Spring

Bogging in Maine

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

What is a wetland? Basically, it is wet land! But more specifically, wetlands are often those transition zones between dry land and deep water.

There are four basic types of wetlands, which can be broken into even more types, but let’s stick with the four: marsh, swamp, bog, and fen.

Marshes are typically located along shores of rivers and streams, and even the coastline. Plus they can be found in the shallow water of ponds and lakes. Cattails, Arrowhead and other soft-stemmed emergent plants grow in these areas.

Swamps are found along rivers, streams, and lakes where mainly woody-stemmed plants such as shrubs and trees, like this Tamarack, grow.

Pitcher Plants and Sphagnum Moss
Round-leaved Sundews

Bogs are found in our northern climate and often are deep depressions that have no drainage. They are covered with a surface carpet of sphagnum moss and insect-eating plants like the Pitcher Plant and Sundews.

Cranberry flowers and fruits

Native Cranberries also flourish in the stagnant and acidic water of a bog.

Sphagnum Moss
Leatherleaf

Like bogs, Fens are found in northern climes, but the water is slow-moving, and does have some drainage. Layers of peat (sphagnum moss) and sedges and grasses and low shrubs like Leatherleaf may grow in these areas. The carnivorous plants like them as well.

But it’s not just the flora that makes a wetland so special. These places provide habitat for a wide range of insects and animals and birds as well. In fact, they act as nurseries, or places where any of the critters might raise young.

And as soon as the sun warms the air in the spring, friends and I scour the wetlands in hopes of discovering who is emerging on any particular day. One of my favorites to watch is dragonfly emergence (in case you are new to this blog and didn’t already know that. You can learn more here: Developing Dragonfly Eyes, but really, type “dragonfly” into the search button of this blog and a bunch of dragonfly related posts will pop up–all worth a read, I promise you.)

And like other insects, once emerged and a few days old, canoodling commences and dragonflies such as these Belted Whiteface Skimmers find each other and a presumably private place to mate. Private, that is, until I show up!

Eggs are laid in a variety of ways and places depending upon the species and this is a female Eastern Pondhawk taking a break upon a lily pad.

And here is a Forktail Damselfly laying eggs upon vegetation.

Frogs are also a highlight of a wetland, whether they are hiding in the shade on a hot summer day like this Bullfrog …

Or pausing briefly in the sun, such as this Pickerel Frog chose to do. Actually, it wasn’t so much basking as trying to remain hidden from my sight by not moving until I passed.

Those who do love to bask, (frogs do this as well) are the Painted Turtles, and the more surface area that is exposed to the sun’s beams, the better. Sometimes I’m surprised when I do capture a photo such as this one, for they are quick to sense my presence or hear me coming, and quickly slip into the water. But if you wait a few minutes, sometimes they’ll reemerge.

And there are Northern Watersnakes always on the prowl, using their tongues to make sense of their surroundings.

Mammals also use wetlands for forage for food and build homes and one of my favorites is the American Beaver, who knows the value of a wetland, and can create one in a short time by building a dam. Beavers build dams to created a deeper pond through which to navigate, for they are better at swimming than walking. They may alter the wetland to suit their needs for a few years, but then move on and let the dam breach and then a new type of wetland emerges and more critters move in and take advantage of what it has to offer.

That all said, it wasn’t until I spent more time with the animal pictured above that I realized it was actually a Muskrat–look at that thick, rounded tail, unlike the flat paddle of a Beaver’s.

And birds! Oh my. Mergansers . . .

And momma Wood Duck and her offspring . . .

and Papa Woodduck . . .

And Great Blue Herons always on the prowl for fish or amphibians know the value of the wetland as a food pantry.

So, this spring and summer and fall, I’ve been following My Guy and our friend, Bruce, beside and into and sometimes, thanks to Bruce’s drone, over a variety of wetlands.

Bruce is an early riser (understatement), and occasionally I’ll meet him at a predetermined location as we did this past weekend–before the sun has risen. Though the thought of staying in dreamland for another hour or so is enticing, I never regret the decision because we get to view the world before it officially wakes up.

And with his drone we explore these areas we cannot easily access. This is one My Guy and I walked all the way around a few weeks ago without ever spying, though we knew it was there. But Bruce and I bushwhacked through a forest of White Pine Saplings and mature trees and reached the edge before he launched his bird and we were offered a glimpse of this most beautiful wetland with pockets of water connected by meandering rivulets.

The stream turned to forest for the trees told more of the story, as they closed in and I recalled that it wasn’t far from that spot that My Guy and I walked through a damp area where Royal Ferns grew and we found one teeny tiny mushroom fruiting on a hot summer day.

The mushroom was the little Orange Peel Fungus, and its name seemed so obvious. And the soil moist despite the severe drought.

Another day we began our exploration in the afternoon beside a small pond.

And the Droney-bird picked up on the wetland to the south.

But that day what struck us as being more important was that it also took a clear picture of a sandbar in the water.

And as Bruce navigated it closer to the watery surface, we could see clear to the bottom. Mind you, it’s not a deep lake, but this is the water of Maine. Clean and clear.

And we celebrate wetlands for the critical role they play in maintaining the health of the environment.

When I think about their ability to store and filter water and act as a natural sponge, absorbing and retaining large amounts of water during the heavy rainfalls of spring, and removing pollutants before they enter streams, and rivers, and lakes, it all seems so obvious that they should do this when you have a bird’s eye view.

So here’s the curious thing about this wetland. It is located beside a local dump. And the more I think about that, the more I question those who created the dump, but give thanks for the unwavering workhorse that this wetland is in the ecosystem.

It was on the rise above this particular wetland, in a very sandy spot covered with Reindeer Lichen, that Bruce and I made a discovery. Well, he discovered it first and asked for an opinion. I’m full of those and so I met him and we took a look.

The discovery was a plant new to us both. Sand Jointweed or Polygonum articulatum. As you can see, the flowers are astonishing in their pink and white display.

It was the stems that I found equally fascinating. At the base of the flower stalks there are sheathing bracts, giving it a jointed or segmented appearance. We didn’t see any leaves, but perhaps we need to look again. I think we were just amazed to have discovered a plant neither of us recalled meeting before. Often though, that means we’ll meet it again soon.

The small snippet followed me home, and today I looked at the flowers under the microscope and I was astonished to realize that they look rather like a map of a wetland.

I don’t jump at the invite every time it arrives for an early morning mission to explore a wetland, and one day really regretted it because when My Guy and I finally got to the location, we found a note with Bruce’s observations. We scanned the area with our eyes for about an hour before deciding that we were too late.

But . . . we promised ourselves that we’d pack a picnic supper and try again.

First we spotted one Bull Moose.

And then a second, and had a difficult time deciding that we should head home.

Did you know that 25% of Maine’s land area is wetlands? That’s four times the wetland area of the other New England states combined. The natural buffers they provide sustain the deep clear water we appreciate, and take for granted.

The margins or places where the land and water come together are bridges between two worlds. As many as 90% of all living things in our waters are found in these wetlands, no matter what form they take. I guess that’s why I love exploring them so often, because there’s always something to see. And another lesson to learn.

