Spring

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.

The Extraordinary Ordinary

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

I love to venture off and explore other places but more and more I feel drawn to just head out the back door and see what this land of field and forest and vernal pools and puddles has to offer. And so I do. Almost daily.

It’s land where the Red Maples are in full flowering mode, this cluster being male, each with five to ten slender stamens.

As beautiful as the flowers are, one of the real reasons I head out so often right now is that the vernal pools are full of egg masses, both Wood Frog and Spotted Salamander. Somehow, this year, except during Big Night, I missed the Wood Frog activity in the pools I frequent, but by the amount of egg masses, I know they were there.

What cracks me up is that it isn’t just vernal pools that are used for the canoodling ritual. Sometimes, if there’s a rut on the way to the pool and he decides to start calling, and she responds, well, you know how it goes.

And so it must have, for this one mass is in the rut pictured above.

It reminded me of the two sets of Wood Frogs we had to gently move off the road during Big Night. They couldn’t even wait until they found a rut.

It’s only been about two or three weeks since the eggs were laid and fertilized, and already the embryos are taking on their tadpole shape.

In another location, I spotted a Spotted Salamander egg mass that was also deposited about two weeks ago, at a time when snow melt and rain were the norm. We’ve had some rain since then, but the tide is quickly going down in the pools. Wait. There is no tide in these. Being rain/snowmelt dependent, the water is quickly evaporating and this mass probably will become food for something rather than turn into 100 or so salamander tadpoles.

But in “My” vernal pool, where I put “My” in quotes because I don’t actually own the land upon which it is located, I just think I do, the salamander embryos are also taking form.

Of course, when one is stooped over and staring into the water, there’s more to see like this Water Strider. Water Striders are so cool as they skate along the surface thanks to some hairs at the ends of their legs that we can’t see. At least I can’t. Those hairs don’t get wet and instead attract water molecules. I placed an arrow on the photo because the shadow a strider creates with what appear to be larger than life feet speaks to this adaptation.

And in this case, the arrow points to a Water Boatman. I love how his tiger-like body design, though not intentionally, mimics the oak leaf above which he swam. Unlike the skating strider, a Water Boatman uses its hind legs as oars.

In one of the shallowest pools I know of outback, Mosquito and Caddisfly Larvae move about, the first suspended in the water column just below the surface, breathing air through tubes at the end of the abdomen. The Northern Case Maker Caddisflies took advantage of all the plant material, including a Red Maple flower to add a bit of class to its house.

When I wasn’t looking into water, I did notice a few other things like about five or six Greater Bee Flies frequenting one area. The cool thing about bee flies is that they do look like bees, but don’t sting. While they feed on nectar, they also parasitize the nests of solitary bees and I have to wonder if that was what their behavior was about.

Several Six-spotted Tiger Beetles with their metallic green coloring, dashed here and there, always on the move as they looked for other insects to devour. Here’s the thing about these beetles–not all have six white spots, or even any spots.

Speaking of spots, I love the violet-blue markings on a Mourning Cloak Butterfly. This species overwinters under tree bark and other protected places as adults, so they are one of the earliest for us to encounter in the spring, along with Question Mark and Comma Butterflies. And then we get to enjoy a second brood in the autumn that will hibernate as adults.

So it’s not all about insects, though I suspect if I look hard enough I will find one in this photo. But it was the first Bluet of the season that I needed to note. Sure, they’ll be commonplace soon, but this one is the harbinger. And it was enhanced by the contrasting red caps of some British Soldier lichens.

As I walked toward home this afternoon, this Turkey Vulture rode the thermals and I took its photo to honor my neighbor for she alerted me Monday to the fact that she’d spotted some vultures and a Bald Eagle in our ‘hood, and we met on Tuesday afternoon to search for a kill site in an orchard behind some other houses. We didn’t find anything, but I love that she was curious. And that occasionally we share natural occurrences with each other and sometimes walk the same stretches of land. Thank you, Karen.

Back home, I was surprised to find these two sharing a feeder, a female Purple Finch on the left and male Cardinal on the right. She would squawk at other finches, but not at the Cardinal. And so they fed simultaneously for a while. If only we could all take a lesson from them.

As a self-confessed home body, I love how the land that surrounds my house and beyond has been my classroom for so long now (30+years), and that it has taught me to celebrate the extraordinary found in everything ordinary.

Until we meet again . . . New York

~ lmachayes ~ 3 Comments

I remember when we’d take our young sons to cities and I’d hold a tighter than tight grip on their hands, or maybe it was their wrists, as we walked along sidewalks thronging with people. I can’t hold their hands in quite the same way anymore, and in fact, in their presence in a city (the older in Boston and the younger in Brooklyn), since that’s where they’ve both chosen to make their homes at the moment, their confidence and poise and graciousness make me feel comfortable. And they have become incredible tour guides.

And so it was that this past Friday, My Guy and I flew to LaGuardia Airport and began another New York City journey.

We were met at the airport by P, who drove us to the Prospect Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, where his girlfriend, M, was waiting and had ordered pizza because one of my wishes for the weekend was for a NY-style pie. Well, really, I wanted New Haven style, given my roots, but NY is the next best thing.

The apartment belongs to M’s mother, D, who graciously offered it to us as a home base for our weekend adventure. The view of the Manhattan skyline garnered our attention each morning and night, and we knew the Knicks had won their game Saturday because the Empire State Building showed off their team colors.

For as long as P has lived in Brooklyn, we’ve heard of Prospect Park, which encompasses over 500 acres in the midst of the city and offers habitat and respite for critters of all shapes and forms, including humans.

We had signed up for a two-hour tour with the well-informed Corinne as our guide. Designed in 1865, she explained that the park is considered Frederick Law Olmsted’s and Calvert Vaux’s masterpiece, Olmsted pictured on the left and Vaux on the right. Here, unlike in Central Park, they took advantage of the natural elements, though I was disappointed to learn that they’d filled in kettle holes created by glaciers.

We entered via the Endale Arch, which was built in the 1860s and restored within the last ten years. It was during the restoration when paint and wood panels that had been added because of rain damage were removed, that pine and walnut paneling was discovered.

It’s almost like passing through the welcoming doorway of a church.

I could have spent hours meeting trees in the park, but this was not the time, and so I reveled in the few we did get to know, such as this Camperdown Elm, whose branches grow more or less parallel to the ground giving it a gnarly bonsai appearance. The tree, grown from the Earl of Camperdown’s Scottish estate, was planted here in 1872, but neglected years later until in 1967 Marianne Moore wrote this poem to save it: 

I think, in connection with this weeping elm,

of ‘Kindred Spirits’ at the edge of a rockledge

overlooking a stream:

Thanatopsis-invoking tree-loving Bryant

conversing with Thomas Cole

in Asher Durand’s painting of them

under the filigree of an elm overhead.

No doubt they had seen other trees—lindens,

maples and sycamores, oaks and the Paris

street-tree, the horse-chestnut; but imagine

their rapture, had they come on the Camperdown elm’s

massiveness and ‘the intricate pattern of its branches,’

arching high, curving low, in its mist of fine twigs.

The Bartlett tree-cavity specialist saw it

and thrust his arm the whole length of the hollowness

of its torso and there were six small cavities also.

Props are needed and tree-food. It is still leafing;

still there. Mortal though. We must save it. It is

our crowning curio.

Though she passed about fifty years ago, the tree, thanks to Miss Moore, lives on.

Another that struck my fancy was the Osage Orange, though apparently I should be thankful we didn’t visit in the autumn when its softball-sized fruits fall. Then it might not be my fancy that is struck, but rather my head.

Though we only had a moment to glance at tiled ceilings, they were the masterpiece of Spanish engineer Rafael Guastavino. I can only wonder if a sunflower or some other composite flower was the inspiration for this one.

