–to all of them I give my heartfelt thanks.

Some lessons have involved the big picture view of the world, no matter how cold the temperature and frigid the wind.

Other lessons have been much subtler, like realizing that ice forms in a perpendicular manner and fans out behind a culvert that spews water at the formation of a river.

And then there have been reviews of old lessons, where the Black Bears leave no telephone pole untouched. The shiny numbers are invitations encouraging the bears to turn their heads and then pull upper incisors toward lower, mangling both the wood and metal.

And then to leave a signature scratch above this work of art.

And in the midst of this action, to accidentally deposit a bit of hair on the mangled wood. (Please note that My Guy was surprised that I can still feel such glee looking at the same poles year in and year out, but I reminded him that each year I find changes, including hair on different poles and this year the scratch marks on several that I don’t recall seeing in the past or simply failed to notice. What’s not to love? )

There are other old lessons that are also worthy of review–especially as once the snow flies I begin to see them written everywhere I look.

This one is the track of the Ermine or Short-tailed Weasel. I love how each set of prints represents four feet, the front two landing and then as this bounder’s hind feet begin to fall into place, the front feet lift off toward the next spot. One of the biggest give-aways to the creator is the diagonal orientation of each set of prints. Sometimes the diagonal changes, but it’s almost always present.

And just sometimes the same weasel decides to take it easy between sets of prints and goes for a quick slide, creating what is known to some as a Dog Bone and to others as a Dumbbell. I think it’s easy to see both once you know you recognize the behavior, but I can’t tell you how many years it took me to actually see this.

And then, along a wetland shoreline, another member of the weasel family reminded me that occasionally they like to slide much like a River Otter, but this being was a Mink!

And not to be left out of the scene, a Fisher (not a Fisher Cat–ah, but the hairs go up on the nape of my neck). The diagonal is there and though this was a quick shot and not all the details are visible, all Mustelids (weasels) have five toes and all are bounders.

Red Foxes also write lessons in the snow and I followed this one for quite a ways, finding a spot where it pounced, though I’m not sure it caught the intended meal because there was no evidence of a struggle.

While its overall trail was the zigzag of an animal that double packs a spot because the hind foot typically steps where the front foot had already been, sometimes the trail zags more than it zigs and I imagine he was looking for another food source.

Occasionally he changed his pace and I had to wonder why–did he smell or hear something that I couldn’t discern?

One thing I could easily discern–his territory marking. Fox urine! On a sapling. Skunk-like in odor. All classic during mating season, which we are in. Mind you, I learned this summer that Red Fox urine always smells skunky, but it’s even more so in the winter.

And I’m here to report that the Red Squirrel that crossed his path lived. For the moment anyway.

The final lesson of old, though hardly the final lesson, was the realization that some rather large prints were actually signals of two-way traffic. Do you see the upside down C in middle print? This is the neighborhood Bobcat crossing an ice bridge. But . . . which way is he walking?

Turns out in both directions. East and West. Packing the snow in one direction with both front and back feet and then following the same exact trail back. I remember the first time I saw this sort of behavior when I was looking for evidence of a Bobcat and a Coyote in a local watershed prior to offering a summer presentation to a lake association. It was about thirteen years ago and I think of it every time we hike the same trail at Five Kezar Ponds Reserve in Stoneham. First I knew I was following the Coyote and then I realized that a Bobcat had walked in the opposite direction on the Coyote’s prints. The same thing happened at Dan Charles Pond Reserve in Stow a few years ago. You can read about it in The Tail of Two Days.

Look carefully at the photo above. Do you see it? The better to reserve energy.

While I love reviewing old lessons because there’s always something new to observe or a better understanding of the animals behavior is gained, new lessons are even more exciting.

And tada, this is one. A Red Squirrel’s territorial mark.

The bark is nibbled and striped and a scent post is left behind letting others know who inhabits this particular area. This is the first I’ve found, but now that I’ve seen it, I can’t wait to locate more.

Another new lesson–discovering a Funnel Weaver Spider walking on the snow. Oh, I know that some spiders have Gylcerol that allows them to do this and I’ve seen sooo many, but a Funnel Weaver? Was it a bad decision? I’ll never know. So far, though, this is the only Funnel Weaver I’ve encountered this winter.

And then there have been sweet treats–not really lessons, though at some level everything is a lesson. But three times this past week I’ve spotted Red Crossbills–twice while participating in Maine Audubon’s Christmas Bird Count and once beside a local road where they’ve overwintered for years.

And . . . while the world view is important, sometimes it’s the teeny tiny things that need to be acknowledged–as in the case of this Snow Scorpionfly. I still can’t believe I spotted it. The snow was rather icy, so my ruler was sliding about, thus the positioning. But it’s there to give you a sense of this small insect’s size.

At the end of the day, or week, or hike, or blog post, my heart speaks a million words of gratitude to all of those who have helped me find my way, naturally.

I know I’m blessed.

I know how fortunate I am to have a curiosity about the natural world.

I know my desire to learn is a lifelong gift.

And I can only hope that in some small way, I can share my learnings with you.

The Ice Storm Cometh Again?

~ lmachayes ~ 7 Comments

Having lived through the Ice Storm of 1998, when our boys were quite young and we had no power for nine days, today’s weather took me back to that time.

During the wee hours of this morning, sheets of snow slid off the barn and house roof and landed with a thump upon the ground. And then, when we finally arose we realized the driveway was an ice rink and everything was coated with a glaze.

But as often happens when it rains or snows, the birds flew in and the feeders and ground were full of activity.

This male Bluebird, however, contemplated it all.

And then seemed to contemplate the situation even more, eyeing everyone below before deciding to fly to a suet feeder at last.

There were Chickadees, Tufted Titmice, Juncos, a Mourning Dove, Blue Jays, White Breasted Nuthatches, and this brilliant male Cardinal, all taking advantage of the feeding station from time to time throughout the morning and early afternoon.

And by afternoon, I could stand staying inside no longer, and so donned my raincoat and Muck Boots and headed out.

Immediately, I was stunned by the beauty that surrounded me. Yes, it was raining. Yes, it was cold, but it’s been colder of late. But YES, it was a sight to behold and I felt at times as if I was looking through a stained glass window.

Everywhere, the world had been enclosed in a treatment of ice and I began to notice the unique shapes and sometimes reflections that were offered. And I knew I had to photograph them so that those of you who travel with my via your armchair may enjoy and notice and wonder without stepping outside.

The Beech bud was fully encapsulated and just using that word makes me think how the ice must insulate and protect the bud just as the bud’s scales protect the leaves and branches growing within it. Encapsulate means within a protective shell and insulate means protect, so I think I may be on to something here.

The Red Maple buds were equally coated, but notice the design of the ice on the upper part of the branch, as if the pattern matches the branch’s nooks and crannies where bud scars represent previous years of growth.

And then that tip where the ice is almost clear around the buds–and all I could think of was that it had formed a snow globe without any snow.

Not to be overlooked was that frozen drip below–so intricate, so artistic, so unique as no two drips are alike . . .

Even when they fall from matching leaves.

Aster seeds were not to be left out and again, the design struck me–hexagonal in shape due to the water molecules freezing. Amazing.

And a Flowering Dogwood, with a fruit or two still attached, turned into a star at eye level.

Of course, I searched all the time that I was out–looking for insects and spiders and the Springtails did not disappoint.