I leave you with this, a watercolor Bruce’s wife Eileen sent me recently. It was inspired by one of our local wetlands.

Some may see wetlands as dark and shadowy areas, mosquito hatcheries, with an abundance of leeches mixed into the scene, but the rest of us know their true value and I give thanks for living in this place where it’s so easy to go Bogging in Maine. And to share it with others. Thank you MG, BB, and EJB!

My Artistic Path: one year later

~ lmachayes ~ 10 Comments

It’s all Jessie Lozanski’s fault that a year after publishing My Artistic Path, I’m publishing the next layer of paintings and sketches. Until I shared a few with my sister this afternoon, I had no idea how prolific I’ve been in this department. That said, some didn’t make it off the drawing board. Or rather, they did, but ended up in the trash, or in a pile to be considered at a later point in time. That’s the beauty of working with gouache, I can make changes at a later date. For me, that is liberating.

And now Dear Reader, you have three choices: 1) Read this entire post from beginning to end; 2) Scroll through the pictures and call it good; or 3) Click out of this post and pretend you either never saw it or that you did see it and loved all of it.

I have to say, I thought I’d paint more dragonflies like this Eastern Pondhawk, but when I scrolled through My Art Gallery, I discovered only a few others. That said, I did take some time to sketch the naiad forms of six families and then painted each one. You can visit all of those in Dragons of the Future if you wish.

Waterways also intrigued me as I tried to figure out how to make the water look as if it is flowing. This is Province Brook in Chatham, New Hampshire.

And then there are the critters and I’m afraid you’ll see a few of them along this journey. The fun thing about this Chipmunk is that it made an appearance on a February day. I was tracking with some friends and we were pretty certain that we’d discovered Chipmunk prints, but it didn’t seem possible. Until it was because as we backtracked, we saw him and he posed for a few photographs. Sometimes, when you need more food, you might make a mad dash from your winter home to locate it.

Clubmosses are one of the topics I’m trying to learn. . .when I take the time to do so. And so I sketched these after spending some delightful hours studying them as I wrote about in When is a Moss not a Moss?

It’s the colors in this painting that I like. And figuring out how to paint Birch bark.

And then there was Forter Castle in Glen Isla, Scotland. I actually did three smaller versions of this castle and then decided to paint this larger picture based off one of those. It was a gift for Anne, our hostess when we were invited to spend a few nights there back in 2017, and in memory of her husband John. You can read more about that adventure here: From the Bonny Banks to the Highlands.

This next one will forever evoke the memory of my friend, Faith, who passed away this summer. We were on a Lakes Environmental Association walk at Holt Pond when we all “spotted” this fawn quietly waiting for momma. Quick pics and then we moved away.

And this is one of the Red Foxes who frequent our yard. In My Art Gallery, there are two more attempts, both in watercolor while this one is with gouache paints. Experimenting is fun.

Tom Turkey! What more need I say.

In the midst of taking classes with Jessie this past year, which sadly ended in the spring, I purchased Grahame Booth’s book: Anyone Can Paint Watercolour Landscapes, and tried to follow the step-by-step instructions. This was a result of Lesson 1. There were six lessons altogether, and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. You can see my other paintings based on the book by looking once again at My Art Gallery. Yikes, I’m beginning to sound redundant. Smiley Face!

I like this one because I like the subject. I used a matted board to paint it. The stump is beside the Saco River in Conway, New Hampshire.

This one was for another friend because we had walked out to Kezar Pond in Fryeburg from her home the previous New Year’s Eve or Day, and it was just lovely.

And then there is a perennial subject of mine–the Stairway to Heaven tree along the cowpath in our woods. I especially love it when snow outlines the branches.

Another favorite scene takes me back to my childhood in Clinton, Connecticut, and I painted this for my sister and brother-in-law as a keepsake. So many memories in the spot that was our little piece of Heaven for so many years.

On and off, I’ve produced paintings of birds, and another favorite subject is the Great Blue Heron. I’ve also tried to paint rookeries, but often struggle with perspective. Of course, you can view my attempts you know where: My Art Gallery, to be shortened to MAG going forward.

No words necessary really–a male Northern Red Cardinal.

And his female counterpart.

Our oldest son and his girlfriend rescued this energetic pup at the beginning of the pandemic.

And this pup belongs to our youngest son’s girlfriend’s mother.

One morning, I stepped outside just after it had finished raining and the sun was shining through the trees out back and there was a layer of fog and shadows and it was just exquisite so I tried to capture it.

The White Pine Cone was something I started to sketch and then left for a long time, until I realized the scales were all arranged in a spiral of course and bingo, I knew how to go about it.

Turns out, I’m not the only one who knows to go about it–for Red Squirrels love to take each pine cone scale off in order to get to the seeds stored by such. Their method of descaling a cone is rather like us eating corn on the cob. I actually referenced both the pine cone painting and this one in Another Amazing Lesson from a Red Squirrel.

All last winter and spring, and into the beginning of the summer, my neighbor and I rejoiced because we had Bluebirds. In fact, a pair nested in one of our boxes, but that was around July 4th, and by the end of the week, she’d abandoned the nest. We’ll never know why.

A few more birds coming up–including this male Red Winged Blackbird at Brownfield Bog.

A Sharp-shinned Hawk in the backyard and field.

And a Scarlet Tanager on Mount Cutler in Hiram, Maine.

I did think I’d paint more butterflies, and perhaps this fall or winter I’ll attempt to, but it seems the Spring Azure is all I’ve done so far.

I’ve also made a couple of cards in the course of the year, this one for a First Grade student who was my penpal and she told me she really likes Dandelions. That girl will go far in life!

Another favorite topic of mine: Dog-Day Cicadas. If you type Cicada into the “Search” bar on my blog, you’ll discover several posts about these insects emerging. As I write, I can hear them “singing” from the treetops.

Sometimes, actually, more than sometimes, something catches one’s eye and this Tree Frog was one of those times. A friend and I had stopped to talk about a Snapping Turtle that seemed to be late laying eggs, and bingo, there was the frog on a tree.

Speaking of frogs and other critters who rely on vernal pools, visit MAG and you’ll find my Vernal Pool series, including a Fairy Shrimp that looks WAY bigger than its actual 1 – 1.5 inch size.

And then there was the day I pulled out a copy of National Audubon’s Field Guide to North American Trees because I wanted to get to know acorns better. Silly me, I came up with names for each one based on what they looked like to me, but I made the mistake of writing the names in pencil before painting a light colored wash on the paper. As I began to paint the acorns, I realized I wanted to change their names, but couldn’t erase them or paint over them. So . . .

I sketched them again, and gave them new names.

And finally the moment you’ve been waiting for, today’s painting:

I always like it when I try iNaturalist’s SEEK app on a painting and it agrees with me. Barred Owl it is.

Wow, I had no attention of pulling this all together today until about an hour ago when I was sharing photos with my sister and realized I hadn’t sent her any in a while. So thank you, B.S., for being my inspiration today . . . and always.

And thank you Dear Readers, for sticking with me today and always as I share My Artistic Path: one year later.

Summer Fauna among the Flora

~ lmachayes

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so I did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where The Moccasins Led Us

~ lmachayes

Rituals. We follow them. Some more than others.