Much to our delight, as we followed the path, a Black Squirrel scampered along the ground and then up a tree. The Black Squirrel is a color phase of the Eastern Gray Squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis), also known as a melanistic variant due to a recessive gene that causes abnormal pigmentation. Do you see it peeking at us?

While our bird sightings were many, especially of Robins and Sparrows, we spotted one male Cardinal, one Mallard, and this one Cormorant swimming in murky water.

The species of the most abundance, however, was the Red-eared Slider Turtle. Though outlawed for sale today, Red-eared Sliders are the most common turtles kept as pets. They live long lives and need ever increasing habitat and food, thus many have been abandoned–their owners slipping them into the waters of the park unceremoniously in a practice that is illegal.

Thanks again to the generosity of our hostess, we also visited Brooklyn Botanical Gardens where Cherry Blossoms and an array of colors wowed us and thousands of others.

It was fun to glimpse over the shoulders of two artists and notice how their work reflected the scene.

Though these tulips each had a name, I would have called this spot the ice cream stand for the flavors seemed to abound.

Beside water, Horsetails or Equisetums did grow.

As did the almost ready to unfurl crosiers of Cinnamon Ferns. I love their woolly coats.

It was here that I had a brief encounter with another tree new to me, a Horned Maple. Acer diabolicum leaves are five lobed and coarsely toothed. The common name comes from paired horn-like projections from the seeds, but we were too early to spy these. We did get to see it in flower, though I think I’m the only one who noticed.

And I kept wondering where all the pollinators were, though we didn’t get too close to the Cherry Blossoms, but the Honeysuckles lived up to their names and were abuzz with activity.

If I had to name a favorite, it would probably be the Hybrid Magnolia based on its color and form. Simply a masterpiece.

We spent an hour enjoying a masterpiece of another sort, worshiping with others at St. John’s Park Slope, an Episcopal Church with a heavenly choir and an organ that filled the rafters with music both old and new.

And then we took a trip into Manhattan via P’s new truck. Haha. Yes. That is a Tesla truck. Just not my idea of a truck. And no, we did not travel in it, but rather M’s car.

P showed us the large office he works in where ads and films, but mostly ads these days, are produced and edited. And clients are wined and dined in situ. There’s even a staff chef.

And now, when he says he’s working from the office, we can imagine him in this space.

It’s located two doors away from the birthplace of Teddy Roosevelt.

Not being shoppers, we only stepped into a Yeti store, where of course, My Guy announced that he has the products on his shelves back in Maine. And he peered into a closed hardware store, cuze no trip of ours is ever complete without visiting one or two. But then again, no trip of ours is ever complete without stepping along a wooded pathway and noticing the flora and fauna.

But the main purpose of our trip was to visit. Family. And friends. And meet this little powerhouse who knew how to command the crowd.

My Guy was in instant love. And she was so chill.

We loved spending time with one of M’s brothers, her sister and niece, plus M and P. of course. We did meet up with M’s other brother, but somehow I neglected to take a photo. Sorry R.

Over the course of the weekend, world problems were solved and sporting events analyzed by these two.

And one of the highlights was our opportunity to attend their softball game, which they won because we were there, the good luck charms that we are.

He scored a home run, another run, and I can’t remember his other stats, though I’m sure My Guy and P have it in their brains.

M also walloped the ball and got on base each time.

And scored as well. We were mighty impressed because we saw the results of a slide she made into a base last week and how she could run this weekend was beyond our understanding.

At last Monday dawned and P stopped by the apartment to pick up laundry and say goodbye.

Until we meet again, thank you M & P, and D, and all the gang, including P’s colleagues who played in the game or came to cheer on the softball team.

We had a fabulous weekend thanks to all of your planning, and I just finished a bagel that followed us home. Family. Food. Oh, I didn’t even mention Frankies Spuntino and the delish eggplant marinara. And fun.

We love New York. Especially through the eyes of P & M. And then we love returning to Maine.

Fall After Fall Mondate

~ lmachayes

At the start of today’s hike I met a rock. A rock covered in soft green broom mosses. A rock that invited a caress. And so I did. Repeatedly.

When I mentioned that it was the perfect pet rock to My Guy, he reminded me that it wouldn’t fit in my pocket. Details. Details.

And so our hike continued through a wet area where we gave thanks for the boardwalk system. And for the opportunity to change out our hiking uniform from winter to spring. Oh, we had Muck boots in the truck, but welcomed the opportunity to wear hiking boots, and summer hiking pants, and sweatshirts, and baseball caps instead of winter gear.

The wetland wasn’t so wet, but the water swirled around rocks just below an old mill as we crossed a bridge over the brook known as . . . Mill Brook.

In its lower reaches, we paused to rejoice in how the water swirled around and over and under the boulders and reveled in the fact that their faces were smoothly carved as can only happen in places where so much H20 has flowed for eons.

Leaving the water behind for a time, we met some friends. Beech Trees. Particular American Beech Trees. American Beech Trees more commonly known to us as Bear Claw Trees. And in this case, an oft-visited Bear Claw Tree.

Where there is one there is usually another. And another. And another. We found several, but imagined that many more exist given how many claw marks we found on these trees.

About two miles or more from the trailhead, we followed the spur trail to North Ledge (aka Lunch Ledge) and sat down to dine. Below stood a forest of hardwoods that we’d passed through and we had to wonder how many more Bear Claw Trees we might find if we actually took the time to go off trail and look. One of these days.

I did take time to examine a few fruticose lichens growing on the bark of a hemlock overlooking Lunch Ledge, this one being a Boreal Oakmoss, which is actually a lichen despite its mossy name.

And a Bristly Beard Lichen, with its short bristles decorating each branch.

From North Ledge, it’s at least a mile and a half across the mountain, with ups and downs and all arounds to get to the other side. Including snow. Given that we’d had two spring snowstorms, with the first being March 24, and both dumping a couple of feet upon the landscape, it was no surprise. Should we have donned our Muck boots?

Nope. I poked my hiking pole in at one point and discovered there was at least a foot of snow left in spots, but it was soft and easy to hike through and so we did.

At last we reached the southern side, where the trail turned and hugged the edge of the mountain. It was downhill from there.

But first, a quick break at the outlook, where we actually met the only other person who was on her way out as we were on our way in. Looking west, we could see snow showers in some surrounding mountains, but our day consisted of a few raindrops, sunshine, clouds, and a breeze. Perfect for hiking.

Also perfect for hiking: a delayed dessert of Dark Chocolate McVities! A favorite of mine since 1979 when I devoured their biscuits on a regular basis while attending school in York, England.

Downward we hiked and then we met Mill Brook again as it cascaded forth.

And forth.

And continued forth some more.

We followed as it flowed between a crevasse in the boulders–headed as you might note toward . . . My Guy.

And admired it repeatedly along its course.

Occasionally it fanned out over boulders in its midst.

And plunged into pools.

It was a lot of water and we were thrilled to hike beside it and are still exclaiming over what a fun hike it was. Oh, there was mud. And ice. But those were secondary condtions. So far, we agreed, this was our favorite hike of the year.

Where were we? Where bears of all types roam, including this crazy Bruin, who is usually a Maine Black Bear.

And no, we did not fall, though I know a few of you were wondering because you know my ability to do so at inopportune times. It was the waterfalls that we followed that made this Fall After Fall Mondate at Long Mountain so special.

Thanks as always to Mary McFadden and Larry Stifler. Through their generosity, many trails in the area are open to the public. And through the work of their employee, Bruce Barrett, those trails are well maintained.

One Night, Two Nights, Three Nights…

~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

It was a dark and dreary night. Repeat. It was a dark and dreary night. Repeat. It was a dark and dreary night.

While most folks would choose to stay inside curled up by the fire while drinking a hot toddy, a number of intrepid community scientists ranging in age from 3 to 70+, donned rain gear (even waders) and reflective vests, cleansed hands of soap and moisturizer, grabbed flashlights and headlamps, and met at 7:30pm in the pre-determined locations.