A friend asked me this morning if Springtails, aka Snow Fleas, which aren’t really fleas, will be exterminated if we have a sudden freeze, which we are supposed to have tonight. I reminded him that they inhabit the leaf litter in the subnivian layer most of the time and so as the temperature dips, to that they shall return and remain cozy beneath the snow.

I also discovered a Snow Fly skeddadling across the crusty surface and suspect he had one thing on his mind: Where’s my mate-to-be? Where’s my mate-to-be?

I found her as well, but she was about a half mile from him.

For a brief second I thought maybe I should transport her back to him, but really, I didn’t know if he’d still be where I’d last seen him, or still available. And besides, I don’t need to interfere with nature (though occasionally I do) and I certainly don’t need to start a wondermyway insect matching site!

As for spiders, I spotted none today. But did see one Winter Fly that wasn’t feeling very photogenic.

Everywhere I looked, the trees showed signs of the strain from the weight of the ice, as pretty as it was. This Hemlock sapling was doing what Hemlocks do and its lead branch was bending over as is their fashion, but in a more dramatic way than normal.

The White Pine Sapling was equally dramatic and its leader also tipped over, almost reaching the snow pack.

While looking at the Pines, I began to realize that not all ice is created equal, even though at first view that seems to be the case.

But then I zeroed in on this formation, which is in the middle of the prior photo. I wondered why it had such a wide spread at the bottom, almost resembling a foot, until I realized that the ice had encased the five needles in the typical White Pine bundle, but all five were a bit splayed.

At one point on today’s journey, this was my view. And I had to have faith that it still led to Mount Washington.

And in thinking of that, I thought of my friend Faith, who is celebrating her first birthday in Heaven today. She would not have liked the ice or cold, but I know she would have loved all the formations. And she was the first to follow wondermyway.com and was a frequent commenter.

This was the same view the day after Christmas. I always feel like I could walk to Mount Washington!

And these were yesterday’s ice formations–frost flowers.

But today–it’s all about the glazing.

As for The Ice Storm Cometh Again?, on January 8, 2023, I wrote about the ’98 storm in The Ice Storm That Cameth. For some reason, a few photos are missing from that post, but go ahead and take a look.

The conditions seem prime today for a possible repeat performance. Everything remains coated in ice tonight, and the temperature, which reached into the 30˚s this afternoon, is about to take a sharp drop and the wind is going to pick up and ohhhhhh, I fear the Snap! Crackle! Pop! Crash! that we experienced back then.

Let’s hope my thinking is wrong.

Welcoming Winter With Bare Feet

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

We marked the Winter Solstice yesterday, but truly . . . winter arrived early this year. And those who have followed me for years know that this is my favorite season. The cold air. The fresh air. The creaking trees. Even the early darkness. It all makes me feel alive.

And most of all, tracking. Well, add insects to that, though tracking them isn’t a skill I’ve acquired . . . yet. And probably never will. But finding them on the snow and feeling reverence for their ability to survive (most do) despite days like today when the temp is in the teens but feels like single digits, what a wonder!

Some even surprise me by appearing on the door of my dirty truck. This is a Winter Fly and I’m in awe of its orangey-ish face with those big red button eyes.

Mind you, this fly is teeny, tiny. And still . . . it was out and about.

Porcupines have also been out and about and by their sashay fashion of moving through the snow, it’s easy to know where they are present.

And leave presents, they do! Dribbles of pee can often be found along the route they travel.

Dens can easily be discovered . . . sometimes. And other times . . . it might just be an old den, such did this old stove serve.

A peek into it and you might find a mix of both Hemlock cones that look like Porky scat, and the real deal, especially toward the back.

Large twigs scattered upon the ground below a Hemlock tree is another indicator of one of my favorite critter’s dining room.

Among the twigs with their 90˚ cuts, fresh scat stating that Porky had visited the kitchen pantry and made a meal the night before.

And at a nearby tree, I’m occasionally lucky enough to spot a chain-linked necklace, again the owner of this gem being my friend Porky, who had some fiber in his diet that held the scat pieces together.

Just when one might think that that all is enough, there’s more to be discovered, for this particular Porcupine created a few signs to indicate that this is his living room and he’s very much at home in this area.

In fact, he chose to decorate several Gray Birch trees.

To create his works of art, he turned his head this way and that while pulling his upper and lower incisors toward each other over and over again in order to break through the bark and get to the tasty inner cambium layer.

And in the process, he created a Porcupine Claw Tree! Do you see all those scratch marks left behind as he chewed? On each foot, five toes with sharp nails that aid in climbing, run across the top of the pad, and he had a lot of work to do to create the sign above, and so you can almost pick out five lines for each time he turned his foot to stabilize his body.

At the base of the tree, the thicker chunks of bark that he didn’t eat. And at least one pellet of scat.

I remember the first time I discovered bark below a Porcupine tree and I was totally confused because I always associated that behavior strictly with Beavers.

Where there are Porcupines, there also may be Cluster Flies. Who knew that they have antifreeze components that allow them to walk on snow and ice like some other insects?

This winter I’m adding to my insect and spider sightings like never before, and it’s such an amazing lesson each time I make a new discovery.

And then . . . and then . . . cuze there always has to be an “and then,” what I believe to be a Bobcat’s cache site. One day I saw a bit of disturbance in the middle of the trail, and blood. Lots of blood. But indecipherable prints.

Two days later and the area had been revisited and more disturbance.

And a Bobcat’s prints surrounding the main evidence.

That classic round shape with four toes showing. But, for the discerning eye, there is one toe on the far left that is over another toe–telling me that this print actually represents two feet! First the front foot packed the snow and then the hind foot on the same side stepped into almost that very spot.

And after that a Winter Firefly entered the scene. Notice his bare feet, but again, he’s made for winter and not made to light up the way his summer cousins do and this past summer we had the pleasure of spotting many Fireflies each night.

But I love the Winter Firefly for the orangey-pink parentheses that mark the pronotum or head shield. And the fact that they can move across the snow, though they prefer to be just under the bark on a winter day.

It’s the sign of still another that has been drawing my attention frequently because . . . that sign can be seen in almost any habitat and quite often. The “another” in this case is a Meadow Vole. If you’ve ever spotted one moving across leaf matter or plowing through the snow, you know they are like little gray torpedoes, quick and trying to go undetected.

Being one of a predator’s favorite food sources, Voles are shy of airspace, and thus tend to travel below the snow surface whenever possible. And while they are hoppers/leapers most of the time, occasionally they become perfect walkers and this track shows the essence of that in the lower zigzaggy portion of the tunnel. At least that’s my interpretation. Like the Bobcat (and canines), a Vole can pack the snow with the front foot and then the hind foot lands in the same spot. He may walk like this for a few steps and then revert back to hopping/leaping but in a super fast fashion.

As the snow melts, the tunnels become more and more apparent and I get the sense of this little guy moving here, there, and everywhere, probably on a seed quest.

Occasionally, the winter weather takes its toll, and such was this case for this Shield Bug that went belly-up. They much prefer to find their way into our homes for the winter, and so far the temps we’ve been experiencing of late, except during last week’s rain storm, have been quite frigid, and this guy made the wrong choice.

Winter isn’t just about insects and tracking, well, wait, yes it is for here is the result of another type of insect that had been consumed and the undigestible parts excreted–in the form of Pileated Woodpecker Scat filled with Carpenter Ant body parts.

Oh, and then there are spiders, but though I’ve seen plenty of them alive and moving with grace across the snow, occasionally they freeze to death despite their antifreeze and what happened here is that the spider lost a front limb and I have to wonder if the frost entered its body through the stub that was left behind. I have no proof, but it’s always good to wonder.