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

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

beside the Atlantic Ocean,

up mountain trails,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so they deserved to be counted.

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

How about now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Albany Mountain: 2024: 364; 2025: 411

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

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

Plus these trails all from this year only:

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

Mount Tire’m: 31

Proctor Pond Reserve: 41

Kezar River Forest: 63

Narrow Gauge (only 1.5 mile section): 56

Sleigh Trail at Notch View Farm: 44

Home woods: 2

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

Even with the extra trails, the count was down.

But still . . .

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

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.

There Is No Planet B

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

I was asked to give the homily at church this morning and have spent the past month or more reflecting on what to say. Of course, it was to my blog that I turned for inspiration for I knew that parts of the story were tucked within these posts.

Driving home from a recent Trail Snails walk, I spotted this statement on a roadside sign: “There is no Planet B.” And I thought it was an apropos title for what I want to share with you this morning.

On Sunday, March 23, in Forward Day by Day, Tyler Richards, a priest serving St. Anne’s Episcopal Church in De Pere, Wisconsin, responded to Exodus 3:vs 3-4: Then Moses said, “I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.” When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.”

Reverend Richards commented, “I do not have an accurate account of the things that have caused me to stop and look again. Solar eclipses, northern lights, sunrises, and sunsets are a few of these.”

He continued, “God asks us to turn aside and experience wonder. God’s creation is a source of endless contemplation, and, at times, so is human ingenuity. But these great wonders that take our breath away prompt me to ask: What are they for? Are they an end to themselves, or are they there to remind us that God is even more incredible? Indeed, God is so great that God inspires and colors the very creation itself. It might not always be a burning bush that causes us to gasp at God’s greatness.”

In response to that I invite all of you to join me as I share a few of the thin places I have visited, where I see the light more on this side than the other. These are not burning bushes, but they do make me gasp at God’s greatness. The first I call “Emergence.” 

Emergence

Oh dragonfly, oh dragonfly. 
In your infancy,
You laboriously
Climbed upon a slender stem. 
Ever
So
Slowly,
Seams split.
Soft and squishy,
You spilled forth
Into this sunlit world. 
Perched upon your former self, 
Wispy strings recalled 
Aquatic breaths. 
Moments slipped
Into an hour. 
Your body of velvet pulsed
As blood pumped 
Into cloudy wings. 
Standing guard watching you,
I noted preparations 
For first flight. 
Eyes bulging, 
You chose a spot
Of viewpoint advantage. 
Colors changing, 
You gained the markings
Of generations past. 
Wings drying, 
You offered a reflection
Of stained glass. 
Beyond understanding,
You flew,
A dance of darting restlessness. 
Odonata, Odonata, 
You have known both worlds. 
First playing beneath the watery surface. 
Then in a manner so brave, 
Climbing skyward
To ride summer breezes
On gossamer wings. 
Forever in awe
Of your transformation 
From aquatic naiad 
To winged adult,
I can only imagine
The wonder of emergence. 

******

Drawn by the Sapsuckers is next. 
Along a path
Through a cathedral in the pines, 
It seemed apropos 
That I should spy
The works of
An Oak Apple Gall wasp. 
For it is believed
That circa 800AD
Irish monks used such galls
To create the green colorant
Of their artwork 
As displayed
In the Book of Kells. 
My first intention of wander
Upon this special day
Was soon verified when I was
About twenty feet
From a maple tree
For I could hear peeps
From the ever hungry 
Babes within. 

Only two weeks prior
Father Sapsucker entered 
The nest hole every few minutes
To nurture his offspring, but today
Things had changed. 
No sooner did he toss in a meal
When a nestling popped its head out
And begged for more. 
Finally, with the urging 
Of the ever present deer flies,
I moved on
To the neighboring meadow 
And gave thanks when 
A Slaty Blue Skimmer Dragonfly
Snatched a pesky insect
From my head
And settled upon a stem to dine. 
Nearby on a milkweed leaf
I spied something tiny.
By the X-shaped pattern
On its back,
I knew it was
A Spring Peeper.
Sitting two feet 
Above the ground, 
This little frog
Hid from predators
During the day
As it waited for dusk
To crawl down
The plant's stem
And munch a meal
Of its choice. 
Behind the wee frog
A dash of color
Brightened the background.
Bedecked in orange and black,
This being a Fritillary butterfly,
It flew
Down the path
And out of my vision. 
In this same place,
Tiger Swallowtail butterflies
Added their yellow wings
To the tapestry. 
Plentiful in number, 
Skimmer dragonflies, 
Each with a uniqueness 
All its own
From Spangled to 
Dot-tailed and Great Blue
Chased down meals
And hunted for mates. 
Before departing
I checked 
On the nestlings
In the Red Maple trunk, 
While their papa
Did the same
From a tree
Ten feet away. 
Was he teaching them patience? 
Perhaps. 
Sensing our time together
Was waning,
I gave thanks
That it was the Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers
Who drew me to this place. 

******

Finally, 

"The way to be heard isn't to shout," said the Reverend Sam Wells of St. Martins in the Fields, London. "It's to whisper." 

But, I ask you, who are the whisperers? 

As you go forth this spring . . . 
Listen for the slightest murmur
 Of Beaked Hazelnut 
Sharing its most 
Beautiful, yet minute
Magenta blossoms 
That so many never see. 
Hear also
The soft words
Of Trailing Arbutus
Hiding its delicate flowers
Beneath leathery leaves. 
Be attentive to Hobblebush
No matter how much
It makes you stumble, 
For it always
Has more to offer
Including corrugated leaves unfurling
And a flowerhead silently forming. 
Give audience
To Rhodora's woody seed structure
Of last year
Before her brilliant pink flowers
Soon distract. 
Pay attention 
To the male Hairy Woodpecker
Who speaks 
In hushed pecks
As two females
Squabble for his attention. 
Focus on 
The soft cheers
Of Female Red Maple flowers
waiving their pompom stigmas
in hopes of meeting . . . 
Male pollen 
Blowing in the wind. 
Remember to 
Keep your voice low
As you spy
The first crosiers
Of the most Sensitive Ferns. 
Heed the inner voice
Of Mystery
And Be Present
With your heart and soul. 

I invite you 
To walk in silence 
Throughout the forest and wetlands 
While listening intently 
To all 
Who whisper along the trail. 

******

I’ll end with part of an entry from Creation Justice Ministries’ Seeking Creation: Lent 2025 Devotional.

Referencing Ezekiel 37:21-28, the authors wrote, “God’s goal is not to abandon Creation that God has made. It is to live with us among that Creation. A theology that suggests that God’s good Creation was made solely for us to deplete it and hoard resources from one another ignores the long line of biblical witness that cast a vision of a united humanity where the Creator lives among the creatures, us included.

That God would want to live among Creation should tell us something of Creation’s Worth to God. It is not disposable. It is not replaceable. It is not profane. The dream of a Holy God is to live among Holy people within the holiness of Creation. May it be so.”

And remember: There is no Planet B. This is all we have.

May hushed voices shout from every corner of the Planet AND as those voices uplift your spirits, may you realize God’s greatness and never lose your sense of wonder. ~Amen.