Their mission each night was the same: Help us help frogs and salamanders cross the road to avoid getting squished by vehicles.

The names and ages of participants changed each night, but the leadership remained the same. As Maine Master Naturalists, Dawn Wood (who took the lead on organizing these events and recording data–a daunting task in the rain and dark and with people spread out and shouting numbers and species at her), Hadley Couraud, and I led the way, all three of us providing information about the different critters and their behavior as the evening progressed. All of this was under the umbrella (pun intended–though no one actually had an umbrella) of Loon Echo Land Trust in Bridgton, Maine. Thank you to Maggie Lynn for creating the sign-up forms, advertising the events, and keeping us posted.

The technique was easy. Once we reached the location of the vernal pool, to which amphibians return each year from their upland habitat, we started scanning the road with our lights. It’s amazing how the mica, small rocks, sticks, and lichens can fool us.

It’s equally amazing how much tiny Spring Peepers resemble small rocks. And how stone cold they are when we lift them up. And how they’d rather stay in our hands than return to the cold earth.

We always noted the direction in which they were headed and that’s the side of the road we took them to, even if it didn’t make sense to us. They knew what they were up to and we were there only to try to keep them alive so they could canoodle for a few nights before heading out of the pools and back to the forest.

Meet a Spring Peeper up close and personal. Note those little toes, which are actually suction cups of a sort, the better to climb vegetation, especially at the edge of or in a wetland, and then to sing their high-pitched songs that announce the males intention of finding a date. Because of the toe pads, peepers were originally thought to be closely related to Tree Frogs but they have since been reassigned as chorus frogs in the genus Pseudacris, which comes from the Greek pseudes (false) and akris (locust) (think of our Dog Day Cicadas and their raspy love songs in the summer).

The species name, crucifer comes from the Latin cruces, meaning “cross,” so named for the dark X or cross on the frog’s back.

A really cool thing happened that first night. A teenager who lived in the neighborhood where we were scanning the road came out to ask what we were doing. And then he joined us, eager to learn as his family had recently moved here from out of state.

After a Spotted Salamander was saved, he ran home to get his camera and stayed until we finally departed. We had hoped he’d join us the next night at a different location, but wonder if he stayed home to help those on his road instead. Whether or not he did that, we loved his enthusiasm and desire to learn.

It soon became clear on the first night that we’d parked in the wrong spot, however right it may have seemed because we could get our vehicles off the road. As people started to leave, we all did a check underneath from all angles to make sure tires would not run over any critters by accident.

And sure enough . . . out crawled a Spotted Salamander. Of course, photo calls came first, and then help was offered to get to the other side.

Even teeny, tiny Spring Peepers had to be saved. And we all commented that we didn’t want to know if we did happen to drive over something. Added to that, we noted most of the vehicles only made it a few feet down the road, before the driver stopped and another amphibian was saved. That and the driving was rather erratic since everyone had gained a new understanding of how much action there is on a rainy night.

The second night found us in a different location that we actually walked about three quarters of a mile to reach, thus lowering our chances of hitting the critters right near the pool which is located directly beside the road, with a vast wetland on the other side of the street.

Wood Frogs, with their dark masks, typically headed toward the pool, where they’ll spend the next two weeks or so, singing for a mate, embracing her in a technique called amplexus, fertilizing her eggs, and trying again and again, until it’s time to hop out and head into the forest for the next 50 weeks.

Because it was dark, the Wood Frogs didn’t seem to mind our presence too much. Some still sang, or rather “wruck, wrucked” their love songs, and others floated in anticipation or chased each other in hopes of finding a female. We even noted a few egg masses clinging to branches, telling us this pool had been busy for a few days already.

Part of the fun in hosting such an event is sharing it with other people who might not typically head out the door after dark. And then seeing smiles on faces as they encountered the critters for the first time.

A cool find on this night was an Eastern Newt crawling across the road. Perhaps because the pool dries up each summer, this one had overwintered either in the wetland or even the upland before returning on this particular night. It felt like an unusual find on the road, though from what I’ve read, it’s not rare. I have seen many Red Efts, the juveniles of this species, their bodies squished by vehicle tires, on this very road in the fall.

Yet again, it was the Spring Peepers who garnered much of our attention.

And some Spotted Salamanders, though not as many as on the first night.

That said, we were thrilled with each find. And found an easy way to help them was to place the laminated ID card created by Maine Master Naturalist Michael Boardman under their bodies. Now don’t you think this guy is crawling onto the card in search of his ID?

As we prepared to walk back to our vehicles that night, Officer Hammond of the Bridgton Police Department happened along. No, he wasn’t going to arrest us for J-walking, though that’s essentially what we did. He was just stopping by because we’d ask Maggie to let the department know of our whereabouts in case anyone wondered what we were doing, but didn’t slow down to ask us. Traffic was high each of the nights. I’ve been doing this for about 22 years, and this year I felt like we had the most traffic. Most drivers were considerate when they saw the cones (courtesy of Hayes Ace Hardware) and vehicle flashers, plus our headlamps and flashlights. And we were all good at yelling “CAR” each time we saw approaching lights, but there were a few who were annoyed and one even had to lean on the horn after passing through the section of road we walked upon.

Night three was the warmest, with temps in the 50˚s and little to no rain. In fact, by the time we were heading home, the moon and stars were visible.

But still, the critters crossed and once again we showed new participants of all ages how to ID them and then help them cross the road.

On this final night, we had several teenagers along for the journey. Two of them had actually driven past us on the first night, slowed down, rolled down the window, and asked if we were okay. When we showed them a photo of a Spotted Salamander, they went home and signed up for a chance to help. Their enthusiasm was incredible.

We peered into the pool again and were amazed at the number of swelled Wood Frog egg masses in their communal cluster–as is the Wood Frog fashion. perhaps to take advantage of being warmer when crowded together, and thus evolve quicker. It’s the swelling that told us they’d been laid a few days before as initially their egg masses are maybe the size of a golf ball, but swell as they absorb water over the days to come.

The action was constant and I encourage you to see how many frogs you can find in this photo. It’s almost like the Hidden Picture of Highlights magazine, or Where’s Waldo?

And twice we spotted Spotted Salamanders swimming in the pool, though I really wanted to see a “congress” of salamanders conducting their mating dance. One of these nights.

As we walked out on the third night, about ten feet from each other we spotted two sets of Wood Frogs in amplexus! They couldn’t even wait to find a room, or pool, for that matter!

We quickly, if awkwardly, helped them off the road because we heard that familiar “CAR!”

One night, two nights, three nights . . . turned into one incredible and extended BIG NIGHT migration.

Our results: 

April 10, 2024
21 Spotted Salamanders
40 Spring Peepers

April 11, 2024
7 Spotted Salamanders
102 Spring Peepers
75 Wood Frogs
3 Red-backed Salamanders
1 Eastern Newt

April 12, 2024
13 Spotted Salamanders
268 Spring Peepers
62 Wood Frogs
4 Red-backed Salamanders
2 Green Frogs
1 Eastern Newt

For a grand total of 599 critters helped to the other side of the road. We saw a number of squished ones and had to constantly remind ourselves that they will become food for others. 

Thank you to the 39 people who joined us during these three nights--you were incredible and we loved hearing stories of how you want to share this with other members of your family and you are already planning to join us next year.

To go out on a rainy night and help amphibians cross the road is special–for the critters and for us. Thank you to Hadley, Dawn, and Maggie–for being the cool swamp critters that you are! And for letting me be part of the club.

BIG NIGHT 2024–one for the books.

Wondermyway.com on TV

~ lmachayes

For the fourth time in the last few years, Lake Region Television has featured wondermyway.com. Thanks to producer Evan Miller and station manager Chris Richard for working on this project with me. And to Evan for the original music that accompanies it.

Why not pour your favorite beverage, sit in a comfy chair and watch it here.

Click on the white arrow above to watch and listen.

