Gallivanting Around Great Brook

February 28, 2016February 28, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

It’s been a couple of months since Jinny Mae and I last checked in on the doings in the Great Brook neighborhood off Hut Road in Stoneham, Maine.

H-Forest Road 4

Forest Road 4 isn’t plowed in the winter. That’s OK. We welcomed the opportunity to admire our surroundings as we hiked above the brook. So much to see that is so often missed as one drives.

h-paper birch blue

Though the temperature was on the rise, the blueness of a few paper birch trees reminded us that it’s still winter.

h-sphagnum

We found sphagnum moss looking a bit frosty but cheering us on with its pompoms.

h-chaga

On more than one yellow birch, chaga offered its medicinal qualities in quantity.

h-yellow and white partners

We came upon a special relationship–a yellow birch and a white pine. Rooted in this place, they embrace and share nutrients.

h-yellow birch:white pine

Forever conjoined, they dance through life together.

h-GB1

Finally beside the brook, we couldn’t see the rocks below very well, but watching the water race over them gave us a better understanding of the forces that have smoothed their surfaces.

h-GB south

In a few more months, we’ll stand here and wonder where all the water went.

h-ice drips& bubbles

But today, it was the ice formations that we couldn’t stop admiring. Bubbling water below and dripping ice above, each adding to the other and both constantly changing.

h-ice 2

So much variation on the same theme as coursing water freezes into ice while at the same time carving into the rocks below.

h-ice pedastle support

Looking beneath, we noticed pedestals shaped like elephant legs providing support to shelves above.

h-gb ice castle

Occasionally, we saw crystalline turrets, translucent arches and frozen chandeliers of castles captured in ice.

h-sets of ice feet

Sometimes, it seemed like ballerinas danced on their tippy toes. That’s what water really is, isn’t it–a dance through time with changing tempos along the way?

H-GB

We crossed Great Brook and then paused for a moment as we decided which trail to follow. We took the road less traveled by. I laughed when Jinny Mae referenced Robert Frost’s poem. My former students don’t read this, but that was one of the poems they had to learn and recite. And my guy–poor soul–knows it through association. Actually, he’s a better soul for that reason.

h-tree owl 2

So you may not see it, but Jinny Mae and I did–an owl hidden in the ash bark. Not a live owl, mind you. Well, that depends on your perspective, I suppose.

h-heal all

Within minutes, we knelt to admire Selfheal or Heal All (Prunella vulgarism) and its hairy calyces.

h-survey sign

We stood by the survey marker sign and realized it had been attached for many years.

h-survey marker

Perhaps 51 years!

h-frullania 1 on red oak

h-frullania 2

On a red oak, we pause to look at the reddish-brown liverwort–Frullania. There’s history in this species–dating to the earliest land plants. No matter how often we see it, and we see it often, we feel privileged.

h-leaves and ice

The trail switches from snow to ice to water and back again. Ice covered leaves draw our appreciation.

h-fnd 1a

In the neighborhood, we pause to check on the local families.

h-fdn 1 chamber

I climb down to the root cellar and discover that the porcupines haven’t visited all winter. Old scat still present in there, but nothing new.

H-Fdn 2

Moving up the colonial road, we come to the second residence.

h-fdn 2 yellow birch on mantel

Atop the mantel grows an old yellow birch. Like any TV screen above the fireplace, it offers an ever-changing display.

h-brook upland

We moved toward Shirley Brook, where we were once again in awe of ice.

h-water and ice1

Water and ice: a relationship in constant flux–at the moment.

h-brook structure

Beside the brook is a stream that’s currently dry. We look edat the snow-covered stonework that crosses over it and realized we need to return and try to figure out what the structure might have been and why it was built here. Stuff like this adds to the intrigue. Man-made. When? Why?

h-spider 3

Poor Jinny Mae. She had to wait for me constantly as I shifted from one lens to the next. But check out this spider.

h-stone piles 1

We are the queens of bushwhacking and love discovering the stories hidden in the woods. In this neighborhood, lots of stone walls tell part of the story. Rock piles enhance the chapters.