Easter 2025: An Interwoven Weekend Celebration

~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

Hindsight being what it is in offering 20:20 vision, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised at how this weekend played out, but going forth without expectation always offers the best of the best.

The weekend began on Good Friday, when after completing some errands, I wandered along a local trail for far longer than I intended, and in fact, had to pull myself away to get home in time to attend a Taize service at church.

Walking alone gave me time to reflect on the past and be present in the moment.

And that’s when I spotted my first Painted Turtle of the season, who offered a reflection all its own.

I still have some of the man-made Turtles I collected as a kid, but love when the real deal presents itself. And by traveling alone, I wasn’t making much noise, and so the Turtle didn’t suddenly plop into the water and disappear.

Along the same trail I nearly stepped upon another Painted Turtle, who immediately pulled its head into the shell, as only this species can do. It was in a spot where cobblestones cover a culvert, and I decided I should help it cross to the other side.

But first, I insisted that it pause for a selfie. Based on the length of its nails, being on the shorter side, and flat bottom shell (plastron) as opposed to the concave bottom of a male, I decided this was a female.

And a beautiful female at that–in color and pattern and texture. Amazing.

It took her a few seconds to decide the world was still a safe place, but once she started to move, it was a quick journey to the water before she swam out of my life, and I wished her well while giving thanks for our short time together.

Once I cued in on there being turtles in this place, I quickly realized they were everywhere. I counted eight on one semi-submerged log. And in this photo there are two.

Can you locate the second one?

And then I had another surprise, and this was the main reason I probably overstayed my welcome.

At first I thought it was a beaver, until I looked at its thick rounded tail and knew I was in the presence of a Muskrat.

Usually Muskrats disappear in my presence, but I think again, because I was willing to stand still and be as quiet as possible, this one did not dart off.

It did, however, dine in places where I came to appreciate its camouflage coloration.

Other times it was in the open so I could better watch as it munched on vegetation, holding the plant matter with both small front “hands.”

As I finally walked back to my truck, I stopped one last time, to admire the buds of Trailing Arbutus, on the cusp of blooming.

And then on Holy Saturday, My Guy and I returned to the same trail system because when I’d first arrived on Friday I ran into a former colleague who mentioned an adjacent trail and I wanted to explore it.

It’s actually part of the snowmobile system, and if you know where this privy is located, then you know where we were. Together we covered a lot of ground (as in 9 miles) and got a better understanding of the area and local ponds and wetlands near the privy.

But even better than that– (remember yesterday’s buds ready to burst?) another first for the season that again seemed apropos for the weekend: the first blossoms of Trailing Arbutus. So sweet and tender and fragrant.

Maybe instead of being known commonly as a Mayflower, this year it should be an Easter Flower.

On Easter, we had a late start for adventure and actually, we chose Plan B for our hiking destination because of the time–since we’d attended church in the morning and then dined at a local restaurant with three generations of our family, minus our two sons, their gals, and a nephew and his gal.

At the summit we did what we always do and waved to some friends who have a summer place on the pond before our eyes. And expressed our sorrow that they won’t be heading north this year. We can only hope that future plans include a return trip.

The wind was wild and brisk, but we took time to also admire the beauty of another pond and Sebago Lake in the distance and shouted, “Happy Easter, Alleluia!”

Eventually, we had to backtrack along another trail upon which we’d started our hike, and though we love loops, I also like it when we follow the same trail back because sometimes you see different things you missed.

Such was the case.

It had been a few years since we’d followed this trail named for a local brook, but it wasn’t until the return trip that I spotted this Scouring Rush. Again, it’s a case of structure and form and color and design and texture. The stem reminds me of an accordion and the top a cone. Or even Cancer Root. Just wow!

And then today found us exploring yesterday’s intended Plan A, where we circled a river for about 2 miles, enjoying the sounds as the water flowed and splashed and sounded so life giving–as it should because it is.

Our chosen spot for today’s lunch was upon steps after we crossed the river to head to a connector trail.

And it was there that we had a most pleasant surprise: a woman rode past on horseback. I only wish I’d been quicker to snap the photo.

Our other surprise in this spot was the knowledge that this past winter a Ruffed Grouse had roosted overnight right here based on the pile of scat it left behind–which is its habit.

My Guy sat upon the rock above and I cautioned him about setting down his water bottle or sandwich.

And in a super sunny spot nearby, the first False Hellebore leaves of the season, at least for me, showed off their bright green and pleated presentation.

After crossing the connector trail we reached a pond with the mountain of our destination serving as the backdrop. I love it that often, even if there is a breeze, and slight it was today, this pond offers the most glorious reflection.

While we paused, we spotted two people fishing, but also another who had the same finned meal in mind, a Common Loon. We didn’t see another, and if memory serves me right, it’s rare that we’ve seen a pair on this pond.

I can only hope memory doesn’t serve me right this time.

Within the shallow depths there were also huge Bullfrog tadpoles and teeny tiny minnows. And probably so much more, but I didn’t look any closer.

Another fun find reminded us that we will return to these trails in another month for the Lady’s Slippers that call to My Guy will make their usual request for a count.

Finding the capsule is so rare considering that there are hundreds of Lady’s Slippers that bloom just along the trail, yet we only spotted two of these structures, which would have contained thousands of dust-like seeds that dispersed through the split sides.

Similar in shape to the capsule, but of a completely different origin, we found two piles of Moose scat–deposited possibly two winters ago based on its formation and the dried leaves and other debris that had landed upon it.

As we continued along the trail beside the pond before climbing up, we knew to look to the ledges for a rare sighting. It’s up there, but you may not see it until I share the next photo with you.

Do you see the cross? How apropos for Easter Monday.

The question remains for us: How did it get there? Or is it a natural formation? We know that we would not have the heart to climb down to that spot and install it, but perhaps others did.

Actually, we don’t want to know how it got there. It’s enough for us that it is. And persists.

And even more important today, the fact that we didn’t get here on Easter, but instead hiked this way on Easter Monday, the day Pope Francis died, one who cared about those marginalized and the Earth. All of Creation matters.

Our time at the summit of the mountain was brief because we needed to get home for My Guy had another event. But it’s never lost on us that the shape of the main basin of the pond is a heart.

Back at the truck, we celebrated the weekend with a treat from Fly Away Farm.

And gave thanks for how all that we saw and heard and experienced this weekend seemed to be interwoven into a beautiful Easter tapestry.

Happy Easter 2025!

Vernal Pool 1: Oh Baby(ies)

~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then near my rock, Couple 3 appeared.

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

Couple 2 found a larger branch and hung out there.

But Couple 1, they were on the move again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The 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 . . .

Marching into the Vernal Pool

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

I’ve lived in Maine for just shy of 40 years and can barely recall the month of March going out like a lamb, as the saying goes.

It’s certainly true that once again this year the ending of the month is more lion-like with an overnight and morning snowstorm, with freezing rain on the horizon for tonight and tomorrow, followed by a warm-up and rain on Monday.

That all said, March snow doesn’t last long.

But still . . . it has me dreaming. Remember, I LOVE winter, but am as ready for spring as the next person.

And so I spent much of today (when not shoveling, which really didn’t take long) holed up in my wee studio where I’ve been working on a vernal pool series of paintings.