And how do I know this is a male? Do you see the “boxing gloves” on the pedipalps? There’s a vocabulary word worth looking up. :-)

But wait. The temperature was in the teens, with a wind chill in the single digits and I spotted the print of . . . a human being. A bare footprint. It was a few days old, given that there was some tree debris on top of it.

Of the almost six miles that My Guy and I hiked on a loop trail today, we followed these tracks the entire way.

It brought to mind this poem:

Footprints in the Sand

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed
that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from
anguish, sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.

So I said to the Lord,
“You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during
the most trying periods of my life
there have only been one
set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most,
you have not been there for me?”

The Lord replied,
“The times when you have
seen only one set of footprints,
is when I carried you.”

~Mary Stevenson

Can you imagine welcoming winter by walking barefoot in the snow?

I’m pretty sure I was carried today! And not by My Guy! Though he was beside me the entire way.

Spiders and Insects: And More New Learnings

~ lmachayes

After today’s snow ended and another inch or two had accumulated atop our already winter wonderland world, I donned my boots and cameras and headed out the back door, not really sure where I’d wander. I assumed my findings would be few because the precipitation had just stopped.

Except that is, for the snow pack growing deeper!

But . . . I was almost immediately pleasantly surprised, for there was a Winter Crane Fly, small in size with gangly legs looking rather like an oversized mosquito. As an adult, however, it doesn’t have mouth parts, for its only plan is to mate. And it only lives for a short period of time, maybe a week or two.

Why then, do all of this in the winter? Today’s temp was 21˚F, and the touch of snow even colder–I know this because I felt it several times as I placed my rulered card down for photo calls. Perhaps because there aren’t many predators at this time of year?

What I couldn’t help but notice was the stained-glass window look of its two wings, for this is one of the True Flies (Diptera–two wings), and my mind returned to Reverend Annette’s sermon about hope and joy at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church this morning and my brain and heart were smiling at this find and joy filled my whole being. We don’t have stained-glass windows in our church, but rather they offer a look at the ever-changing natural world beyond the building’s walls. A world that includes this incredible creature that has been on Earth for a time longer than my brain can comprehend.

And then the spiders began to appear, Long-jawed Orbweavers and a few others, and each and every one was on the move.

What I have learned over the past week or two is that those spiders who do venture across the snow will curl up and rest on the really frigid days, and come back to life when it warms up a wee bit. Amazing.

Well, a short clarification, for some will revive, but others truly will freeze–probably due to -14˚F mornings. I know this because I took a “dead” one home on a “warmer” day and was surprised to discover it moving the next day, but three others that I found curled up after that really cold night did not come back to life.

I did try to count the spiders today, but couldn’t keep track, so many did I spot. My journey wasn’t far, but their journey . . .

slow, with each step . . .

seeming to be intentionally chosen.

And then I began to see other friends, like this female Snow Fly, also a member of the Crane Fly Family.

Along my chosen path, I found at least a half dozen females and only one male.

Her movements were a bit faster than that of the spiders.

What amazed me was this particular Snow Fly, for it had self-amputated not one, but two legs and it’s only December.

My hope for her is that she’ll find a mate sooner rather than later because I fear if the weather we’ve been experiencing (it feels like an old-fashioned December) continues for much longer, she won’t have any legs left. Despite her loss of limbs, she still moved rather efficiently as she scurried across the snow.

And then . . . and then . . . I met another surprising member of the winter landscape. Again, a teeny, tiny member, but because I was looking down, its coloration and shape were anomalies that captured my attention and for a few minutes became my whole world.

What a dress indeed did this Acleris Braunana Leafroller Moth wear–take a look at the pattern, and those colors, and the fringe.

As I learned when I returned home, it’s not unusual for this species also to make an appearance on a “warm” winter day. Like the other insects and spiders, Glycerol, that natural anti-freeze compound that lowers the temperature at which their tissues will freeze, plays an important role for winter survival.  

Of those critters that I filmed moving this afternoon, the Leafroller was the slowest, but I didn’t film the Winter Crane Fly because though those I saw were alive, they barely moved.

As my journey drew to a close, I was smiling both inside and out, for one reason, because I feel like I come alive when it’s cold out, and two, because I had so many surprises and learnings just because I was looking.

Looking down, that is. Can you imagine all that I missed by not looking up?

There’s so much to see, even in the “drab” winter landscape and my hope for you is that you’ll find joy in making new discoveries and learning along the way.

Spiders and Insects: A Winter Love Story

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Lest you think that I spend the colder months forgetting about six and eight-legged members of the natural world, rest assured that I do not. That said, this has been an incredible week of spotting these little members of the ecosystem that often go overlooked as people tramp through the snow.

About eight inches of snow fell a week ago and in the middle of the storm, I did what I love to do. I headed out to explore in our woods. Have you ever stepped outside and listened on a snowy day? Really listened? It’s magical. The world’s sounds are muffled, except for the soft hush of falling snow.

It was while standing still and appreciating the quietness that I first began to notice these most beautiful creatures. I was compelled to check the coloration against a watercolor set gifted to me by a dear old friend. The legs of this Long-jawed Orbweaver are Sap Green Deep. Its head and abdomen: Raw Umber Deep, Greenish Yellow, and Turquoise Green Deep; and its pedipalps, those leg-like appendages near the mouth that look like boxing gloves: White Gold.

Of course, Crayola would have completely different, and certainly more creative names for the same colors.

Long-jawed Orb Weavers are also known as Stretch Spiders for their ability to spread their long, hairy legs out–two in front and two behind, when resting on a twig and blend in so well, that sometimes it is impossible to see them. Unless they are on snow, of course. And then their metallic coloration may catch your attention. Mind you, they are small.

What I can’t figure out is why they are walking on the snow on these cold days, given that their meal of choice is in the subnivean layer between the ground and snow–that being the Springtails, aka Snow Fleas, those little dots of pepper that perform circus acts as they jump around in our boot prints on warm winter days. I have yet to see any Springtails on the snow.

A few more steps and I discovered this Cutworm Caterpillar. Near this green one I also found a brown variation. While they may come to the surface on warmer days, I was surprised to find these Snow Worms when the temperature was in the low teens.

Apparently posing for the paparazzi is not in their DNA. And so I moved on.

And discovered another Long-jawed, this one being hues of brown. I’ve been thinking about these spiders all week, and actually for many years, because there are days when I can go for a walk in the woods and see one every ten feet or less. Frigid days even, which has been the case this past week.

The question is: how does a tiny critter with such a fragile looking body and legs survive in these temps? I’ve read that some spider species can lower their bodies’ freezing point by producing a cryoprotectant, Glycerol, a natural anti-freeze compound that lowers the temperature at which their tissues will freeze.  

But . . . another question arises: What happens when that antifreeze no longer seems to work?

Answer: They curl up and die.

Or do they?

You see, I’d picked one spider up and held it in my hands for a few minutes in hopes of reviving it. And met no success.

The next day I picked up another and placed it in a Petri Dish, thinking I would look at it under the microscope.

A day later, and it was walking around inside the container.

Absolutely amazing to this wonderer.

And consequently, a few more have traveled home in my pocket and I’m wondering if they’ll revive as well in the warmth of our home. If so, what does that mean? That they can go dormant atop the snow in freezing temps, and thaw and become active when the sun warms them up? I guess my biggest question is this: Why are they on top of the snow, anyway, when it’s much warmer under it and that’s where their food source can be found.