h-moose scat 1

And then we found more. Fairly fresh moose scat insisted upon our attention. We’d noted that there were some old snowshoe hare runs and we found some moose browse on a nearby striped maple, but we were surprised that there weren’t many fresh tracks. Where have all the mammals gone?

h-moose scat 2

This scat is some of the biggest moose scat we can recall seeing. A few gems followed me home.

h-lady's slipper

And then we happened upon something neither of us have seen before–at least that we are aware of. We had our ideas about what winter weed this is, but since we haven’t encountered it before our sense of wonder kicked in.

h-lady's slip pod 2

Back home, I looked it up in Weeds and Wildflowers in Winter by Lauren Brown. The capsule is woody and about two inches long. As you can see, it’s closed at both ends, but opens along slit lines–six in all, actually.

h-lady's bract at base of pod

At the back end, a long, curved bract.

And at the front, the slipper gone by. Yup–Lady’s Slipper (Cypripedium acaule). And the reason we didn’t recognize it–because it’s a rare find in the winter woods. Wow.

h-bear 1

We’re on our way out when we spotted these marks on beech bark. We’d looked and looked because we know this is bear territory.

h-bear NW

Compared to other bear trees, these claw marks are newer than most I’ve seen. Jinny Mae was as excited about the find as I was. I’d told her earlier as we scanned the trees that my guy has come to an unconfirmed scientific conclusion that bear claw marks appear on the northern side of trees. This one didn’t let us down. Based on the location of the sun that’s grew lower in the sky, these are on the northwestern side of the tree.

At last it was time to drive home.

Gallivant: go from one place to another in the pursuit of pleasure or entertainment. Over five miles and almost five hours later, we were thankful for the opportunity we shared today to gallivant around Great Brook.

Pure Bliss Mondate

February 1, 2016February 1, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

It took us a while to get our act together today, but finally we heard the call from the Ledges Trail up Pleasant Mountain. Since it was late morning, we packed a lunch. Very late morning. 11:30 a.m. start.

And a very warm day. February first and the temperature is 53˚ in western Maine. Unreal. The breeze was downright balmy and more reminiscent of a spring day. Will the ground hog see his shadow tomorrow?

Trail conditions varied from mud and soft snow to slush and ice. Not a snowshoe-type of day at all. We haven’t had too many of those lately. Micro-spikes were the right choice.

Of course, I was still a slow-poke. But that’s okay because as he waited for me along the way, my guy began to notice his surroundings. OOOOh my! He started pointing out the oddities in the beech trees.

This one struck him as an elbow–well, not literally. Popeye’s biceps perhaps.

And then there were the two that joined hands in a woodland dance.

We even found a couple kissing a long gone relative.

So what causes a tree to graft? Under the bark is the cambium layer, which consists of living cells. Outside the cambium layer, the cells divide and multiply, thus creating bark tissue. And inside, they create woody tissue. The newest cells act as a two-way system–moving water and minerals that the roots sucked from the soil up into the tree and carbohydrates made by the leaves down.

In order for two trees to create a union by fusing together they have to be compatible–so a joint fusion occurs within one tree or between two trees of the same or closely related species.

Of course, the tree or limbs have to be in direct contact and under pressure for the cells to naturally graft. A dash of magic also helps.
This woodland spirit laughs at us for gawking at its relatives. But really, it is amazing and worth a wonder.

Here and there, leaves litter the trail. But this one stopped me in my tracks. Green leaves? How can that be? Another mystery.

Because the snow was melting rapidly, we found bare ground here and there showing off some treasures, like these Canada mayflower leaves. We all know that one person’s junk is someone else’s treasure–so for every person who sees this as a dead leaf, I bet there are as many of us who are fascinated by the design left behind by the vascular system and rejoice in the nutrients the leaves have contributed to the earth as nourishment for future generations.