Thank you so much for stopping by! I hope you enjoyed the show.

Eclipse in Totality

~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

My Guy and I had no idea what our plans were for today. We just knew that we wanted to find a place to enjoy the solar eclipse.

And then the invitation came and friends made connections and wrapped us in their tapestry and welcomed us into their midst so that we might enjoy the celestial event in one of the most beautiful places on Earth in the community of others.

This morning’s sunrise felt a bit like Christmas and so I arose early in anticipation of what was to come. I hope you did the same.

And then a few hours later after an hour and a half drive upta camp, we were welcomed to this place of peace.

The plan was for My Guy and two buddies to head off on their sleds for a few hours while I explored the area via snowshoes before others joined us for the afternoon celebration.

And they were off.

So was I. Who knew that they’d be sledding on April 8 and I’d be snowshoeing. As it turned out for me, it was actually the best snowshoeing adventure of the season, so firm was the snowpack.

Please don’t tell my sister, for I was given some directions about old logging roads and did some zigging and zagging and, of course, checked my GPS frequently, but I really had no idea where I was. And yet . . . I felt completely at home.

I found ledges filled with old friends tucked among the seams like Yellow Birch and Hemlocks growing where most other trees can’t take root.

And Broom Mosses . . .

and architecturally designed spider webs among the offerings.

There were kissing cousin trees . . .

and Striped Maple twigs showing off their growth rings and buds . . .

plus a few offering chandeliers of seeds.

I was told that when I reached the blue blazes, I should turn left to head back to the trail and so I did.

But still there was more to see, including the camp that served as today’s headquarters in view from my location.

Along the way, the flattened, antler-like portrayal of Boreal Oak Moss.

And one of my favorite finds: Beaked Hazelnut catkins.

And maybe the creme de la creme: Beaked Hazelnut flowers in bloom! So tiny. So sweet. So beautiful.

And then . . . and then . . . I discovered this fairy path through the evergreens and I knew there would be riches at the other end.

At the other end I was honored for there stood Alanna demonstrating the phase of today’s solar eclipse with the help of an Oreo cookie. And then she ate it.

Those who had gathered began to play with the shadows as the sun slipped behind the moon and we were all in awe of finger shadows that resembled tree frog’s suction cupped toes.

And crescents formed as the light filtered through tree shadows.

Darkness began to descend in the middle of the afternoon and we all watched the sky change and felt the temperature drop. Suddenly, we were cold again.

It was as if the sun had set, when indeed it still stood high in the sky.

Totality of the solar eclipse lasted about two minutes and we were a group of about 20 ranging in age from about 6 to, um, senior citizens, and every one of us was in total awe.

Before and after totality we watched the light dance on the snow in a way never experienced before.

We checked the tree shadows again, and noted how they had changed as the sun started to appear again.

Thank you to Alanna and Jason for inviting us to your special family place and to Brian for transporting My Guy’s sled. Celebrating this phenomenal event in community served as icing on the cake for an extra special day, with snowmobiling and snowshoeing being the base layers.

Solar Eclipse 2024. One for the books.

Eyeing the Ladies

~ lmachayes ~ 3 Comments

We were in the area. It’s spring. (Until Wednesday that is, when winter is scheduled to return, and here’s the latest from the National Weather Service out of Gray, Maine:

…WINTER STORM WATCH IN EFFECT FROM WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON THROUGH
LATE THURSDAY NIGHT…

  • WHAT…Heavy snow possible. Total snow accumulations greater than
    18 inches possible. Winds could gust as high as 55 mph.
  • WHERE…Portions of south central, southwest, and western Maine.

And so we headed to Wolfe’s Neck State Park this afternoon cuze we kinda have a love affair with this place in Freeport, Maine.

It’s a place where the forest meets the sea, or at least Casco Bay, and so it brings our two loves together and always gives us a chance to refill the innermost recesses of our lungs with salt air, while still enjoying the woodland trails.

What immediately became clear, however, was the extent of damage the coast has endured this past year due to intense storms. Erosion was evident in so many places. Sadly.

The landscape was also ransacked by the force of the wind. Trees were uprooted–some falling south, others, east, a few west, and even north. We could almost feel the harsher than normal gusts even though we weren’t present for any of these episodes.

And the trails are scattered with pine twigs and needles, which though they soften each footstep, really just bring the destruction closer to our eyes and minds.

There were some, however, or perhaps many, who took advantage of the uprooted trees as great places to think they were hiding from us–the great predators that we are.

Those who work for the park have had a lot of work “cut” out for them and they’ve cleared tree after tree from blocking the trail and our kudos to them.

In almost five miles of hiking trails, we only found a few obstacles, this one being the most difficult to conquer. And really, it wasn’t that difficult, but more inconvenient. And we know that they’ll take care of it soon. They probably just need to give their chainsaws and muscles a brief break. Really. I cannot explain the amount of devastation. It happens every year, but I don’t think we’ve ever seen it to this extent.

But there were other things to notice, such as this Red Squirrel midden that must have been an incredible cache back in the fall, and I wished I’d seen it then.

And the sweet buds of Trailing Arbutus waiting to make their 2024 debut.

But our best sight of the day: Lady’s Slippers in bloom. Oh my. Everything is early this year, but we definitely didn’t expect to find these friends so soon.

Eyeing the ladies is something My Guy loves to do.

Oh, we found a few seed capsules along the way.

And we did see these flowers . . . on the kiosk.

But the photo I took of a Lady’s Slipper dates back to last spring. I hope I gotcha for a moment.

Happy April Fools Day 2024!

Easter 2024

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Easter came early this year and at our church a spring snowstorm that dumped up to two feet of snow meant that last weekend’s Palm Sunday service had to be held via ZOOM. But with a new rector on board, Reverend Annette went with the flow and then during the week, she was able to offer Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and finally today’s Easter celebration all in person.

It was a week of reflection, as it should be. And a week of searching, like this Winter Stonefly that emerged from a freshwater brook and journeyed up and down and around the obstacles of the forest and snow fo seek a tree. Particularly, the bark of a mature tree. Species mattered not.

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

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

I heard not the drumming for it is not for us to hear, but I have faith that this insect with its veined wings that serve no flying function was successful.

The venation of the Winter Stonefly’s wings was not lost on me as I saw stained glass in their presentation. And was struck by the same when I peered into a quick flowing stream that transported melting snow and noticed the amazing lines and shapes as the water twirled around a rock.

And on both sides of the stream I spotted the prints of one who passes in the night, working behind the scenes and leaves only a trace of its presence. But still, because I recognized these prints, I believed the Bobcat was nearby, perhaps even so close that it kept watch over me without my knowledge. As it should be.

Turkey prints were much more prevalent, but today it was the shape of such that garnered my attention and I could imagine the cross and a being upon it.

The cross theme was equally created in the form of telephone poles leading to the most powerful mountain in New England. Who knew? Light and communication sizzled across the wires for all of us who choose to partake.

An equally power-filled force, some of which is also harnessed for electricity, this swollen river flows to the ocean as waves break over boulders. I see not its full path from source to sea, but trust in its immanence.

And on this day, with the snow melting under bright sun and 50˚ temps, the White Crocus with its lilac-colored runway lines, suddenly bloomed–and the Alleluias are heard ringing across the landscape.

A Purple Crocus added its soprano voice to the Alleluia chorus.

When I spotted this heart upon one of the paths I followed this weekend, I was reminded that hope and awe and wonder and love are captured within my heart and I gave great thanks.

Christ is Risen. A new day has dawned. Alleluia. Happy Easter 2024.

Breaking Up . . .

~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

They say it’s hard to do and usually I feel the same, but this year has been different, and suddenly the time has come. Letting go though, that’s the part that causes me the most struggle.

Then again, six days ago I knew the end was near.

And today, the denouement became clearly obvious.

How things can change in only a matter of time i’ll never understand.

My heart grieved for all that has been lost.

But warmed by what I found instead.