There’s another critter I’ve been encountering quite a bit this past week and it looks rather ferocious.

But don’t judge a book by its cover as the old adage goes. While some look robust, like this one, others are small and slender. Again, I’ve read this, but not observed it: they don’t eat, but may sip snow. The main goal of the adults who are active in winter is to mate.

Who is this critter? A Snow Fly, a flightless Crane Fly.

They lack wings, but do have a set of halteres, those knob-shaped organs that help with stability.

This is a female Snow Fly, the gender being determined by the abdominal appendages. Notice hers is upward curving and tapered to a point.

Do you notice anything else about her? As in how many legs she has?

This robust male’s abdomen appendages are much blunter and pincer-like in shape.

Hmmm, again I ask, how many legs has he?

While the Snow Fly in the first photo I shared sported the typical six legs of an insect (as opposed to eight legs for a spider), the last three have only five. This is due to another amazing winter adaptation:
Snow Flies can self-amputate freezing legs to prevent ice from spreading to organs within their body.

What? We say all the time, “Nature is amazing!” It truly is astounding.

I watched as this male made his way down a brink of snow on only five legs.

He was quick and rather nimble.

As he approached the leaf below, I realized why it is difficult to spot these adults before the snow falls, for then they are well camouflaged in the leaf litter, just as the Orb Weaver spiders are camouflaged on their tree species of choice, their colors blending in and stretched out shapes making them look like the twigs upon which they pose.

One last critter to share with you is a Green Lace Wing, who completely surprised me. I’m used to seeing them in the field during the summer months, and found this one on the trail just around the corner from the field yesterday.

Adults can overwinter behind bark and may come out on warmer days, but the temperature was 19˚F.

I didn’t have anything to carry it home in, so I scooped its fragile body up onto my little tracking card and carried it home, protecting it from being blown off by the wind. Unlike the spider, however, it didn’t revive once inside.

If you are so inclined to look down during a snowy tramp, don’t be fooled by some of the litter, such as Hemlock Needles with their short petioles, pretending to be green abdomens.

Or Birch Seeds that look like miniature butterflies.

I do hope you will venture out and search for these friends. They have a place in the ecosystem and provide us with one more reason to get outside and observe and stand in awe and try to learn no matter what the temperature is.

Spiders and Insects: A winter love story. For me, at least.

Wednesday Wanders=Wonder-filled

~ lmachayes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Timber!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well done, Julie.

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

Well done, Marie.

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

Well done, Heidi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Look for the white strings again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wild Out My Window

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

I know I should take in the bird feeders. After all, it is April 8. And a friend found bear tracks in her yard about seven or eight miles away on April 1st–and it was for real, though I did question if she was trying to fool me.

But I haven’t done so yet and the past two days have offered insights and outsights as I’ve stood at the back door periodically, ever ready to snap a photo.

Picture taking began early on the 7th–at about 6:15am, when the lighting was a bit dark and my camera encouraged me to use the flash, but I chose not to because I knew it would offer a reflection of light on glass and I’d never get a photograph of the critter of my intent.

Much to my surprise, a Sharp-shinned Hawk helped me greet the day. The bird perched about twenty feet from the back door, right in the midst of my feeding station–well, the feeding station I’d set up for birds, though my plan has always been for me to provide the food in the form of seeds and suet, not in the form of other birds.

We spent a few minutes together, Sharpie and me, and not a single bird flew in–thankfully.

The feeders were actually quite low on seed, but knowing the Hawk was around, I decided to wait to refill them and instead took off for a hike with My Guy, where we spotted Beaked Hazelnut in flower.

Back at home, I immediately filled the feeders and spread seed on the ground, and it seemed like within seconds, we had visitors.

The female Mourning Dove was a bit of a hog–filling her crop non-stop.

Her male counterpart didn’t seem to care about eating and he marched about going this way and that.

And then I noticed him begin to fluff out his feathers and all I could think of is a Tom Turkey and I suspected I knew what he had on his bird brain.

He’d fluff, then calm down and strut past her, but she didn’t seem to care as she stayed low and kept on gathering more seeds for later consumption.

Then he’d fluff up again.

And preen to make sure he was looking his best. I was impressed.

She didn’t care.

Like her, I turned my attention in a different direction as at least three Song Sparrows splashed in a large puddle and also sought seeds. I’ve yet to hear their songs, but they’ve been back in Maine for at least a couple of weeks.

And then a female Bluebird joined the scene and made me give thanks for our neighbor’s field and the houses she has installed for these beauties.

Her mister also kept flying in, actually more often than his Mrs., but he only occasionally sought sustenance. The rest of his time, he watched and waited, and waited and watched.

When I did turn my attention back to Mr. Mourning Dove, he was fluffing up again.

And then he approached his true love.

And tried to jump on her back, but she quickly hopped away. It took him a while, but finally, he headed north, walking across the yard to I know not where. And she stayed and gathered more seeds.

At one point all three species, the Tree Sparrow, female Mourning Dove, and male Bluebird all occupied the same space, but then he flew–as birds are known to do, especially when I want to photograph them.

More interested in suet was the male Downy Woodpecker. I kept expecting his lady to arrive, but she never did appear.

There was, however, a lot of Chickadee action, and I cannot say whether male or female, for to my uninformed eye, they all look the same.

White-breasted Nuthatches also came, seeking both suet and seeds in no particular order.

And for the first time this year, an Eastern Phoebe entered the scene. She’s tried to build a nest over our front door one year and on our back shed the next. I’m curious to see where she decides to locate her adobe this year.

The final bird for yesterday was the Squirrel Spoonshovel, so deserving of its common name for all it seems to do is shovel seeds into its mouth. Nonstop. All day long. This one and six of its nearest kin.

But eating bird food apparently works, and I couldn’t believe it when I saw it take flight.

This morning dawned with the Bluebirds and all their neighbors back in residence. And I could not help but think of the patience this male has as he perches for minutes on end.

That is . . . until it began to snow and he looked at the first flakes with disdain.

And then back at me as if it was all my fault. Really, I tried to explain, I can’t control everything, despite my fervent attempts.

The star of the show today, however, was another unexpected visitor, this in the form of an American Mink!

My photos are not crisp for so quickly did he bound, but I couldn’t believe my good fortune to have spotted him.

I’ve seen fewer squirrels today and wonder if he might know why. Although, as I typed that, I looked out the window and tada, there was one, and then a second.

They fought for a chance to sit in the bird feeder . . . of course! Because after all, they are Squirrel Spoonshovels, that rarest of bird species.

The wild out my window . . . is truly wild here in western Maine. And each of these is just a snapshot of time, for honestly, I don’t spend every moment standing by the backdoor.

But just imagine if I did . . .

Deciphering the Porcupine Dance

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

When I least expect it, the Universe speaks. And suddenly all makes sense. Well, not all, but a few things become clearer and my understanding of the natural world grows.

So it was early this week when I walked down a forested road and met tracks well worth pondering.

To set the stage, we’d had a 5 – 6 inch snowstorm Friday night into Saturday, followed by some melting, and then rain and freezing rain on Sunday, and fog and rain on Monday. A smorgasbord of spring weather.

As I walked along, I noticed some disturbance in the snow and when I reached it, I noted that there were two disturbed sites almost parallel in orientation.

And my heart gladdened, for I immediately recognized these as representing the travels of a River Otter, or two or three. What’s more, they had been made over the course of at least two days.

The bounding slide on the left was first and probably occurred early Saturday as it still snowed. Such was the bound and slide so filled in, yet still representational.