That wasn’t the only find. I’m reminded by this sight that Trailing Arbutus, also known as Mayflower, has evergreen leaves. If today’s temperature is any indication of what’s to come, it won’t be long for these harbingers of spring to bloom. I’m not ready for that and can only hope that the woodland spirit can pass on the word that more snow would be most welcome.

Glacial striations mark some of the bare rocks. Those glaciers must have been crazy as they retreated–melting and scraping this way and that. ;-)

No matter what season we pass by this rock, water drips from it. Today, it’s suspended in a milky icicle.

Mossy maple polypores gathered at the base of this old tree while

smooth rock tripe and common toadstool lichen decorated the rocks nearby.

Lunch rock provided us a view of the middle basin of Moose Pond on the left and lower basin on the right.

We stayed just long enough to eat our sandwiches on the ledges. We didn’t have time to head to the summit. On the way down, both of us left plenty of handprints on the trees that grow beside the trail–happy to have their support.

We had an errand to run in Portland this afternoon, and then it was home again, home again, jiggity jig. Our day was topped off with a supper of blueberry pancakes coated with maple syrup while watching the Beanpot hockey tournament. Thanks to Pam Lord Bliss for the amber treat–this Mondate was truly pure bliss.

Three-legged stool

January 29, 2016January 30, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Support comes in many manners and I can’t help but think that many of us would probably benefit from having more than two legs to stand on. But then again, we have family and friends to lean on and serve as our third leg of the stool.

It’s the same in nature, where three-legged stools don’t necessarily resemble seats at all. Take for instance the tree lungwort (Lobaria pulmonaria). A friend and I stumbled across this leaf-like lichen as we tramped up and down several ridges today.

When it’s wet, the upper side turns bright green while the underside is creamy white. Today we found some that ranged from aqua to olive in color.

The thallus or body is easily distinguished by its lobed form. The ridged and pitted surface is said to resemble lung tissue–thus the common name. During the Renaissance era, when the physical form of a plant was thought to determine its use, tree lungwort’s similarity to the structure of a lung led to the belief that it healed respiratory problems.

So here’s the thing. Typically, lichens consist of two partners who benefit from the presence of each other–one being fungal and the second being an algal partner. (You may have heard the old line that Freddy Fungi and Alice Algae took a liken to each other and live symbiotically ever after). For the tree lungwort, the fungus provides the rigid structure and anchorage. Simultaneously, the algae gives it the ability to gain energy from the sun–think photosynthesis.

But . . . there’s a third partner or leg of the stool for tree lungwort–the fungus and algae live in a relationship with a blue-green cyanobacteria that helps the lichen gain energy from the sun, but also absorbs and fixes nitrogen from the atmosphere. When thalli eventually fall off trees, the decomposing lungwort adds nitrogen to the forest floor.

While this leafy growth uses the tree as support, it doesn’t take any nutrients from its host, making it an epiphyte. In our area, moose are said to feed on it. And natural dyes may be made of it.

Its leaf-like structure provides an example of a foliose (think foliage) lichen.

There are two other forms of lichen. Common button lichen with its thin gray surface or thallus and flat, black disks is an example of a crustose lichen (think crust of bread).

Beard lichen is a fruticose (think fruit–branching structure like grape branches). I don’t know about you, but mnemonic devices help this old brain.

As is our habit, we paused often to take a closer look–at the vascular system of a decaying beech leaf resembling a stained-glass window;

The false tinder conks decorating an old paper birch;

The rings of life healing a hemlock wound;

A winter crane fly pausing during flight;

A pyrola peeking out from the snow;

And a speckled alder catkin preparing for its spring fling.

We shared three hours and three miles plus our knowledge, wonder and support–performing as the third leg of the stool for each other.

The Homecoming

January 22, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

The other day a friend handed me a piece of paper and told me to read it later. We were about to go tracking, so I stuck it into my pack and forgot about it. This afternoon, as I prepared for a hike up Mount Tom in Fryeburg, I found the paper.