And when I stooped over to peer into the shallow depths, I knew I was going to be okay.

The end had come, but new beginnings awaited.

Goodbye Winter. I’m breaking up with you, though honestly, I think you broke up with me this year. You’ll always hold a place in my heart, but this year you didn’t seem to kindle the usual flame.

Hello spring! Thanks for reaching out in the form of Common Polypody Ferns, Mayfly Larvae by the hundreds, and even the Woolly Bear caterpillar. By the bits of debris on her bristly hairs, it was obvious that she’d just emerged from under the leaf litter where she’d overwintered and was frantically crawling along the road in search of a place to form a cocoon and metamorph into the Isabella Tiger Moth she’ll soon become.

I’ll always love you, winter. But right now, I’m already smitten with spring.

Stars Among Us

~ lmachayes

Saturday found My Guy and me doing some trail work in the rain along a local path that we’ve helped maintain for probably close to twenty years. On Sunday we went on one of the buggiest hikes we’ve endured in a while. But there was a prize to be had. And today. Ah today. What a gorgeous day. And few bugs. There was a reason for that.

We were in a wetland where the dragonflies were emerging. So this is a member of the Baskettail family. I’m just getting my dragonfly eyes back on and need to refresh my memory.

Looking at it from a different angle, my brain wants to call it a Spiny Baskettail rather than Common for it seemed dark behind its head and the dark basal marks on the wings seemed to match up, but . . . if you think otherwise, I’m open to clarification.

We also spotted Belted Whiteface Skimmers seeking meals, and there were damselflies on the hunt as well. If these Mosquito/Black Fly/Deer Fly-eating predators haven’t reached your backyard yet, know that help is due to arrive any day.

Not all the sights we saw were predatory and so we delighted that a few new butterflies of the season were in our midst, including this Mustard White, with its striking venation a feature of the spring brood. The coloring has to do with developing in the chrysalis during shorter spring days versus the pure white or mustard-color which occur in summer broods.

Also fluttering about were a few Canadian Tiger Swallowtails, adding bright dashes of color in a woodland growing ever so green.

While the butterflies help with pollination, this humongous Bumblebee was hosting a pollen party for one and if you look closely, you may see the yellow specks flying in the air and all over its face.

It was no surprise to see the pollen sacs on its hind legs filled to overflowing.

There was so much to take in everywhere we looked and we were glad we’d driven an hour and a half to spend time in this special place where one of My Guy’s favorite flowers grows. Though not in bloom yet, they are preparing and we can’t rush the season. I know some have blossomed closer to home, but think our location a bit further north meant things are delayed by a week or so.

Equally as fun to find was evidence of last year’s flower in the form of a football-shaped seed capsule–and we can only hope that some of those seeds will find the right conditions and show off their showy blossoms. Of course, those seeds might remain dormant until conditions are just right, so it could be years before we can enjoy them. We’re willing to wait.

Today’s journey found us enjoying the mountains and wetlands in Whitefield, New Hampshire, where there was still some snow on distant peaks. Look below the clouds and you’ll see what I mean.

So many stars we enjoyed and really have only honored a few here.

But the real star among us we spent some time with yesterday . . . until the insects drove us home, literally!

This Black Chipmunk and its forebears have been rather reliable residents on a certain trail and though I don’t spot one every year, it’s always a treat to meet it again. This was the prize.

As we watched, the chipmunk behaved as one would expect, dining upon seeds it had cached, then running along a log, jumping down to the ground, and disappearing into a hole beside a tree. I have to wonder how many more it may be feeding with its stuffed cheeks. And having observed 315 15-second game camera videos of a Red Squirrel a couple of years ago, and watching this particular chipmunk, as well as those who live around our house, I know that it repeated its routine from hole to food source and back to hole from sun-up to sun-down.

Melanistic mammals have an increased amount of the dark pigment melanin in their hair, and though they are considered rare, I know of at least three local areas where Black Chipmunks have been spotted for years.

There may be stars in the sky as this beautiful day gives way to night, but indeed there are many more stars at our feet if we take the time to notice.

A Moosed-Up Mondate

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

Some stories are best told in the wrong order and this one is such. Or at least that’s what I think. You see, My Guy and I headed north today, not far north either. Maybe a little over a half hour from home.

We went in search of one of his quests–Lady’s Slippers. We knew it was too early for them to be blooming in our area of western Maine, but thought we’d look anyway. Along the way, I decided to count Painted Trillium because My Guy always comments that there are a trillion trillium blooming near trails at this time of the year. And I need to honor so many of them with a photograph. I wanted to know if he is right and we’ve never counted trilliums before. He didn’t join me on this mission, but I did notice he frequently paused near one.

In the midst of our journey, we stopped beside a wetland and didn’t spot the Solitary Sandpiper at first, but then it moved. Constantly. As is its habit to provoke its food source into moving.

What it saw with those be-speckled eyes, I’m not sure, but I do think aquatic insects and amphibians were on its menu.

After a wee bit, we came to the beaver dam that bisects the trail, where fresh mud indicated someone was at home. It’s a tricky crossing, but I’m here to say we were successful on the way up and back.

Onward and upward, my count continued and while most often the Painted Trilliums were solitary like the sandpiper, these five represented numbers 41, 42, 43, 44, and 45.

We also found a few Red Trillium, aka Stinking Benjamin, to honor.

Approaching the summit, My Guy checked on his favorite Lady’s Slipper bouquet, but it’ll be another two or three weeks before we’ll be counting their blossoms.

And I checked on the Rhodora, also offering a peek into the future.

Lunch upon lunch rock offered a hazy view of the mountains beyond. And it served as our turn-around point as this is an out and back trail.

BUT . . . remember at the beginning of this tale I said I was presenting things a wee bit out of order? Back toward the beginning we approached the beaver dam silently because sometimes we are treated to moments with the beaver as it tries to rebuild the dam. As we rounded a corner, we heard water dripping. It was just not quite in a beavery sort of way.

That’s because it wasn’t a beaver, but rather a Cow Moose. This photo was taken just moments after she and I looked at each other from her spot about fifteen feet from where I stood. It took me a second to realize that I was starring into her eyes, and another second to silently alert My Guy and grab my camera. And then she turned and started across the water, not an easy task in a beaver pond filled with many fallen trees.

She’d been dining as you can see from the vegetation dangling from her mouth.

Look at that face, one only a mother can love. That oversized upper lip. And those warm brown eyes. She did look rather mangy, but that’s a spring thing as she sheds her winter coat.

As she moved off, in her tippy-toe ungulate manner, water dripped from her body.

And then she looked back at us and peed. We felt the same way about her–it was a pee-in-your-pants moment.

Finally, she began to disappear into the woods.

And blended right in with her surroundings. How often, we always wonder, is there a Moose in the landscape that we just don’t see.

Especially when it looks like this? Can you spot her now?

We may not have counted Lady’s Slippers on today’s Mondate hike, but we certainly didn’t moose it up, either.

Final count:

Painted Trillium 59

Red Trillium 3

Cow Moose 1

One was certainly enough!

Colored By A Mother’s Love

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a mother, but was blessed with two sons more than two decades ago.

When the boys were young, I soon discovered that each day there was something to rejoice about beginning with those early accomplishments like rolling over, blowing bubbles, learning to walk, loosing a tooth, tying a shoe, zippering a jacket, skipping down the road, whistling a tune, or riding a bike without training wheels.

Always, it was traditions that we shared which brought great delight. S and I had a secret hand code that meant “I love you.” P would say, “Ding, ding, snuggle time,” at the end of many meals and climb onto my lap to cuddle.

At bedtime, there was that sense of relief because these two dynamos were finally going to sleep, but special moments occurred each night as we shared important memories of the day with thanksgiving and snuggled some more while reading books.

For P’s first two years, I was convinced he and S were twins. It took me that long to accept that we had two individuals. By looks it was obvious with S’s coarse, curly hair and P’s much finer curls. But there was more.