Do you see the diagonal orientation of pairs of prints in the above photos of the second set of tracks? And the five toes–tear-drop shaped as they were?

These prints were much clearer and appeared to have been made Monday.

Because I was traveling light, I only had my Maine IF&W card in my pocket to offer a sense of size. But a closer look revealed that this particular trail included the Otter(s) moving in opposite directions, again at different times due to the clarity or non-clarity of the prints.

I looked across the road upon which I walked and saw that the bounders had come up and gone down to a stream via a very steep embankment. “Yeehaw!” I could almost hear them shout.

It was a rather circuitous route to the water, but that’s the way of an Otter. Why do straight when you can move in any direction you choose.

Eventually I moved on, and the next beauty to share a sign of its presence in these woods was a Snow Lobster, aka Snowshoe Hare. Remember, the two feet at the top of the photo are actually the hind feet, while the two behind, that form the lobster tail, are the front feet–as the hind feet swing around the front and land as this hopper leaps forward.

The snow conditions were such that the impressions were rather wide.

But not as wide as those I’d seen the day before. My, what big feet you have–indeed.

Continuing on, I began to notice the tracks of others who had passed this way, and the first clue to identification was the manner of movement–this being a rather straight line with a hint of a zigzag down the middle of the road. This was the track of a Red Fox.

And soon a Bobcat appeared. Well, it didn’t actually appear, but its track did.

Some prints were almost perfect–with a lead toe, much like our middle finger, and the C ridge between toes and heel pad.

That’s not all, There were more sets of prints oriented on the diagonal. Think back to the River Otter, who is in the Weasel family. This small critter is a member of the same family, but these are the prints of a Mink.

By this time I was feeling really rich. Especially since I didn’t expect to find so many different species in this space I walk frequently.

And then I met an old friend, the one and only pigeon-toed Porcupine. Actually, if you look closely at this photo, you might note the Mink bounding over Porky’s path, only actually, I think the Mink passed this way first. And it’s not a known predator of the quilled one.

I didn’t venture off trail to locate Porky’s den, but I knew it was among the boulders just beyond where I stood for I could see its tracks moving back and forth between them and suspect there is more than one home site in this locale.

As I moved on, I followed Porky’s path along the road for a while, before he moved off into the woods, toward what I assume to be its feeding site.

That said, you should note another critter also passing this way–another perfect walker, this one being a Coyote.

And then, and then, the creme de la creme:

A do-si-do dance, all the moves worked out, with a promenade forward and then a turn around several times until the Porcupine ended back at the spot where it began these fancy steps.

I knew at once what this represented and though I shared this video only a couple of weeks ago, upon seeing the fancy footwork in the snow, I knew exactly how to interpret it.

The video is from my game camera and after you click on the arrow, you can watch the prickly critter do a do-si-do dance before climbing a tree. This is the reaction to a predator in the area.

In both situations, it was the same cast of characters who could serve as a predator: Red Fox, Coyote, and Bobcat. Of all of them, the Bobcat would be of most concern. The largest concern would be a weasel whose tracks I did not spot–a Fisher.

The circular route that my prickly friend took gave it an opportunity to show off the quills on its back–a warning telling others to stay away. For the time being they did.

And I gave great thanks for the opportunity to see signs of so many critters, but especially to decipher the Porcupine dance. Just like that, it all began to make sense.

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.

Bogging With Bridie

~ lmachayes

We parked on the little dirt connector road between Route 160 and Lord Hill Road, close to Bog Road, because we knew the conditions would be such that driving into Brownfield Bog would be impossible. Besides, walking would offer more time to catch up on each other’s lives. Well, I’m afraid I did most of the talking, but at least my friend Bridie is up to speed on my life. Hers is so full of students and research and writing, that just having time to breathe in the fresh air of her childhood backyard was enough.

At the old shed, we paused to admire the work of her mom, Kathy McGreavy, a potter who created this tile map of Brownfield Bog in 2017 as her capstone project for the Maine Master Naturalist program. And we wondered how many of the same species we might see or encounter today.

One particular tile always elicits a shared memory, for I was with Bridie when we spotted an Eastern Ribbon Snake slither across the road and down into the water.

It was then that I learned that Ribbon Snakes are a species of special concern in Maine, and rather uncommon. Since then, I’ve seen at least one more in the bog and a few more in several other local spots, but each sighting is special, and always I return in my mind to that first time.

And why the wire across the tile art work? It seems woodpeckers like to peck at the tiles and Kathy had to repair a few a year or two ago.

We couldn’t go out on the bog today, as we had done previous winters. After all, we are on the cusp of spring, and didn’t trust the ice. But from the edge we admired Pleasant Mountain forming the backdrop–and always giving us an idea of where home is located.

Down a side road, which we were able to walk being not flooded (yet), we found our way to Pirate’s Cove along the Saco River and the water is high and mighty and muddy. For a few minutes we watched in silence. Well, we were silent, but the river wasn’t.

Returning to the main drag, we made our way back to the Old Course of the river and were greeted by the most delightful bird chorus, including the conk-le-rees of the Red-winged Blackbirds.

With their bright red shoulder patches bordered below in yellow, they were calling from high perches among the shrubs.

Puffing out while calling is indeed a breeding activity, and so the race is on. May the best males find a mate.

Our other bird sightings included this White-breasted Nuthatch, plus Hairy Woodpeckers, American Tree Sparrows, Canada Geese, and a thousand Wood Ducks. Or so it seemed. The fact that they moved every time we spotted them, even if two hundred yards away, might mean that there weren’t quite that many, but rather that we kept meeting the same ones in different locations.

We also saw signs of Pileated Woodpecker works. Not only do they excavate holes while in search of Carpenter Ants, they also shred and chisel and in these woods, that seems to be a favorite activity. We wondered why, but couldn’t come up with an answer.

We did, however, do what Bridie taught me to do a million years ago and searched for scat. Bingo! Though we saved this thought for another day, we did wonder if we dissected the scat, would we be able to tell about how many ants had been consumed?

And no adventure with Bridie would be complete without some tracking in the mix. Our snowpack is quickly dwindling and where three days ago at home, we still had a foot, now there are lots of bare spots and what snow is left might be only about four inches.

That said, we relished the finds we did make, including lots of Vole tunnels like these. And I reminded Bridie that she was the one who introduced me to the subnivean layer, that microhabitat between the ground and the bottom of the snowpack (think back to Thanksgiving 2024), which provides insulation and protection for many animals, like the Voles, who happen to be on everyone’s dinner menu.

Our other finds included Raccoon tracks,

Mink,

and Coyote,

plus a family of Coyotes on some sand at Goose Pasture.

And, of course, our adventure could not be complete without discovering several Coyote scats.

And just for good measure, we met one large Six-spotted Fishing Spider.

Okay, so it wasn’t really as big as the close-up made it look.

There were also beaver works in various places, though we suspected this was a wee bit old, but not older than a few months ago based on the color of the wood. The warmer temps made the sap flow a bit.

There are a bunch of well-mudded lodges in the bog, but we didn’t see any hoped for activity today.

We did, however, discover some scent mounds and know that claiming territory is an important assignment that will become more significant as the ice begins to melt and the two-year-olds leave the lodge to venture off on their own and claim a territory.

Next, we turned our focus to a few shrubs, including the Winterberry. While I still have some dried bright red berries as decorations in my house, most of the berries on branches have shriveled and we wondered why the birds hadn’t dined on them when they were ripe.