I’d originally thought it was an article, but instead, it’s a quote from the October 1967 issue of Yankee. A friend had given it to him and he passed it on to me: “We hunt as much for the memories as for the birds. For the memories, and for the hours afield in the autumn woods where a man can get back, for a while, to remembered realities, to a time and a way of life close to the eternities of the land. It’s hard to explain this to the outlander who never knew such things. He thinks of it as an escape. To us it is more like a homecoming. We live here, of course, but only in the leisure after we’ve done the stint at our jobs do we go out on the hills and up the brooks. There we find the truth of our world, even the truth of ourselves.” ~author unknown.

I reflected upon those words as I slipped into my snowshoes at the trail head. I’d made a decision to end one of my freelance writing/editing jobs this week (not Lake Living, which is my all time favorite writing job. Hard to believe the spring issue will mark my tenth anniversary!) and declutter my world.

It will never happen, but certainly the porcupines that inhabit this mountain should consider the same.

I had a hunch I’d see evidence of their existence once I got up into the hemlock neighborhood, but a small stump dump early on provided ample den space.

I didn’t even realize as I climbed toward the summit that I wasn’t taking too many photos. Instead, I was cued into the tracks left behind by two people who had traveled this way before me and the porcupines, deer, hare, coyote, bobcats and little brown things. While the people stuck to the trail, I wandered this way and that as I tried to decipher what I saw–my own zig zag trail reminiscent of those I followed.

I didn’t get lost today, though truly, when I do get fake lost, it’s a time to understand myself better– listening to my inner self sort things out. Most of today’s trail is an old logging road. And most of what I saw was familiar. Perhaps that’s what it’s all about–knowing a place so no matter where you are, you recognize it.

The community changes abruptly from birch, beech and maple saplings to hemlocks and pines. I, too, can change abruptly and have a tendency to be blunt. I don’t see that as a bad thing, though occasionally I do regret what I’ve said.

And then I began to look up and notice other parts of my surroundings like these old deer or moose scrapes on striped maples. Forever scared, they provided nourishment in the past–and may do so in the future when the time is right.

One striped maple still sported a few seeds that have yet to go forth in the world. What’s holding them back? Don’t they know the time has come to let go?

Amongst the evergreens a paper birch offered a twist on life. I believe this is the result of sun scald–the heating and freezing of thin bark. Typically, the white reflective bark helps the tree avoid such danger–but something obviously happened to cause this candycane-like stripe..

Though it was getting late in the day, rays of sunshine illuminated the darker side of things.

As I followed more porcupine tracks at the summit, a dried leaf captured my attention. In my ongoing attempt to draw an imaginary line showing the boundary of white oak, I added another dot.

Nestled within animal tracks, three leaves told me more about the members of this neighborhood–white oak, beech and Northern red oak.

So then I searched for the white oak trees–and found them. My bark eyes still don’t cue into this one immediately and I need to learn its idiosyncrasies, including its ashy gray color and blocky presentation.

I discovered a snow-covered nest that made me ask–bird-made or human-made? It’s constructed of reindeer lichen and sits upon a base of sticks about four feet up in a scrubby old oak. I was as excited by the find as I was by my wonder and lack of an answer. What fun would it be to know everything?

From the summit, I could see Pleasant Mountain’s ridge–giving me another sense of home. The view isn’t spectacular, but that isn’t the point.

Heading down, a second old favorite came into view–Kearsarge North. I stopped frequently as I descended–to listen and watch. And smell. Twice, a strong cat-like pee odor tickled my nose. The tracks were there, but I couldn’t find any other bobcat evidence. One of these days.

A rainbow of color presented itself among the paper birch trees–such variation for what is commonly called white birch.

Near the bottom, the Mt Tom cabin speaks to an earlier time when living off this land was the norm. Though I like to think that I could stay here by myself for a week, I’m not so sure. Of course, that would force the issue and surely the truth about myself would be revealed. Maybe it’s best left a mystery. ;-)

Before slipping out of my snowshoes, I paused beside the staghorn sumac. It was my height, so I had an opportunity to examine its hairy features closely. Animal from The Muppets must have cloned himself.