The idea for this post actually came to me in a dream last night–why not turn those paintings into a blog post. Why not?

Because, it’s scary to share creative works with the world. But, I am probably my own worst critic. My instructor, Jessie, always reminds me to put my inner critic into a box, place the cover on top, and get to work. And besides, by sharing here, I can hide behind the screen. She wants those of us in her class to host an art show, but I refuse to do that. It’s much more comfortable for me this way.

I’ve only been painting since last May, but let’s not let that be an excuse. The thing is, working with gouache paints means I can easily edit, much like writing. And believe me, I have. My motto has always been that there’s no such thing as a final draft–whether it be an article for a magazine or a work of art.

Have you noticed that I’m procrastinating? And putting all of my excuses out there.

It’s snowing again.

All right, I’m almost ready. But here’s the other thing–in sharing these with you, may you be inspired to do something you never imagined and discover that the time you spend doing such is most enjoyable and it’s easy to get “lost” and just plain have fun and decide that even though the “end product” isn’t exactly what you first set out to create, it’s still half decent and you had the most delightful time sitting quietly as is my custom, doing just that: creating.

And now . . . for a look back as a way to look forward to a vernal pool as it emerges from winter or early spring, or mud season, or almost spring but still winter, or whatever season this is.

Pine and hemlock needles and branches from winter storms coat the ice as it slowly begins to melt along the edge of the pool, providing a glimpse of the sunken leaves below, where life awaits.

Once the ice finally melts, barren trees offer a reflection that speaks to winter, but there’s hope in their buds.

And no sooner has the ice gone out, when upon my approach I hear “Wruck, wruck,” and know that the Wood Frogs have returned to their natal breeding grounds. At first, they dive as soon as they hear me approach. But I stand still, sometimes for up to fifteen minutes, and ever so slowly, one by one, they rise to the surface and float.

It’s the lucky male who has the best “Wruck, wruck,” that finds a mate. He clasps her with his forelegs and as she begins to deposit eggs, he fertilizes them externally.

I return a couple of days later, in the late afternoon, and can’t believe my good luck. The pool is coated in pollen and the sun hits it in such a way that I see a rainbow of colors and love how the tree reflections are in two orientations upon still water.

A few weeks later, looking deep into the pool, which isn’t really all that deep, I notice blobs of eggs clustered together in a mass that has a tapioca-like shape to it and notice little life forms moving about in the shape of tadpoles. I feel like a proud momma. The thing is, the Wood Frogs mate, she lays eggs he’s fertilized and within two weeks, the parents are long gone, back to their woodland setting. And so I do feel protective parent–or maybe foster parent–keeping watch and celebrating achievements.

Another life form who uses the pool as a natal breeding spot is the spotted salamander and though I tend to mostly spy them on Big Night, I can tell by egg masses left behind that they have visited.

Their egg masses are a wee bit different from the Wood Frog masses, in that they have a gelatinous coating around the entire grouping, so they don’t look so tapioca-like. Mosquito larvae, tumblers at this stage, also wiggle about in the water.

And if I’m lucky, though this has never happened at the pool behind our house, I might see a fairy shrimp or dozens.

So here’s the thing: 40 Wood Frog egg masses make a pool significant; OR 20 Spotted Salamander egg masses; OR 10 Blue Spotted or Jefferson Salamander egg masses; OR a single, yes one, Fairy Shrimp. And this one is a female, as noted by the sac of dark eggs she carries.

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

Hanging out by the pool, Green Frogs are always willing to dine on whatever is available. So the Green Frog has dorsal lateral folds (or bumps) along either side of its back that start behind the eyes.

The Bullfrog differs in that the line behind the eye circles around the tympanum (ear drum) and ends.

Here’s the other thing to remember: Males have tympanums larger than their eyes; females are smaller or equal to eye size.

And I like to think of this painting as a Frog-ersation.

This week I actually framed two paintings to send to friends, the Bullfrog being one of them.

There. I did it. Survived the art show.

As I bring this to a close, I realize there’s one more painting I should add to the collection, but I’ll save it to paint another day.

Thank you for marching into the vernal pool with me. I hope you are glad you did.

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.

Happy Belated 10th Anniversary, wondermyway.com

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

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

No harm done.

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

Wonder My Way

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

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

Spring in Slo-Mo

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

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

Universal Love

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

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

Nothing To Grouse About

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

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

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

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

Amazing Race–Our Style

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

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

The Amazing Race–Our Style

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

wondermyway turns five

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

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

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

Thank you! Read more . . .

Dragonfly Whisperer Whispers

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

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

Surveying the Wildlife of Charles Pond

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

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

Hightailing It Home

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

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

Read more . . .

Happy 9th Birthday, wondermyway!

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

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

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

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

Read more . . .

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

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

wondermyway.com by the numbers:

Posts: 1,076

Visitors: 135,888

Views: 205,389 and increasing constantly.

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

The Giant’s Shower

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

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

Read more . . .

My Art Gallery

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

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

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

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

Read more . . .

Lake Living on Lake Region Television!

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

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

Read more . . .

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

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

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

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

The May Flower Whisperer

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

In rain or shine, as May gives way toward June, My Guy and I set off to hike a few local trails.

It’s not whether we have a view . . .

or not . . .

or if we have to stand beside lunch rock rather than sit (well, he sat, I didn’t) . . .

or even the challenges the trail chooses to offer, like crossing a well-mudded beaver dam that is rather tricky . . .

and spying the well-mudded lodge where the local residents were probably relaxing after a long night’s work,

but rather, the sights at our feet that drew our attention, such as the Black Chokeberries pink anthers and delicate petals enhanced by raindrops.

Scrambled-egg Slime Mold (aka Dog-vomit Slime Mold) showed off its intricate structure that looked more like a bunch of worms swarming together upon a decaying log.

Because we were always looking down, an American Toad, so certain it was invisible for so camouflaged was it, wasn’t. Invisible that is.

Plentiful were the Blue Bead Lilies, with their anthers hanging long awaiting pollination before rising in fruit forms that will soon look like . . . blue beads.

In several spots along one of the trails, White Baneberry, aka Doll’s Eye, so named because its fruit form resembles such, showed of its firework display and the insects were attracted.

And a carpet of Bunchberries, those with six leaves rather than four, asked that their floral displays be acknowledged.

Not to be overlooked, Wild Geranium’s runway lines upon each petal functioned as the nectar guides they were intended and the pollinators rejoiced.

I, too, rejoiced, for on the first rainy day, May 27, 2024, the trail we hiked, which is known by locals for its mosquito population, wasn’t at all buggy; but on our May 30, 2024, hike, our faces were constantly buzzed, though nary a bite, making me think they were all males. We kept an eye out for dragonflies and finally made their acquaintance, including with this Common Whitetail Skimmer, that hardly looked common.

The real reason, however, for our hikes this week was greed. Yes. Greed. You may know My Guy suffers from Blueberry Greed in the summer, but spring brings out another type and he takes on the mission to locate and count Lady’s-slippers. And he always wants more.

It may sound like an easy task because some are proud to stand straight and tall and can be seen easily from the trail.