What we discovered, much to our delight, was that some had been procured by little brown things, presumably mice, and had been consumed in a bird’s nest. It’s illegal to take bird nests without a permit and this is one reason, they are recycled into homes for other critters.

What totally surprised us about the Winterberry, however, was that we found one shrub with the berries still bright red and plump, as if today was December 18th and not March 18th. Again, we wondered why.

We also found a few of last season’s cranberries hiding under their leaves. That reminded me of another day I’d spent searching for cranberries in the bog years ago–and though I told Bridie about it, I’ll save that two-day story for another day.

Leatherleaf also had offerings to provide, in the form of little flower buds along the woody stems.

At last we reached the old Oak at Goose Pasture and stood there for a bit taking in the sun and warmth and feeling like it was a bit of a beach day. But, our time together was coming to a close, and we knew this would be our turn-around point.

That said, there were a couple of other gifts to share together, as today was the first day this year that the two of us saw Pussy Willows in bloom.

And, drum roll please, we heard them before we spotted them way over on the other side of the bog, but their distinctive call told us to look that way and sure enough there were two Sandhill Cranes.

Like the Wood Ducks they flew, but the two morphed into three as we watched them take to the air.

We’d been blessed. In so many ways.

And at the end of our time together, after traveling 6.2 miles, we needed to say our goodbyes.

The thing is, she wasn’t really with me, which I realized when I went to put my arm around her for our selfie shot. But, in my mind, she was and I had the best time Bogging with Bridie today, her birthday.

Happy Birthday, Bridie McGreavy!

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.

Celebrating Creation aLONG the MOUNTAIN

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

When asked the other day if I am enjoying spring, I responded, “I’m still loving winter.”

So is My Guy.

And so today, we took to a beloved mountain trail and reveled in the sights and sounds.

Beside a brook, our journey began, where as the water flowed, nature’s artistic hand created a magnificent display of ice sculptures.

On the way up the loop trail, and again on the way down the other side, the golden carpet was set before us, for into the warn pathway do leaves settle after a wind event.

Because we were hiking in a deciduous forest to begin, our eyes kept scanning the tree trunks, and tada, we were rewarded. Well rewarded.

It seemed like everywhere we looked, we spotted American Beech trees with bear claw marks indicating multiple visits to feast upon the beech nuts.

We suspected some of these trees we were meeting again as if for the first time, but though we lost track of how many we spied, we knew it was more than we’d seen in the past and gave thanks to the trail conditions that allowed us to move without caution, and the fact that it is still winter and there were no leaves to hinder such views.

While studying almost every tree for a while, I kept noting the trunks of another species, this the two-toned aspen that looks like an oak toward its base, but morphs into a birch toward the top.

There was no question whether Quaking or Big-Toothed for leaves upon the snow told the species name: My, what big ____ you have!

As we continued to climb, the neighborhood changed and so did the forest floor–of course, still upon firm snow, for suddenly, we walked upon a green carpet.

It was in this section of forest that I began to spot Common Polypody ferns predicting the temperature, for they were still a tad bit curled indicating it wasn’t exactly warm, but not completely curled telling us it wasn’t freezing cold either. It was just right!

Well, almost just right, for because of recent rain and warmer temps last week, the melt down has begun and ice flows along the trail were frequent in the coniferous forest.

That same flow continued down a crevasse that we admired from the path, but didn’t need to descend. Thankfully.

A short distance later, we reached Lunch Ledge, aka North Ledge, and took in the view toward Mount Washington.

As we ate, we looked at all the Beech trees below (and other species, of course) and wondered how many more Bear Trees there are in these woods since we saw so many just from the trail. And we wondered if there might be a den nearby.

Following lunch, we continued our trek, and then found a spot where another had dined.

By the number of fresh holes in the tree, we knew the Pileated Woodpecker had visited this spot on more than one occasion, rather like the Bears and the Beech trees.

I must confess, I cannot pass up the opportunity to look for scat and so I heeded the invitation to hunt for the treasure. And again was well rewarded.

At this time of year, Pileated Woodpecker scat includes bits of indigestible Carpenter Ant exoskeletons and some wood fiber. The whitewash is uric acid since birds evacuate the acid and feces simultaneously–from an opening just under their tail called the cloaca or vent.

Some of the trees along this part of the trail are Balsam Fir and we kept spotting their cones on the ground.

And then middens or garbage piles of Balsam Fir cone scales started to appear and we knew that a Red Squirrel had been dining. We saw some tracks, but never actually heard a squirrel, red or gray, though a Chipmunk dash across the snow and hid from us.

In one area, there were multiple middens, the one in front being about eight inches high. And that brought us to a discussion about the fact that until about 25 years ago, I had no idea what a midden was. Or a cache.

Nor scat. But oh my. A midden and scat on the same rock!

Which came first? My thought is that a Red Fox deposited its twisted and hairy scat–in typical manner upon a high place by a trail, and that the Red Squirrel came along at a later date to dine upon the same rock. I don’t think the Fox’s meal was this particular squirrel. In fact, by the color of it, I don’t think it was a Red Squirrel at all.

But this brought up an additional comment from My Guy about the fact that I can’t stand to see someone spit (think baseball games), but get all excited over scat. (And kill sites.)

I blame it all on Bridie McGreavey for teaching me about such, and once again rejoiced when I spotted Ruffed Grouse scat in a pile that told me the bird had roosted in this spot along the trail one night this winter.

My Guy claimed that he was going to contact Bridie and tell her that she took a mild-mannered English teacher and turned her into . . . me! (There was a reference to Lois Lane in there;-) )

I might have to mention that I never imagined him practicing Yoga!

At last we reached Dessert Ledge, aka South Ledge, again with Mount Washington in the offing, and the northern slope of Round Mountain in front of us.

From there we began our descent, pausing again to admire the ice and water that were part of the display and the blue hues exhibited.

This one crossing I have to admit I was dreading for I thought it might be under ice, but the rocks, which you can’t see because I was standing on them, were bare, and I felt comfortable pausing to take in the view.

We knew by what we spotted, such as these four slabs of ice somehow caught and wedged by a tree, that the force of the water had been quite strong in the past week, given the weather conditions.

We even spotted an ice berg upon the opposite bank.

Water always soothes my soul, so I thought I’d offer this short video for you to enjoy.

The planet offered us some amazing sites and sounds today, but our favorites were probably the Bear Claw trees.

Yes, we’re still enjoying winter as we did today while we celebrated Creation along the mountain: Long Mountain.

And gave thanks as we always do to Larry and Mary who share this trail and others with so many of us, and Bruce, their trail creator, who does an amazing job.

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.

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!

Snow-ebration

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

Having grown up in Southern New England, I always wanted more snow. And so, I headed north for college, and even farther north for my first teaching job, and after a brief easterly jag for one year of grad school and teaching, I made my way to my current hometown, which is the farthest north I’ve lived yet. That was 39 years ago.

That first year, the snow was fantastic. Jump-off-the-rooftop-of-the-ranch-house-I’d-rented fantastic. That’s what My Guy did because we were dating and he’d stopped by to shovel off the roof for me, since we’d had so much snow. I remember it even snowed on Mother’s Day–though it was the plopity-plop-plop all night long type since it was May.

The next year it rained all of January, but I soon learned that February and March could be the snowiest months. And every year since then it has varied. Last year it was too warm, but we did get some snow. What we didn’t get was great ice thickness, so it rather limited some of our excursions if they involved crossing water.