There was a time when I was easily unnerved being in the woods alone. And I still have moments–especially when a ruffed grouse erupts. Geesh–that can certainly make my heart sound like it’s going to jump out of my body. But, the more time I spend out there, the more time I want to spend out there–exploring, discovering, wondering. This afternoon, I finally followed the full moon home, thankful to find even an inkling of my spirit. I recognize that the word “home” has come to mean more than one place. Our abode is our home, but time in the woods is also a homecoming.

Going With The Flow Mondate

January 4, 2016January 5, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

Our first Mondate of 2016 had us swerving this way and that and never quite reaching the summit. Such is the way of life–and our best choice is to go with the flow.

We drove to Hurricane Mountain Road in North Conway to begin our trek up the obscure Red Tail Trail. Well, it’s not really obscure. Mountain bikers know it well. And at least a half mile of the trail is part of the Cranmore Conservation Easement held by the Upper Saco Valley Land Trust. I’m going to lead a hike for them in a couple of weeks, so I dragged my guy along for a reconnaissance mission.

And we got lost. Fake lost once again. This time, the wrong trail–the Kettle Ridge trail, which isn’t signed. That was my first clue. The second was that we were immediately climbing and I couldn’t hear water. I’ve only explored part of the Red Tail Trail once before with Jesse from Upper Saco Valley LT so I knew it followed the brook beside Hurricane Mtn Road from the start. After about fifteen minutes of climbing and not feeling like it was right, we retraced our steps and I found the trail sign I’d been looking for–hidden behind some trees. Lesson to those who follow me–you never know if I’m leading you astray ;-)

Two signs actually within a matter of minutes and we were golden.

For about a half mile the trail follows a nameless brook. It must have a name, but I can’t find it anywhere so I’m calling it Red Tail Brook. I was looking for interesting things to share with people and as usual, nature didn’t let me down.

Water created icy legs as it cascaded over the rocks.

Speaking of rocks, I can’t begin to imagine the moment that this boulder landed beside the brook. It must have created quite a roar and thud. If a boulder rolls in the woods and no one is around to hear it . . .

My guy begrudgingly posed beside it.

And Red Tail Brook flowed behind.

Atop the boulder, polypody ferns let us know that the temperature was in the teens. Fortunately, we were out of the wind as we were on the backside of Mount Cranmore.

Life on a rock! Life rocks. And this rock is full of life.

One itty bitty piece of life clung precariously with hopes of taking hold on a permanent basis. I’m not sure this boulder is the right choice, but a yellow birch scale clings tentatively.

Yellow birches need moist conditions to germinate and grow. Moss-covered conifer logs and stumps, along with rocks offer the best chance for survival.

We were in Eastern hemlock territory so hemlock cones, seeds and scales were also abundant.

As were red squirrel middens.

It may be a single track bicycle trail, but it’s not a single turkey trail. Their oversize prints covered the lower part of the range.

From top to bottom, deer prints crisscrossed the trail.

We also saw plenty of snowshoe hare tracks. Though my guy claims he saw an actual hare, I can at least say that I knew by the signs left behind that they’d been active.

Prints below a 45% cut on a shrub and plenty of milk duds–aka snowshoe hare scat–were evident everywhere we turned.

My bark addiction is not to be denied. A wee bit of light brown between furrows makes me think I’m looking at Northern red oak, until I recognize the flattened ridges and gnarly furrows and realize I’m starring at a big tooth aspen tree. Of course, its leaves with those well-cut teeth and flattened stems serve as a banner.

False tinder conks and artist conks decorate the trees.

After lunch (PB&J, some yummy chocolate raspberry bars my sister made and hot cocoa), we left the brook behind and began to ascend the mountain via a number of switchbacks. My guy, of course, was always ahead as he appears here–disappearing into the trees.

The community kept changing–sometimes we were in a recently logged area where paper birch, gray birch and cherry trees dominated the landscape.

Other times it was a mix of evergreens, including white and red pine, hemlocks, firs and spruce trees.