At age six, S loved science, reading, writing, swimming, mazes, Winnie-the-Pooh, the computer and pretending to be a Private Eye. He constantly planned businesses and designed buildings. S was our organizer and enjoyed figuring out strategies. He was intense with a wonderful sense of humor.

Four-year-old P loved sports, knights in shining armor, super heroes, and dressing as a police officer, fireman, or postman. He loved to tell long, embellished stories. And P learned by observing and taught himself how to ski, skate, and ride a bike. He was quick to smile and loved to joke.

As teenagers, some things had changed. S’s passions included reading, theme parks, roller coasters, computers, Walt Disney, cinematography, geography, research, stocks, and business adventures. He was a member of the honor society, three sports teams, drama club, and Boy Scouts. In addition, S loved to volunteer for our local access cable station where he’d film events as well as work on audio and production. He had grown more intense than ever, but his humor provided a balance.

P’s interests included more sports, writing, drawing, fixing things, playing games, creating meals, playing percussion, yard work, hiking, any outdoor activities, and time spent with family and friends. He had developed a definite sense of justice and he was thoughtful. P participated on three sports teams, drama club, and Boy Scouts. In addition, he and three friends formed a rock band and played at school and community events. He continued to tell great stories and loved a good joke.

As I wandered today, I thought of how proud we are of our sons. After graduating from college with a degree in communications and thinking he was going to work in the newspaper industry, S decided instead to pursue a career dealing with hardware. And for those of you who know, that apple did not fall far from the tree as he has recently returned to town and is in the midst of taking the reins at My Guy’s store.

P also surprised us and chose to major in film, an avenue we thought his brother might have followed. And he has made waves in the film editing business in New York City, a location we never envisioned as being part of his future.

Going back to my story, while carrying S, I remember sharing concerns with other soon-to-be parents. I was most worried about what my child would be like as a teen because at that time I was teaching and knew the struggles teenagers faced daily. Eventually I learned not to focus on that, but rather to worry more about getting the boys safely to that point. A strange thing happened to me along the way. I stopped worrying about them becoming teenagers and adults because they taught me to live in the here and now.

My Guy and I worked hard to give them the right tools to deal with situations as their lives evolved. We nourished them and in return they nourished us.

I remember having a great need for my mother’s ongoing presence and love. I can only hope our boys will always have the same need for us. And that their lives will forever be colored by that love.

As it says in Robert Munsch’s Love You Forever, “I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, My babies you’ll be.”

Happy Mother’s Day to all, even those who are not mother’s because I’m sure your acts have nourished others on more occasions than you realize.

Celebrating 31,536,000 Seconds

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Dear BS,

I’ve spent the past few days shopping for gifts that make me think of you, and you know how I love to shop. But I think I found just the right selections to celebrate your day.

Of course, I needed to cast my broad wings and use my hawk eyes to survey the choices.

The first was as easy to make as it was difficult, for I knew that if I was purchasing one for you, I should also buy another for me since we’ve always had similar tastes for so many things.

But, there were a trillion Painted Trillium from which to choose and I can only hope these two will work for us.

Stinking Benjamin, aka Red Trillium, also demanded a look. I threw one into the cart because every room needs a dash of red and I thought you could perhaps find the perfect spot for it. Just don’t put it near your bed since the odor may not appeal to you, especially at night.

One of the biggest purchases occurred when My Guy and I stood near a body of water and a loon surfaced by our feet. Its velvety black texture reminded me of your baby doll with the china head and black velvet dress. If you recall, the dress had a lacy white collar. Of course, you remember, because if memory serves me right, she’s still a part of your life.

The next gift took me back to your college days. I’m getting old too, but didn’t you participate as a bell ringer in college? The Sessile-leaved Bellwort brought that memory to mind. I can see that performance in my mind’s eye. But, what you may not know is that I was in a bit of hot, soapy water at home when I asked at the dinner table, “Who the hell are the bell ringers?” I thought the rhyme was quite clever. That thought was not shared by all present.

On a more cheerful note, spring beauty is realized in Spring Beauty and when I espy such I know there is even more reason to celebrate spring ephemerals–YOU!

That special day always arrives when the beech leaves burst open and show off their fringed hemline. Being the seamstress and beach girl that you are, this should be your favorite tree, even if you don’t know it.

And My Guy found you another who had admired “your” tree repeatedly in the past. Bear claw marks are a favorite of ours and so they must be a favorite of yours as well.

As your day comes to a close, BS, I leave you with the subtle, ephemeral foliage color scheme to decorate your celebratory cake.

No cake is complete without sparkling candles, these in the form of Dwarf Ginseng.

At last, the gift giving must come to an end and so it does with the perfect choice–the floral display of a Hobblebush with its sterile flowers encircling tiny fertile flowers just beginning to open. Though these shrubs may make you hobble and trip as you make your way through the forest of life, they beg you in any season to stop and notice because they always have something to share. This is the gift that keeps on giving as you celebrate another 31,536,00 seconds of the year.

Happy Birthday, BS!

Love, LS.

Honing My Focus

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

On April 10, the ice had started to melt on the little vernal pool behind our house. And I got excited.

Suddenly it was time to start paying attention on a daily basis.

Within a few days, following a long winter of being frozen under the leaf litter, male Wood Frogs arrived at the pool. I heard their “Wruck, wruck” quacks as I approached and recognized that love was in the air. But the moment I stepped to the edge, all went silent and the frogs dove to the bottom. Standing as still as possible, I watched as they slowly began to resurface.

A few days later, it was in the pool. Love that is. The females had arrived, their abdomens swollen with eggs. And tada, the Wood Frogs were in business. A male, and it could be more than one, jockeyed for a chance to grasp a female around her waist in a long embrace and fertilized her eggs externally as she laid them.

A week or so later, and all was quiet again on the vernal pool front, for momma and papa had exited the water and returned to the forest floor in search of food, and the nursery was left to develop on its own in the form of a lumpy mass of eggs with a single embryo elongating within each.

About a week later, Spotted Salamanders crossed the road with a little help from some human friends, and they (the salamanders) also sought out their natal vernal pools in which to breed.

To do this, the salamanders performed a dance in which he stimulated her rather than participate in amplexus like the frogs. Then he deposited little packets of spermatophores consisting of mucus and a sperm capsule, and enticed her to crawl over such. According to Mary Holland’s blog, Naturally Curious, the female “positions her vent, or cloaca, so as to allow the lips of her cloaca to detach the sperm capsule . . . she collects his sperm into her body and internal fertilization takes place.”

If you look closely at the two plugs attached to the leaf, you’ll notice that the one to the right still had a sperm capsule attached.

I always think of them as little bundles of cauliflower.

And another tada, the eggs were laid and began to swell up, surrounded as they were by a gelatinous mass (and this one momentarily lifted into a container at the surface of the water for educational purposes), and the parents returned to the their mole-like life below the leaf litter, to be spotted rarely until next year’s Big Night.

In yet a different wetland locale, I found Painted Turtles basking together on a log. Being ectothermic, or cold-blooded, their body temperature depends upon the environment and in the spring they need the sun’s rays to warm them up to an internal temperature of 63˚ – 73˚.

Because the spot where I saw the turtles was not a vernal pool, but rather a bog, I didn’t spy any Wood Frog or Spotted Salamander egg masses, but there were tadpoles of another type upon which to dine, like this Bullfrog, which takes two years to mature.

And leeches. A plethora of leeches floated past the rock upon which I stood. Not all leeches suck human blood. Many prefer that of amphibians and reptiles.

Visiting several other vernal pools, Predacious Diving Beetles soon made themselves known in several forms, from this, the larva, aka Water Tiger, with its strong mandibles, ready to grasp prey at any second . . .

to an adult.