But some, like the American Toad, like to hide. We, however, are persistent in our survey.

We found pinks of many hues, and their white variants.

And no spring feels right without a visit to My Guy’s favorite bouquet.

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

The exit is at the top of the slipper, but to reach it, the bee must move through a hairy interior and rub against the flower’s stigma, depositing any pollen it may have carried in and brushing against the pollen mass called the pollenia before flying out.

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

One flower in all that we found, did present as if it had been pollinated, for rather than the downward pose, the slipper was almost parallel to the ground and beginning to deflate.

Twice we came upon last year’s capsule, which is a rare treat for so few are actually pollinated because the bees learn not to bother. Fortunately, one woody capsule contains thousands upon thousands of seeds, which are released when the woody structure splits its seams.

Near the end of yesterday’s hike, the sun finally brightened the sky and forest, and we weren’t the only ones to enjoy it for a gartersnake basked beside the trail and helped us spot another flower to add to our count.

And on Monday’s hike we had another special sighting: an Ovenbird’s nest that I spotted because I saw the parent fly up through vegetation beside the trail as we approached.

We covered a lot of miles, hiked slower than My Guy’s normal pace, and kept reminding ourselves of the numbers so we didn’t lose track, but rain and mosquitoes didn’t hold us back.

Lady’s-slippers have a symbiotic relationship with fungi. A fungus helps break the seed and allows it to obtain nutrients and energy from organic matter in the soil, while the plant, once established, gives nutrients back through its roots. It takes anywhere from 3 – 7 years for the seed to develop underground and then may take another ten years of presenting as two pleated leaves, before a flower is produced. That means that by the time it first flowers, the plant might be 17 years old. So please, please, please, enjoy them the way we do. In their natural state.

Our count (which include last week’s visit to Wolfe’s Neck Woods State Park): 

Wolfe's Neck
2022: 411
2023: 324
2024: 475

Albany Mountain
2020: 150
2021: 47
2022: 266
2023: 274
2024: 364

Overset Mountain and Sanborn River Trail: 
2022: 286
2023: 351
2024: 598!!!!!!!!!! (You know who wanted to make it to 600, but came up just shy)

Grand Total this year: 1,437.

I'm not sure we are done and I know everyone is seeing them everywhere, which is a glorious thing. Now I'm wondering if all of last year's rain showers meant more fungi for My Guy's May Flowers.

Thanks to the Cardinal

~ lmachayes

I love this time of year when the windows are open and the birds wake me and invite me to head down the stairs and stare out the window. And so I did this morning.

It seems the Northern Cardinals always announce their arrival with a “Chewip, Chewip, Chewip,” call and usually he arrives first, and she, pictured above follows. For some reason, I didn’t see him this morning, but maybe tonight as they are early morning and early evening visitors.

While watching her another bird flew in. This a House Finch. And it immediately amazed me. I didn’t realize that they eat Dandelion seeds . . . until, that is, I watched it do exactly that.

So, My Guy and I are at opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to Dandelions. He wants to banish all from the yard. I want to encourage them and any other wildflower that chooses to appear.

And today, I decided to discern what I might hear when I take time to listen, and not just listen to the birds.

It was the voice of the Dandelion for which I yearned. Some call them weeds and wish they would wither and die. But the Dandelion wants us to know it is strong and persists even in the poorest soils.

And so it should.

To begin, there are the green bracts. Some of the bracts are turned downward as if in a dance, perhaps to keep certain insects that might gobble up the flower at bay, while other bracts protect the developing flower.

When the flowerhead begins to open, it does so one ray or “petal” at a time, for each “petal” is actually a floret, all of which combined look like the sun at high noon and make this plant a composite.

Toward the stem, each floret narrows into a tube, which rests on an ovary containing a single ovule. In that tiny tube is the nectar. While you may not see the tubes unless you carefully pull the flower apart, we can’t overlook the stigma, that tip of the pistil, or female part, covered with pollen. Each stigma for each floret is split at the end into two curling lobes.

The Dandelion sings out from its nectary, inviting insects to stop by for a visit. Meanwhile, the pollen remains in the protected areas within the circles or loops the two lobes of the stigma create.

Bees and many flying insects seek the nectar and in the process of visiting the flower, they smear themselves with pollen grains, which drop off at the next flower where the insect seeks another drink, thus insuring cross-pollination.

Of course, if you are going to listen to a Dandelion in full flower, you should be equally wowed as it continues its journey.

In time, the entire head of the bloom matures, the florets close up within the green bracts, and the bloom looks almost like it did as a bud, and evokes an image of our life cycle–from birth to death.

But the transformation isn’t over yet. Next on the Dandelion journey, the flowerhead opens into a fluffy ball of seeds, that fluff being fine hairs attached to each seed that will serve as a parachute.

Each seed represents one floret. And they wait for us, the wind, animal. or bird to disperse them. Out into the world they are ready to go. I don’t know about you, but it’s hard to resist the temptation to pick a stem and blow on the puffball.

As I walked around our yard today, I noticed carpets of another composite, with a flower of the same color, but this one a Mouse-ear Hawkweed.

One easy way to differentiate between the two plants is by their leaves. Both have basal leaves, but those of the Dandelion are irregularly lobed.

The Mouse-ear Hawkweed leaves are entire, and entirely hairy. And much shorter in length.

Some call them weeds, but I prefer to think of them as volunteers who reflect the sun’s image. When I take the time to listen to them, they remind me that we are all interconnected and we need each other to survive, a lesson the pandemic certainly taught us. And that includes letting the undesirables flourish–in our yards and in our lives. I know I need to remember that.

If we take the time, really take the time, to slow down and observe, watch the variety of insects that pollinate flowers like Dandelions and Hawkweeds, and begin to understand that we need to save the flowers in order to save the bees and their relatives who also pollinate the fruits and vegetables we need in order to flourish, then we may change our minds and realize they are desirable after all.

And not all the seeds will end up growing in your lawn, as the House Finch taught me today.

Thanks to the Northern Cardinal for leading me to the House Finch, and subsequently the Dandelion and Hawkweed.

Eyes on the World About Us

~ lmachayes

Sometimes we hike with a purpose, My Guy and I. And on those days, he actually slows his pace down.

And opens his eyes wide, much like the Red Squirrel–ever on the alert.

Was it the Fringed Polygala, aka Gay Wings he sought? No, but I certainly did. Those petal-like wings are actually sepals. Two of the petals are fused into a tubular structure, thus giving this plant a “bird-of-paradise” form. The fringe at the end of a third petal or keel below invites all to enter.

Don’t they look like birds in flight? Being a spring ephemeral, these delicate blooms will only last a few more weeks and then I’ll confuse their leaves with those of Wintergreen, but My Guy was rather oblivious to all of this.

Was it the Dandelions he sought? No, he scuffs at those. But the Flower Fly and I–we were two of a kind for this incredible display. Notice how each ray is notched at the tip like teeth. Those five “teeth” represent a tube-shaped floret. Fully open, the bloom is a composite of numerous florets.

Was it the Wolf’s Milk Slime he sought? No, I’m not sure he even spotted them for though we were moving at a slower than normal pace, one of us was even slower than the other. I couldn’t help it. I cannot resist this slime mold.