And then the S-turns got serious–one curve after another. The higher we climbed, the more we realized that there were a lot of false summits before us, but a glorious view behind us.

Mount Washington and Kearsarge North provided a brilliant display.

With my telephoto lens, I pulled in the Mount Washington Observatory and fire tower atop Kearsarge.

The Mount Washington Valley spread out below us. We felt like we were so close to the connecting trail between Mount Cranmore and Black Cap Mountain, but the sun lowered and we’d left our headlamps behind. Every time we thought surely the next turn would be the summit, we were wrong. So . . . rather than worrying about reaching that destination, we decided to turn around and head back down the trail. At first, we bushwhacked together and then it became a game. We took turns as one of us bushwhacked while the other followed the trail, curious to see where we would meet. Competition took over, and we were soon running to beat the other to our meeting spot–wherever that may be. Somehow, what took us a while to climb up turned into only an hour’s journey down.

I, of course, got off track a couple of times and had to yell to my guy to figure out his location. He had the last chuckle when I chose a wet spot for my final shortcut-turned-longcut.

At last we reached the trailhead, tired but exhilerated. On this Mondate we went with the flow and loved the opportunity to learn and play together along the way.

Book of January: A Guide to Nature in Winter by Donald W. Stokes

January 1, 2016March 13, 2019 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

Book of January

I have a number of winter nature books, but one of my go-to favs is A Guide to Nature in Winter by Donald W. Stokes. My copy is old (1976–it was a very good year–I graduated from high school) and a bit weathered, but that’s because it has seen frequent use.

Divided into eight field guides, Stokes covers all aspects of winter: winter weeds; snow; wintering trees; evidence of insects; winter’s birds and abandoned nests; mushrooms in winter; tracks in the snow; and woodland evergreen plants.

For each topic, pen-and-ink drawings by illustrator Deborah Prince and the author are included in the key, as well as natural history descriptions.

The natural history descriptions are just that–Stokes’s descriptions are part of the story that Kevin Harding of the Greater Lovell Land Trust reminds us to share with others. Here’s an example: “St. Johnswort (Hypericum perforatum)–An old country custom in Europe was to hang a special yellow-blossomed plant in your window on the eve of St. John’s Day (June 24), in order to repel bad spirits and counteract the evil eye. In general, the presence of this plant was considered a good omen, and since it was thought that the plant warded off lightning and revealed the identity of passing witches, St. Johnswort was allowed to prosper around the farmhouse. It became known as St. John’s Plant or St. Johnswort (wort meaning “plant” or “herb”). When the plant immigrated to North America it left its traditions behind, and although still as effective as it probably ever was against evil, St. Johnswort is now seldom used for that purpose.” Of course, then he goes on to describe how the plant grows and the seed heads that will appear in the winter landscape.

One of the things I’ve learned from this book is to keep it simple. In the chapter about winter trees, Stokes encourages the reader to begin with the six most common deciduous trees: oak; maple; ash; beech; birch; and aspen. Learning these along with the evergreens provides you with knowledge about 80% of the trees in your forest. I’ve spent the last couple of years developing my bark eyes. I still have much to learn, but can eliminate the common species when I encounter bark I’m uncertain about.

It’s well worth taking the time to read A Guide to Nature in Winter from cover to cover–it’s an easy and enjoyable read. I say it won’t take long–unless you are like me and you pause to underline (yes, I mark my books up–even write in the margins, oh my!) details and take time to understand what you do see along the trail. I probably should invest in a more up-to-date copy, but I feel right at home engrossed in the one that I have.

And it’s also easy to turn to a particular chapter to figure things out. The simplified, illustrated keys should bring you quickly to an identification. And as I said before, the natural history description will further enhance your learning.

The book is available at Amazon.com, but if you live near an independent book store like Bridgton Books, then I strongly encourage you to shop there.

A Guide to Nature in Winter: Northeast and North Central North America, by Donald W. Stokes, illustrated by Deborah Prince and the author, published 1976, Little, Brown & Company.