The body of a Predacious Diving Beetle is oval with oar-shaped hind legs that feature fringed hairs to increase stroke power. So here’s a thing I learned last week and now try to pay attention to: when swimming, Predacious Diving Beetles kick both hind legs simultaneously, whereas Water Scavenger Beetles, which look similar, kick their hind legs alternately.

Oh, and do you see the Mosquitoes wriggling behind the beetle?

Speaking of behind, look at the beetle’s behind–it’s an air bubble. They trap oxygen-filled air between their wings and body, prolonging their time under water. and thus can stay under for long periods of time, returning to the surface when it runs out.

So back to the Mosquitoes. Meet the third stage in their life cycle (egg, larva, pupa) known as a tumbler. Tumblers lack mouth parts because they don’t eat while undergoing the magical transformation into an adult. Spying this means that very soon biting female Black Flies and Mosquitoes will be part of the landscape. They’ll annoy us, but we need to remember that they are food for others, like tadpoles and birds and dragonflies.

As for the biting insects, I’ll try to practice mind over matter because I can’t resist the opportunity to learn more and be present as I hone my focus above and below the water’s surface.

The Mayfly Challenge on April Fool’s Day

~ lmachayes

It’s April Fools Day and the weather tried to trick us into thinking it is still winter by adding at least two inches of snow to our world that is for the most part . . . still covered by at least a foot of snow. In some places it is even deeper. In others, bare ground and leaf litter are visible. And evergreen plants like Goldthread and Wintergreen and Partridgeberry show off their shades of green.

But this isn’t about snow or flowers. Instead, I want to take you into the water. YES. It’s time to stop tracking on a regular basis and begin squatting beside open water and peering in, which a friend and I did just this week when we were checking on beaver activity.

We didn’t spy any beavers, though there was lots of activity including these logs underwater, which told us the family was still in residence. But . . . take a look at the logs. Yes, you can see the chew marks left by the beavers as they dined on the cambium layer. There’s so much more though.

Each of those dark spots on the logs . . . Mayfly larva! A fly fisherperson’s delight. Ours as well. We know from experience because this past year we’ve dipped D-nets into streams in all seasons, that the larval forms of aquatic insects are alive and well whether there is a foot of ice or no ice. But where the ice has started to melt (and that’s not everywhere yet, though this week is supposed to warm up), life that has been there all along is emerging before our eyes.

Did you know that there are 614 species of Mayflies in New England? Eggs are laid in the water, where the larval form or nymph develops. #1.Shows the egg that had been deposited on the bottom maturing into a nymph. #2 is the nymph growing  in stages called instars until it matures. By #3, the mature nymph or emerger swims to the surface. Some species shed their skin and becomes a dun or subimago on the water’s surface. First It floats until its wings are dry enough for flight. This is a unique stage in the insect world as only Mayflies are fully winged before the adult stage. Others climb upon vegetation or an upright object to everge. For #4, you can see that the dun flies into bushes or trees along the water’s edge, where it sheds its skin and, #5, becomes an adult known as a spinner or imago. #6. The spinner flies off to join the mating swarm. #7. After mating, the female spinner dips her eggs on the water’s surface, and they fall to the bottom where it takes anywhere from ten days to months to hatch. Finally, #8 depicts the end for both male and female spinners fall to the water’s surface and die after mating. Keep in mind, this is a general description of a Mayfly’s life cycle. 

If you look with a keen eye you can see some of what I found one day–at least ten Mayfly nymphs on a leaf. I’ve used black arrows to point to some of them. 

Here’s your challenge. Quiz #1: I’ve done the squatting for you. See if you can locate at least one Mayfly nymph in this photo.

Not all nymphs are equal–in size that is. Remember, there are 614 species. Again, if you look closely, you’ll see that this one large nymph is surrounded by two smaller ones. Notice the tails. Mayflies have elongated bodies with 2 – 3 very long, tail-like appendages called cerci at the end of their abdomens.

Here’s another reference for size as the large beetle is a Predacious Diving Beetle and there are three small Mayfly nymphs in the picture.

This is a dun or subimago who had just flown from the water. Well, I should correct that as I had picked it up from the water’s surface and let it dry its wings while resting on my finger. And then I helped it to a nearby shrub. Look at those wings.So many people don’t like Mayflies, but I find their structures and life cycle to be amazing. Take note of how “cloudy” the wings are. That’s how I know this is a dun. 

Mayflies, of course, don’t just land on bushes and trees, but some species may choose stems or rocks upon which to transform. Others meet obstacles along the way, including my pants. But again, notice those wings–another dun or subimago. And notice how the hind wing is so much shorter and rounder than the forewing.

A little bit about Mayfly anatomy. Like all insects they have a head, thorax, and abdomen, whether as a nymph, subimago, or adult (imago). The head typically is for seeing and feeding, though while Mayflies feed in their nymphal form, any mouthparts in the adults are reduced or non-functional. The thorax is the section of the body that supports three pairs of legs and two sets of wings–a forewing and a hindwing and therefore it’s located in the center of the body. In the larval or nymph form, the abdomen features gills, which are absent in the older two molts. And you can see the tails attached to the end of the abdomen. Notice, too, the gender ID. So the abdomen bears the reproductive structure and in some insects it also carries the digestive tract. 

So, Quiz #2: Male or female?

Sometimes the safe place isn’t a shrub or some other natural setting for a final molt, but rather the screened porch at our camp. Often, early in the morning, as I sit in a rocking chair to sip coffee, I’ll notice a visitor on the outside of the screen. And not just in May. These were in August.

Mayflies often molt at night by breaking out through the top of the thorax. In the process, the Mayfly pulls a fresh set of wings from inside the subimago wing cuticle. How cool is that? 

Here’s a look at the discarded exuvia or shed skin and you can see the adult to the left.

Here is a clearer view of the adult or imago, which, you remember, will only live long enough to join the mating swarm, mate, and then die.

Notice how clear the wings have become.

And those conspicuous eyes. They are like a mini-set of dumbbells. But no mouth because with such a short life-cycle, there is no need to feed.

This is a shed skin I found on the surface of a swampy section of a river.

And right next to it, the dun or subimago crawling away as its wings dried.

Quiz #3: What stage is this? And is it male or female?

Quiz #4: And what stage is this?

Not all Mayflies die on the water as there are other hazards one might encounter such as this very sticky spider web.

That’s all I have to say about Mayflies for today, but going forth, expect more of these tiny critters to appear in this space. Along with others like dragonflies and cicadas and robberflies and . . . I can’t wait. Oh yeah, and it’s almost vernal pool season too.

Thanks for taking the Mayfly Challenge on this April Fools Day.

Lost and Found Mondate

~ lmachayes

We chose a trail we’ve never hiked before, though we’ve conquered this mountain from two other trails many times over the years. Today’s choice was based on an email from Allen Crabtree, leader of the Denmark Mountain Hikers. The lovely thing about it was we walked along a snowmobile trail to the summit and so were happy to be on micro-spikes and not snowshoes or postholing. And the temperature was crisp enough to keep the snow firm, at least on the way up Burnt Meadow Mountain.

After passing by what I think was an old barn foundation, the trail continued on fairly level ground for a bit and we worried that I may have misunderstood the directions.

But that didn’t really matter because we were in the woods, together, and enjoying the fact that a fisher had loped across the landscape probably last night when the snow was still soft enough to leave impressions before this morning’s temp of 17˚.

At last the trail began to get steeper and I gave great thanks that it was such a packed trail for it made for an easy ascent. We had no idea what conditions might be under the snowmobile trail, but I suspect on a summer day this isn’t an easy way to go. Not that the other two trails are either.

My real reason for suggesting this hike to My Guy was because I wanted to revisit this site, which we’d reached previously on a exploration down from the summit in 2012.