It was apropos that I should spot it on this trail and by the end you’ll understand why.

And so I did what I always have to do when I spot Wolf’s Milk. Picked up a stick. And poked one of the fruiting bodies. I could actually feel my peeps’ presence in the moment because they would have been doing the same, and maybe even taking a video as the salmony-pink paste inside oozed out.

As the mold matures, the paste actually turns into the spores and when we poke it later in the season, a puff of gray exits the ball. No, they are not puffballs, but they are the next best thing.

Was it the Painted Trillium he sought? No, but for once he did actually count them. I’ll let you know the total at the end.

Was it the number of blowdowns, he sought? No, but those were incredibly abundant, many occurring over the course of the past eight months. And actually, they were a hinderance to what he did seek.

Was it the Pink Lady’s Slippers he sought? BINGO! I do not know why, but My Guy loves to count them and especially to find displays like this. And I love that he loves this.

White Lady’s Slippers are a variation of Pink, and so they were included in the count.

We honored the very last one before we headed back to the truck–this being #475.

Yes, 475 Lady’s Slippers.

At this same locale in 2023: 324.

And in 2022: 411.

The thing we did notice this year, we were a week earlier than usual, and many of the flowers hadn’t completely opened. Note to ourselves: don’t be so impatient next year because we really love seeing them in full color.

And we do know we missed some because of the blow-downs, but hey, we still did well.

Number of Painted Trillium: 2. My Guy usually refuses to count them, but we didn’t spot one until we were almost done, so he figured he could. And then the second one appeared.

I couldn’t help but smile.

Where were we? By this photo some of you may now know our location. In front of us was Googins Island, as viewed from the rocky coast at Wolfe’s Neck Woods State Park in Freeport, Maine.

Now do you understand why I said the Wolf’s Milk Slime Mold was located in the right place?

And Googins Island has long been home to this Osprey nest, where the expectant parents had their eyes on the world about them. Just as we had.

Lions, and Otters, and Moose Mondate!

~ lmachayes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What he missed, I discovered behind the bench.

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

His comment: “Only one?!”

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

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

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

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

Up . . .

Bend over . . .

And swim.

And flip over and swim some more.

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

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

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

A Mondate worth noting.

A Day of Firsts

~ lmachayes

This has never happened before. Then again, there’s a first for everything.

My Guy and I have been hiking together for the last 38 years, and in all that time, never, ever have we been greeted by neighborhood chickens, with one rooster even sending us off to the tune of his cock-a-doodle-do.

The past is always present and just after the send off, we paused by the homestead foundation, possibly that of A.H. Evans, which is located within feet of the trail’s head. And it appears that if this did belong to A.H., he was the head of a large family for it’s a huge foundation.

The barn foundation was also impressive and we could sense the work that went into such a creation.

And based on the configuration of rocks and boulders between the house, outbuildings and barn, all were once attached.

Again, assuming all of this belonged to A.H., I did discover a 1916 document that suggested he grew rutabagas: “A. H. Evans, Fryeburg, raised 90 bushels rutabagas in 1-8 of an acre.”

At some point in time, the land also must have served as a saw mill close to what is now a small stream, but may have been more of a brook in the past, there’s a pile of saw dust that hikers must climb. This is not uncommon in Maine woods. And it’s forever soft underfoot, however many years later.

We spotted a few Painted Trilliums, and lots of Sessile-leafed Bellwort, and other flowers waiting to come, and a Chipmunk peeking out from a rocky ledge, and mosses, and lichens, and so much more, (oh, and a few Black Flies, but again, not bad in the scheme of things), but this was the first American Toad of the year for us. Toads can remain absolutely still, a smart adaptation as they blend into the scenery.

It’s about two miles to the summit, which isn’t all that high, but it’s the perfect quick hike (okay, remember who I was hiking with) for an afternoon. And at said summit, we stood for a few moments as we gazed upon the ridgeline of our hometown mountain–Pleasant by name.

And at the summit, a Red Maple showed off its gifts to the future in the form of an abundance of samaras. Well, I see them as gifts. Given that we have an abundance of Sugar Maple seedlings growing in our yard doesn’t exactly thrill MG.

As we started to walk back along the trail, I spotted something we’d both missed on the way up. Wild Columbine. In flower. The. Most. Spectacular. Flower. That structure. Those colors.

And because we took a different path down, Striped Maple showed off its own set of flowers, limeade green in hue. I chuckled later when I commented on how the Beech leaves gave the trail such a summery look, and MG mentioned that he had even spotted toilet paper. It took me a second, during which I searched for a roll of white, before I realized he was referring to Nature’s Toilet Paper, for so large are the leaves of Striped Maples, and soft, and not poisonous, so you know they are safe to use. Not that we often encounter Poison Ivy in the woods, but it could happen.

Back at the trailhead, the chickens weren’t there to congratulate us for a safe return, but we encountered probably the best finds of the day–several immature Chalk-fronted Skimmer Dragonflies. Let this next season begin.

Indeed, this was a day of firsts.

Savoring Spring

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

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

On a bridge over a brook,

down a road through the forest,

beside a bog,

along a boardwalk,

and even following this guy down low and up high.

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

enjoyed this view from lunch roots,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somewhere Under The Rainbow

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Somehow we thought the rain wouldn’t fall upon our hike today, until it did. And so we sat in the truck for about 15-20 minutes, waiting for the drops to slow down, which they did.

The rain, however, enhanced everything. And as the sun came out, the water and warmth combined to create a Black Fly Festival, one which will last for several more weeks.

But, April/May showers do bring May flowers, and I sooo love the pastel colors that Hobblebush produces, its non-fertile showy flowers on the edge meant to entice insects to visit about a hundred tiny fertile flowers preparing to bloom in the center.

In wet seeps, Round-leaf Yellow Violets did show off their cheery faces, with violet-veined runways showing the way to the nectary, much like lights at an airfield that aid landings.

And fortunately My Guy didn’t question the fact that I was taking more photos of Red Trillium, for I’ve hardly reached the trillion I intend to take. Really though, in a few weeks our attention will turn toward his beloved Lady’s Slippers, and there are comparatively fewer trilliums than slippers in the forests through which we wander.

Because of the rain, Lungwort, a foliose lichen consisting of a fungus and a green algal partner living together in a symbiotic relationship with a cyanobacterium, showed off its greenliness since the alga had kicked into action to provide food for the fungal structure. It’s 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.

Below the summit, we paused to share lunch with the Black Flies and take in the view of the mountains, though many were obscured by the cloud cover.

On our descent, there were more hues of green to add to the art palette in the form of the larger Rock Tripe, an umbilicate foliose lichen, and Rock Tuft Moss scattered in its midst.

At a beaver pond, we noted several beaver lodges that looked abandoned and a long dam, but it was the reflection of the sky and clouds that also garnered our attention. The day had transformed as was visible both above and below.

Back at home, I wandered out to the vernal pool to check on the activity. A few days ago I realized that tadpoles were beginning to emerge from egg masses, and today’s warmer weather brought even more into the picture, which in this case included both what I could see under water, as well as the reflection of trees and sky upon the water.