This year is . . . different. The first snow fall was on Thanksgiving Day, and we missed it because we were away. But, we came home to discover that our next-door neighbor had made a few passes with his snowblower so we could easily pull in and we were extremely grateful for that kindness. After that it seemed like we were in a snow pattern, until it started to warm up again, and slowly we watched the snow melt. And then the snowstorms ceased. It did, however, get quite cold.

Things began to change this past week, and finally after a storm last night, we seem to be back on the right path.

Surprisingly, a Raccoon ventured into our woods during the storm, though I wouldn’t have known if it hadn’t been for the game camera.

By 8:00am, the snow was winding down and I snapped a photo before heading out to scoop the driveway and pathways to the bird feeders.

Before doing so, however, I spotted another visitor–a Carolina Wren.

By this afternoon, I’d completed my chores, and decided to head out the door, donning my snowshoes for the first time all season. Mind you, despite the chores being done, I was procrastinating and still am, as I have a few classes to teach at the end of the week and still need to finish prepping. I’m sure it’ll rain one of these days. And besides, I don’t know about you, but I always work better under pressure. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Any tracks the Raccoon had made were obliterated because it appeared the snow had blown sideways for a bit.

I crossed over the snowmobile path that bisects our land and realized no one else had been out; and then passed into what I know as the gateway to my happy place.

There may not have been any tracks to decipher because it appeared the critters were hunkered down, but I’m always in awe of how snow transforms the world. It’s a place of peace and quiet and beauty. And just maybe if everyone had the opportunity that I have to head out into the woods alone following a storm, and felt comfortable doing so, things in our world might just be handled differently.

It didn’t take me long to start noticing the interactions that take place in the woods when it snows, like the stars that form at the top of spruce saplings.

And ice lines crossing between shrub branches that looked like delicate lacy cloth drying on a line and I couldn’t help but wonder how such formations occurred.

And then I discovered the most delightful Eastern Hemlock, its boughs hosting a snowball rolling contest, with rewards for smallest, largest, most creative shape, most creative path, and overall good sportsmanship, because, of course, everyone gets a trophy.

I also loved the interplay between the snow and the shadows of the afternoon, which made me think of my current art lessons with Jessie Lozanski. Before taking an art class with Jessie last April, I’d always sketched, but never painted. Since then, it’s been a most fantastic journey and now, if I’m not wandering in the woods, or prepping to share the natural world with others, or actually sharing it, or hiking with My Guy, I’m probably painting. I’m addicted. I have much to learn, but I’ve always loved learning and I don’t mind sharing the good, the bad, and the downright awful, in hopes that it might inspire others to lift paintbrush to paper.

Our latest class is focused on features of the landscape. I actually struggle with landscapes and much prefer to paint the critters who live there, but . . . I’m trying. We’ve worked on clouds and rocks and snow, so far, this past week being the snow-class. Rather apropos.

At the risk of boring you, these are the snow pix I’ve painted over the course of the last ten months.

My first was of a barn in Lovell, that sadly was torn down a few weeks after I painted this. Mind you, most of my paintings are from photos I’ve taken. I had no idea how to do snow, but have always noticed that it has shadows and color variation.

One of my favorite places to be during a snowstorm is on this local pedestrian bridge, especially if no one else has ventured there first. But getting the shadows right was a struggle.

This was of Sucker Brook, also in Lovell, just before sunset. There are actually many more trees, but from Jessie I’ve learned that I don’t always have to include everything. As it is, I include too much. “Simplify,” she always reminds us.

And then there was the Deer I snapped a photo of from the back door as she stopped by and enjoyed some corn and sunflower seeds in one of the bird feeders during a snowstorm.

A favorite tree of mine along our cowpath is this White Pine snag–and when it is outlined with snow, it looks like a stairway to heaven.

In the midst of taking classes with Jessie, and attending workshops she offered between lessons, I picked up a watercolor instruction book, which I really enjoyed. I just wish I could always remember what I learned from it. but this one was working with the shadows and color of snow.

And then there was the Red Fox that visited our yard and again, I tried to include those shadows and colors.

This one I do like (and you’ll see a repeat performance in a minute) and gifted to a friend because it was from a day when we were together and this was the scene before us.

And then there was the January morning not so long ago when it had rained all night, and there was still snow on the ground, and the sun was shining through the trees behind the barn, and there was some fog as a result. As well as long shadows.

In class this past week, Jessie had us all work on this painting of snow and water. It’s okay, but . . . oh yeah, the other thing she always reminds us to do is put our inner critic in a box and lock it away. Somehow, mine insists upon popping out, kinda like a Jack-in-the-Box.

Having tried acrylics, watercolors, and gouach paints, for the most part I like to work with the latter, but occasionally jump back to watercolors. And so yesterday and today I revisited this scene, trying to recreate it. I wasn’t using the correct brush for the trees, so they became too big, and then I didn’t make the brook as wide as it should have been as it moved off the page, and yada, yada, yada.

Yup, that’s my inner critic doing its best work. But . . . it’s all about snow. And I LOVE snow. And someday I hope I’ll love how I paint snow.

As for today . . . I’m just grateful that it was a Snow-ebration! Finally.

And I did notice as I completed a circular path that my next door neighbor and her two pups had also been out–that makes four of us who enjoyed the latest bounty.

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.

Bluebird Days are the best days

~ lmachayes

It’s been delightfully frigid this past week. My kind of temps because it makes me feel so alive when I’m out in the woods. And as My Guy and I were saying when we hiked this afternoon, it’s all about dressing right. So we did.

Just after turning onto the side road of our intended destination, we watched a Vole scamper across and then dart this way and that while I stopped the truck. Did either of us take a photo? No. But those moments are always for the mind’s eye.

And then, after parking, I spotted this sweet little snowman on the other side of the snowbank and thought, “What a job well done, given the cold temps of the week.” You see, it’s not really snowman-building-kinda snow, but someone was successful.

Our journey included walking a mile in to the trailhead, though we noticed a few people had actually driven in; something you can’t usually do at this time of year . . . if there is more snow. Alas. That we don’t have.

But . . . I love to walk in because . . . there are telephone poles. And being adjacent to the National Forest, it’s a rather wild place. And these poles tell a story of just how wild.

In fact, on this one the shiny numbers have been attacked and I can just imagine the activity that took place here.

In my mind’s eye, the Black Bear scratched the pole and then rubbed its back as it turned its head and bit at it. Why? That’s a question for which I’ve heard several different answers over the years, from something different in the woods, to it likes the creosote, to it feels the vibration coming down from the electrical wires above. I’m not sure of the answer, but I do know that I like to use my back scratcher once in a while and I can imagine the Bear does as well. His is just MUCH bigger than mine.

I always tease My Guy that this is his favorite game, to which he guffaws. But I can’t resist taking a look. I mean, look at pole 17. The metal is fairly intact, but can’t you just see the upper incisors chomping down and dragging back toward the lower, while the head is turned to the side?

And don’t you just covet those hairs? My Guy asked why some are so light in color–that’s because this action may have occurred in the spring. It could be territorial, and maybe that’s the only answer we need. Anyway, over the summer, the color bleached out.

This pole had been attacked so many times over the years, that the numbers are now completely gone. In the past, I’ve noted that the number 5 somehow seemed to draw the Bear’s attention, and today I don’t recall seeing Pole #5 or #15. Maybe this was one of them. Because I was with you-know-who, I didn’t take too much time to pay attention to what number this pole should have been.

I was just happy to be out there looking at them.

Once we reached the trailhead, well, actually, even before we reached it, we noticed Red Fox prints and tracks. By the gazillion.