At the time I was working on an article for Lake Living magazine entitled “Maine’s Lost Ski Areas” and interviewing various skiers and making MG tag along with me as I visited the former ski areas. “Trails hidden in the forest provide us with clues that our town fathers worked hard to create recreational areas, but also to boost the local economy,” I wrote in the article. “You can still find some of the trails and remnants of rope tows and chair lifts. When you unexpectedly come upon cement pads and towers while hiking, it’s a bit like entering a ghost town, a place that has seen a livelier day. So many people have a history with these legendary ski areas. They learned to ski at this one, met their spouse at that one, or won first place in a race.

The skiing industry began in the lakes region in 1936 when a group of ten businessmen each invested $25 and considerable labor to build the first rope tow in Maine. The Jockey Cap Ski Tow helped make Fryeburg ‘The Ski Capital of Maine’ for a brief time.

According to newspaper articles and brochures preserved by the Fryeburg Historical Society, the Fryeburg Winter Sports Committee hired Paul Lamere, a ski instructor, to run a branch of the Lamere School of American Skiing. Lessons were offered one day a week.

Because the Maine Central Railroad had a station in town, Fryeburg residents saw the ski area as a means to support businesses during the Depression. Leaflets proclaiming “Weekends for Your Winter Sports” mentioned “good motels, good restaurants, good rooms in private homes, all prices reasonable . . . use the lighted ski-tow, Friday and Saturday nights, a brilliantly lighted slope and rope to pull you up the hill, a new thrill for winter sports enthusiasts” were distributed in the Portland area. The cost for a ride on the snow train from Portland to Fryeburg was $1.50 and a ski ticket was about $1.00.” (I should mention that the photo above was made possible to Lake Living by the Fryeburg Historical Society.)

But we weren’t at Jockey Cap today. And this ski area was a wee bit newer as I quoted former Lake Region High School principal Roger Lowell telling me he’d skied at Burnt Meadow Mountain, which had one lift and a lodge. If you look below the arrow, the top tower was the end of the line and skiers had to exit off the T-bar at that point.

From my article, “According to NELSAP (New England Lost Ski Area Project), in 1967 the Burnt Meadow Mountain Recreation Area received a loan from the Farmer’s Home Association to create a ski area that opened for the 1971-72 season, but saw its demise when several bad snow years followed. In 1980, Wendell Pierce, owner of a northern Maine ski area, purchased Burnt Meadow and renamed it Zodiac Skiway.”

“‘It had pretty good skiing from the top,’ recalls Roger, ‘but three quarters of the way down it flattened out and you had to get up steam to make it all the way without poling.’ He and his team got into trouble for going too fast. ‘WE were bombing the thing so we wouldn’t have to skate to the lift,’ he says.

While there on his own one day, Roger learned about a race. After discovering he couldn’t inspect the course, he found himself last in line. ‘I figured what have I got to lose so I went fast. It didn’t matter if the gates were down a bit. You would have thought I was Jean-Claude Killy.’

Roger won the race and received a blue ribbon similar to what they award at the Fryeburg Fair. ‘I think it said something like FIRST on it,’ he says, a wry look on his face. ‘It was very generic. A conversation piece.’ That was the last race held there. The ski area continued to lose money and closed in 1982. The T-bar still stands intact.” That was 11 years ago, but today’s photos speak to the fact that it still stands intact.

It didn’t take long for us to reach the summit, where we walked around taking in the views beyond, this a look toward Stone Mountain, which is accessible via the Twin Brook Trail.

Finally, we sat upon lunch rock to enjoy our sandwiches, followed by Fly Away Farm’s Almond Biscotti with Mocha Drizzle. MG just thought it was chocolate so let’s keep that secret between us.

At last we began our descent, with a goal to find Mount Washington. And we did. Do you see it between the trees?

And then we found it again when we slipped off trail to take in the scene from a ledge. We always love to know where we are in the world. Our little world.

As we continued downhill, I was stopped in my tracks. That happens occasionally. (Insert smiley face) But this tree that leaned across the trail begged to be noticed and I’d missed it on the climb up the mountain.

Its manner of growing needles upon the trunk like no other evergreen that I know of gave me an immediate identification.

Add to that the number of needles that grow in short individual bundles: 3. Three strikes and you are out. Pitch Pine. Get it?

In the end, we thought we’d lost winter, but we found it alive and well and holding on for a wee bit longer. And even longer than that if you are at the summit of Mount Washington.

At the same time, because we are on the cusp of a seasonal change, we found spring in the form of swelling Red Maple buds . . .

and Striped Maple.

We also found some stuff left behind by other recent hikers. We left the sunglasses on a cairn at the summit.

And a glove at the trail intersection.

In fact, just after putting the glove on the sign we found an optic cleaning clothe–maybe to clean the sunglasses?

This was indeed a lost and found Mondate.

Oh, and thanks again to Allen Crabtree for his write-up and directions to the trailhead and mention of my friend Marita Wiser’s book: Wrote Allen: “The origin of the name “Burnt Meadow” is not clear.  Most trail guides attribute the lack of large trees on the mountain to the Great Fires of 1947 which also burned more than 80% of the old homes in Brownfield.  Marita Wiser, in her Hikes in and around Maine’s Lake Region says,”…the name of Burnt Meadow was established long before [1947].  It is shown on…an 1858 map of Brownfield.’”

Making Everything Count

~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

On May 21, 2022, My Guy and I hiked Albany Mountain Trail in the White Mountain National Forest on a reconnaissance mission. Ours was to note the number of Lady’s Slippers either in bloom or prepping to do so because it was May 24, 2021 that we last counted blossoms. On the 21st of this year none were in bloom, and honestly, we only spotted 21 plants.

And so we returned this afternoon, which found us enjoying Raspberry Bars baked by Fly Away Farm while sitting upon dessert bench at the summit.

On the way up, however, we did keep track of the Pink Lady’s Slippers, including this one that featured last year’s seed capsule.

Occasionally there were spots such as this, where a bunch showed off their lovely moccasins.

But our perennial favorite is the bunch of ten. It’s such a favorite that when we encountered another making his descent, My Guy suggested he hike back up about a quarter mile with us to see this display. He was grateful that we’d shared this special find with him.

But it wasn’t just Lady’s Slippers to note for when we last climbed up two weeks ago, the mosquitoes and black flies were thicker than thick and we practically ran down to finish the route as quickly as possible. Today, there were a few, but it was hardly notable and we gave great thanks to dragonflies such as this male Common Whitetail Skimmer for patrolling the territory.

We found two others on patrol, these being Garter Snakes. I really wanted to stay and watch their movements, for I suspected that the one toward the top was the larger female and the lower one might be a male, but My Guy had Lady’s Slippers on his mind and standing to watch a couple of snakes didn’t tickle his fancy.

And so we moved on, leaving the slitherers to their own intentions without interruption.

But the real star of the show (don’t tell the Lady’s Slippers) was the beaver. You see, there is a dam about a half mile in that hikers must cross to access the rest of the trail and the last few years it has been a bit easier. But this year . . . things have been different and today we met the engineer who made it so.

He was hard at work making repairs when we first came to the dam and we had to time our crossing accordingly.

We watched him as he watched us, sure that he’d slap the surface with his tail in an effort to tell us to move on. Surprised were we when he did not.

Once on the other side, when we encountered the first group of hikers making their way down, we mentioned the beaver. They hadn’t seen it upon their ascent but their group of seven said they may have been the reason for its need to work for apparently they’d messed the dam up a bit as they crossed. It’s not an easy thing to do–the crossing that is.

Upon our own descent we looked about as we reached the dam and tada, there he was swimming away.

And then we got the message–a tail slap! A statement, indeed.

A bit muddier for the experience, we both made it back across as quickly as possible.

And gave great thanks for the opportunity to make everything count.

Lady’s Slippers: 2020: 150; 2021: 47; 2022: 266!!!!

Dragonflies: Never enough, but love how many we saw.

Garter Snakes: 2

Beaver: 1

And as My Guy noted: 266 Lady’s Slippers today + 286 Lady’s Slippers at Overset Mountain on Monday = 552 this week!

But who’s counting?