It was when I stopped looking into the depths, however, and focused upon the scene before me, that I realized I was seeing something I’ve never noticed before.

As I had approached the pool, I saw that it had a coating of Birch and Maple pollen and thought with a smile of a fourth grader spotting such last year and looking confused as he asked me if it was ice. No Daniel, it’s not ice. But his initial reaction made sense.

What I noticed today was that the pollen added a rainbow to the water’s surface as the sun got lower in the sky. Yellow by the far shore, orange, red, purple, blue, and green.

So, what caused this rainbow to appear? I’m a huge fan of taking a stick to a Balsam Fir blister to gather some resin and then tossing it into a puddle or still water to watch the natural resins or essential oils appear. Was that happening here?

Maybe this was from decaying vegetation and the sun being at the right angle?

Maybe it had something to do with the pollen as well as the sun’s angle?

I don’t know, but certainly it was fun that this day which began with rain, and showed off a variety of vibrant colors during our five-mile hike, should end somewhere under the rainbow.

A Smile of a Mondate

~ lmachayes ~ 7 Comments

In case you are missing snow, I thought I’d bring you some today. But only because about a month ago, the day after Palm Sunday and a major snowstorm here in the north country, My Guy and I went to Diana’s Baths in Bartlett, New Hampshire, to hike.

It was the first of two storms in a matter of less than two weeks that dropped almost two feet of snow each and transformed Lucy Brook into a winter wonderland. Here’s a bit of history from northconwaynh.com: In the 1860s, after building a house and barn on the banks of the brook, George Lucy built a water wheel powered sawmill. In the 1890s, George built a 12-room boarding house for tourists to visit the site. In the 1930s Chester Lucy built a concrete dam with a water feed and turbine system to replace the water wheel used to power the sawmill. Both the rooming house and sawmill were eventually sold to the US Government and have become part of the National Forest land. Due to the deterioration, the buildings were eventually removed from the site in the 1960s. Remnants of the site can still be seen today including the old cellar holes and parts of the dam system, feed tube and turbine gears used to power the sawmill.

Today, it looked much more summer-like in appearance, but still so much water flows due to snow melt in the surrounding mountains, and it’s BRRRRR.

As we ventured forth, I spotted many a boulder experiencing the bad hair day of Common Polypody Fern and every once in a while try to teach My Guy a wee bit about a species. I tell him that someday he can co-lead a nature walk with me. He, of course, guffaws. But ask him what poly and pody mean and he may remember many and feet, for the fern fronds grow from creeping rhizomes.

Last year’s sori (group of spores) were still visible on the underside of some leaves. The sori located in rows on each side of the mid-vein, are circular, orangish brown and not covered by tissue (indusium).

Because we were in a damp environment beside the brook, False Hellebore leaves, with their pleated presentation, brightened the morning. And held raindrops signifying yesterday’s weather.

We also encountered numerous Hobblebush shrubs, some even featuring flowers preparing to open into what will be a fantastic display on another day. On this day, it was enough to see their accordion leaves beginning to unfurl, and those flowers presenting like a bunch of worms crawling over each other as if to say, “Me first. Me first.”

We crossed tributaries several times though we didn’t actually cross Lucy Brook as originally intended for the water was still too high for us to manage safely. But . . . we bushwhacked for a bit before sitting upon some tree roots to take a lunch break.

It was while My Guy sat there, that I poked around and discovered this–Wall Scalewort, a leafy liverwort. Liverworts differ from mosses in that the leaves are typically arranged in rows of two with a possible third row below, while moss leaves whorl around the stem. And most mosses have mid-ribs, which liverworts lack.

That said, the Wall Scalewort closely resembles Shingle Moss, which I spotted along this same tributary in March.

But a closer look today made me realize that I could see the leaf arrangement was succubous where the bottom edge was visible, as opposed to incubous. Succubous arrangement is like roof shingles that don’t let the rain in, while incubous leaves are arranged so the top edge is visible and do let the rain in. Thank you Sue Alix Williams in Mosses & Common Liverworts of the Northeast for that explanation.

Eventually we reached a turn-around point and came up with Plan B for the rest of today’s hike as we made our way out. While I was able to cross with my high leather hiking boots, My Guy chose to take his boots and socks off and watch his feet turn red from the chill. Thankfully, his better half, ahem, that would be me, had packed a towel because we suspected this could be the case.

Now you might find this as odd, but since our discovery of the new privies last month, we’ve been quite taken with the artwork completed by Kennett High School art students in 2023.

Unbeknownst to us at the time, the paintings were a perfect segue from one trail to another.

And so we drove down the road to Echo Lake State Park and tried to convince the warden that even though we live in Maine, our hometown is just over the border and we should be able to hike the trails for free as New Hampshire Seniors don’t have to pay. He kindly informed us that the park isn’t officially open yet, as so it was free, but if we return in a couple of weeks, it will cost us $4 each. Not bad in the scheme of things.

Before us stood White Horse Ledge, one of the trails we had considered if we’d been able to cross Lucy Brook from our earlier destination. We were green with envy as we looked across at it.

But about half way around the lake, we found a different trail to the summit and decided to follow it. That said, we found several trails to the summit and the first we chose led us astray as it eventually petered out.

Despite that, we were thrilled. Okay, maybe it was me rather than we. Semantics.

And so today I celebrated my first meeting of 2024 with Sessile-leaf Bellwort, aka Wild Oat. And where there was one, there were a million, the subtle yellow bell dangling quietly below.

And then . . . and then, I spotted a Stinking Benjamin, or Red Trillium almost in flower.

And a few steps away . . . full flower mode. Trillium is a reference to the fact that the floral parts of the plant occur in threes: three leaves, three petals, three sepals.

Going forth, I’m sure I’ll honor a trillion trilliums, but these were the first and therefore the most special.

As we made our way back to a better trail, the leaves of Trout Lily caught my attention and then much to my delight I found two in flower. The leaves are maroon-mottled and the nodding flower features petals and sepals bent backwards to expose six brown stamens. This one is such a treat for me because I only meet it when I least expect to do so.

Once on the actual trail upon which we had to scramble to climb toward the ledgy summit, I spotted another that only grows in such habitats.

Take a look at the black arrow in the photo.  That is one hairy stalk rising from a rosette of basal leaves.

This native perennial wildflower, Virginia Saxifrage, grows out of cracks in rock, and has been known as a rock breaker even though it doesn’t actually break rocks, but rather, likes to grow in those fractures. It’s such a sweet little flower that is easy to overlook.

From the ledges above, we had a great view of Echo Lake, and the mountains beyond, with Cranmore’s Ski Area showing the last of the melting snow.

That brings me back to the snow of a month ago. I took it upon myself to figure out a way to make people smile.

And today, we did the same, though not with snow like this. But rather, with our actual smiles and friendly hellos as we greeted each hiker we met. Even if they weren’t smiling or making eye contact with us at first, we got them all to return the greeting and had some nice chats with a few.

I told My Guy that it kinda reminded me of our New York adventure last weekend, when I made it a point to try to make eye contact with each person we passed on the sidewalk or trail and to always leave them with a smile. A few actually looked at me and turned on a smile, which seemed to surprise them.

This was indeed a smile of a Mondate . . . on so many levels.