And then, in the middle of a field that is part of the trail, a perfect Red Fox scat filled with fruit. You can thank me for not making this a more upclose and personal photo.

There was a reason for the fruit . . . because the trail next passed through an old orchard. And there, the tracks increased significantly.

Apples were on the Fox’s menu and those that had been buried under the snow were excavated.

And because it is that time of year, I noticed something else going on in the midst of all the tracks.

Do you see the downed White Pine branch?

Take a closer look and you’ll see urine. Fox pee. Male Fox pee.

Just yesterday I was hiking with a friend through her acreage and we found the same. Numerous Fox tracks and spots where the Fox had peed on saplings and anything else that poked out of the ground and snow. And so I invited her to get down on her knees and sniff it, just like a vixen would do.

Skunky!

She stood up smiling and it’s a smell she’ll never forget.

The Fox guys are leaving their messages everywhere to let the ladies know they are available for a date or two or three.

Speaking of yesterday, as we continued to hike, we spotted lots of Deer runs, well worn pathways through the woods. And then a spot where they seemed to browse a bit on downed Hemlock twigs.

But why were the twigs on top of the snow? I lifted one up and noted the 45˚ cut of it. The same on the next. And the next. And then we spotted the curved form of . . . Porcupine scat. Plus some pee.

We looked around and couldn’t find Porcupine tracks anywhere leading to or from the tree.

And so I looked up because that’s what I do whenever I’m under a supposed Porky tree. And low and behold, he was walking out on a branch high above us. We quickly moved away from the trunk and enjoyed the view from below, before continuing our tour.

But I digressed and so I looked skyward today and noticed ice dangling from the cliffs above–prickly in nature, much like yesterday’s Porcupine, but beautiful all the same.

And down low, we noted a good crossing point in case we needed it because last year we arrived at this brook from the opposite direction and discovered the bridge had been washed to the opposite shore during a storm and we had to find our way across with snowshoes on our boots. We wanted to be prepared today.

Much to our dismay and surprise, the bridge hadn’t been repaired, but fortunately the brook was iced over in this section and we decided to run across in hopes of making it safely to the other side.

Success.

A bit farther on and we reached the lookout point for the pond we were circling, with the mountains of Evans Notch forming the backdrop. It looked like a perfect skating rink.

Fox tracks and Coyote tracks continued to mark the way for us and at one spot we saw a few deer bones. I really wanted to look for more evidence of what happened, but time wasn’t on our side.

Instead, I paused only briefly to admire how the snow and ice danced across a fallen log.

Admired an old friend who watches all who pass this way.

And noticed more colorful ice dripping off a ledge as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

And then, much to my surprise, some Beaver works right beside the trail.

There were more and they were rather fresh and there was a trail to the water and so I asked My Guy if he’d mind if I checked out the activity for a moment.

He did what he always graciously does when I ask such, and found a rock to sit upon and patiently wait.

At the water’s edge, I found more signs of the Beaver’s activity, including gnaws on a much larger trunk, and a pile of chew sticks. Did the Beaver sit here to dine? Perhaps. The water was open, so he didn’t have to eat under the ice.

On the way back up the hill to meet My Guy on the edge of the trail, I smiled at the sight of another Beaver tree, that showed how the Beaver, like the Bear, turns its head to scrape the bark and get at the cambium layer.

Funny thing about this one, possibly a previous generation of this Beaver’s family had visited the same tree, as evidence by its graying top that had been cut at least a few years ago and had started to stump sprout.

We had one more bridge crossing to make before heading back to the telephone-poled road, this time with ice and open water to view.

And clumps of stars fashioned upon the ice that reflected the sky.

To say it was a Bluebird day is trite. But truly it was with the sky matching the bird’s plumage.

And on the way out, while I looked at another telephone pole, My Guy saw a Coyote run across the road. A minute later and I spotted a second one headed north as well.

Dancing Vole. Fox dates. Beaver works. Icy art. Coyotes hunting. The first and last were alleged since we don’t have photographs to prove our sightings, but My Guy assured me that since the two of us saw them, they actually happened.

Bluebird days are indeed the best days.

Bald Pate Mondate

~ lmachayes

Driveway and pathways cleared of snow? ✔️

Bird feeders filled? ✔️

Sandwiches packed? ✔️

Microspikes in truck? ✔️

And we were on our way over the hills and through the woods.

It’s actually a short journey to this trailhead, but by the time we arrived, it was already 11am and others had been there before us, thus making the trails easy to follow in the fluffy snow.

And even My Guy appreciated the beauty that surrounded us.

About an hour later, we reached lunch log and the view through the trees included Peabody Pond in Sebago.

It wasn’t long after that when we climbed up to the beginning of the open ledges at the summit and looked back toward Pismire Mountain in Raymond in the distance and a bonsai Pitch Pine in the forefront.

There are a few landscape photos one must take when on this mountain, Peabody Pond being one of them. Thanks to the volunteers and staff of Loon Echo Land Trust who cut down some trees to open up the scene.

Another must-take is Hancock Pond to the west, and we always wave to our friends Faith and Ben, even though we know they aren’t in residence at this time of year. But we trust that they wave back anyway, from their winter home.

Before we left the summit, I took a couple of seconds to admire the Pitch Pine needles because I wanted to honor some of the evergreens that grow here.

While White Pine has bundles of five needles, spelling M-A-I-N-E for our state tree, or W-H-I-T-E for it’s common name, I used to think that trees with three needles were Red Pines. They are not. Rather, these are the needles of the Pitch Pine: three strikes, you’re out!

Red Pines also grow on the summit and in other places along the trails, along with the ubiquitous Whites.

Red Pines, however, have bundles of two rather long and stiff needles that snap in half easily, rather than being short and flexible like those on White Pines.

Our journey continued to a false summit, where another view shot needed to be taken. Often, from this spot, Mount Washington is visible in the saddle of Pleasant Mountain’s ridgeline, but the red arrow is pointing to clouds that obscured the mighty one on this beautiful, crisp day.

My Guy asked me which way to go, and I told him to keep turning right at intersections. That is, until we reached the Trail End sign. He didn’t obey the sign, nor did he turn right here. Instead, we did a U-turn and headed toward the parking lot.

Along the way, however, I wanted to honor one more evergreen because I know several grow here, but don’t often get to see them at other places where we hike. These are the needles of Jack Pine; in short bundles of 2: Jack and Jill.

And right next to them I met another evergreen I can’t recall ever spotting before. Maybe I have, but today it was like meeting it for the first time: a Northern Cedar. What a fun find. And the topic for a future public hike formed in my mind: Meet the Evergreens.

About three hours later we arrived back at the kiosk, noting ours was the only truck in the parking lot. We’d met only one other person and his friendly dog, but by the prints left by other humans and dogs, we knew the trails had been well traveled today.

The orangy-red indicates our trails of choice. We’re rather predictable on this mountain, most often traveling this route.

At the end of the hike, I returned the hiking pole I’d borrowed, grateful to Loon Echo Land Trust and its kind volunteer who had created these, since when I went to grab my pole from the back seat, I realized I’d pulled it out the other day. Silly woman.

Hiking pole in truck? Not a ✔️

As soon as we arrived home, I put it back in so that next time I’m ready and someone else can use the poles at the kiosk.

Thank you once again to Loon Echo, not only for the pole, but for preserving this beautiful property in perpetuity and maintaining the trails and always thinking not only about the landscape and its importance, but all who travel here as well.

It was a perfect day for a Bald Pate Mondate.

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!