The Wonders of Wilson Wing

December 30, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 8 Comments

A wander at Wilson Wing Moose Pond Bog Preserve is the perfect way to celebrate the start of snow season. The 20.7 acres of land near Horseshoe Pond that was donated by the Wing family combined with the twelve acres surrounding Sucker Brook that The Nature Conservancy previously owned create the Preserve, which is a Greater Lovell Land Trust property.

My friend Jinny Mae and I donned our snowshoes and headed off on the trail, not sure what we might find. It was snowing lightly when we started, so we didn’t expect to see any mammal tracks.

Thus we were delighted with our finds–especially this one which was rather fresh. A look at the formation and we knew we had a member of the mustelid or weasel family. A few measurements of prints, straddle and stride–and we determined it was a mink.

In true mink fashion, it enjoyed a slide into the brook. We also saw mice, red squirrel, deer, bird and domestic dog tracks–some were blurred by the snow, but the pattern and behavior helped us come to a conclusion. Well, the bird stumped us at first. It wasn’t clear at all. But then we saw juncos. And under the platform were clear prints beside some muted ones.

Though we neither saw nor heard any red squirrels, their presence was well pronounced. I was surprised to see a midden. All fall, I searched for caches. Usually cones are piled in various places, but this year I found only a few. Were they fooled by the warm weather?

I don’t know if it’s because it is winter and everything seems more pronounced or what, but the ash bark appeared chunkier and corkier than ever. Of course, the snowflakes added to the scene.

We were beside Sucker Brook, which flowed with winter magic.

And ice. Its many forms of presentation always fill me with awe and wonder.

And whimsy. Check out these gigantic feet and

the hemline of this snowy skirt.

Another favorite (oops, I forgot, everything is my favorite, but these really do stop me in my tracks–or snowshoes) is hobblebush. In any season this shrub provides an incredible display, but its the winter buds that are especially astounding. (OK, wait until it blossoms and I’ll be saying the same thing.) While most buds have waxy scales that protect the leaves, hobblebush is naked. The same is true for witch hazel buds. What you see in these photos, is miniature leaves clasping each other. And embraced within, the flower bud. Here’s hoping the snow provides warmth until spring.

Another “favorite” display adorned a rock hidden beneath the snow.

Common polypody ferns seemed to hold the snow tight between their curled blades. That made us pause and wonder once more.

And because we did so, we realized that clusters of sporangia were ready to catapult their spores into the world.

They look like miniature clusters of balloons waiting to broadcast the arrival of a new year. But, why were the pinnae curled inward? It’s certainly not a stance that would protect the spores–those are to be spewed outward in order to further the population. We know that the blades curl up if conditions are dry, but it’s hardly been dry the past few weeks–lots of rain and now snow. My research turned up little, but I wonder if it’s a protective measure similar to the rhododendrons in our front yard. As nature’s thermometers, they let us know what the temperature is based on the behavior of their leaves–about 40˚ they extend outward, about 32˚ they droop and in the low 20˚s the rhodies’ leaves curl. I’m always sure they will die and drop off, but that’s not the case. Could it be the same for the polypody? Do their dense covering of scales located on the underside prevent the loss of moisture? Now I need to keep track of the temperature and see if it follows the same pattern.

Worth a wonder. Worth a thanks to the Wing family (and especially Dr. Wilson M. and June Wing) for helping to make the Preserve a place for all of us to wander.

Finally Flakes

December 29, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

White stuff fell from the sky today–a late date for our first measurable snowfall.

Yesterday, I saw a dandelion blooming in Denmark as I participated in Maine Audubon’s annual Christmas Bird Count. Today, I assume that yellow blossom is snug below about five or six inches of snow.

While on the bird count, I practiced using my new macro lens, but didn’t have the telephoto lens in my pack because it wasn’t working correctly. Miraculously, I solved that problem this morning and am back in business–taking photos with several different foci.

From the get-go, the feeders provided a source of energy and entertainment. I wonder who ruffled the red-breasted nuthatch’s feathers?

Perhaps it was a cat. Let the tracking season begin! I noticed this set leading from the barn, where we watch anywhere from one to six neighborhood cats emerge. I’m not sure which one owns these prints, but it stayed close to the house rather than making the usual venture to hunt below the feeders.

After scooping the driveway snow, I was antsy to check things out in the woods. The vernal pool is covered with slush–we need a few nights in the deep freeze to firm things up. Looks like we could hit negative digits by next week. Not sure our bodies are acclimated for that this year. Pile on the layers.

Without meaning to, I flushed three ruffed grouse–only their prints showed their presence. And my heart beat.

A flock of turkeys had also traveled my way, leaving behind their trademark signature.

I hadn’t expected too many tracks, so pointed the lens toward the snow and its presentation on a variety of subjects.

Atop asters and hardtack,

balsam fir and bulrush, each crystal clung.

Some were embraced by cinnamon and sensitive ferns,

Still others formed blankets of protection.

And then I turned my attention elsewhere. The leafy liverwort in the genus Frullania beckoned a closer look. Like mosses and lichens, liverworts are nonvascular flora.

Most are green, but Frullania is brown. As it weaves in and out of the crevasses on the ash bark, its structure reminds me of ricrac, that zigzaggy trim we used to add to sewing and craft projects.

This hornet nest always deserves an examination of structure, texture and design. Constructed from chewed up wood strips mixed with sticky saliva, this is an incredible undertaking.

Each tiny cell once housed an egg. While the males and the old queen died in the autumn, the females who mated have burrowed into tree stumps and other cozy spots to survive the winter months.

One of my favorite finds today: clusters of striped maple samaras dangling from a tree–waiting for the right moment to disperse. Insect wings come to mind.

Because the ground hasn’t frozen and we’ve had so much rain lately, I left a few slushy prints.

As I retraced my steps, I discovered I’d had company. Unfortunately, I never saw the two deer that crossed behind me. We were silent partners in the winter world.

Home again, I’m thankful for the male cardinal that graces the backyard on a regular basis. Sometimes his mate accompanies him, but I didn’t see her tonight.

It’s beginning to look and feel like my favorite season has arrived. Flakes finally fell–YAHOO!

Everything Old is New Again

December 19, 2015December 20, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 8 Comments

Sometimes my feet wander down trails I’ve traveled many times before and other times they pull me into new territory. Either way, I’m happy to bumble along.

My morning tramp began with a visit to the vernal pool. A week ago it was empty. Some rain and cooler temps suddenly mean water glazed with ice.

Continuing along, I stopped at an old gateway where granite posts mark the former opening. There is a cowpath on our property. Is this another one? Was there a barn nearby?

The split granite spoke of earlier times. Rather than pass through, as is usually my manner, my feet turned and I found myself following the stonewall in a westerly direction.

Curiously, it’s a double wall or two parallel walls, which typically indicates plowed land. That makes perfect sense, as the land was flat. But, what I noticed is that there aren’t many small stones between the outer walls as is traditionally the case. Why?

Eventually, I reached a corner, and found where all the smaller rocks had gone. They form a triangle–a common way to get rid of the little guys. I also noticed what I believe to be a well. There are wells throughout this woodland–rather curious.

Some artifacts, though rusted or broken, remain to provide further evidence that this area served a different use at one time. It now stands in tree growth and is lumbered every 30 years or so.

As the wall turned, so did I. And here I was even more confused. The wall is about eight feet wide. The reason? I can only wonder.

At the next corner, rather than continue to follow the wall, I climbed over and did some island hopping.

Sphagnum mosses display their pompom heads.

Evergreens compete for sunlit spaces.

And suddenly, snowflakes land on ice. Only flurries, but still . . . it’s snow.

At times, I was lost. Not really lost because I knew I could find my way home, but fake lost–curious about where my next steps would lead.

Among my findings as I wandered about, turkey tail fungi (Trametes versicolor), proving that they are as prolific as the tails of strutting turkeys for which they were named. And one hundred times more beautiful.

Exhibiting its winter color is a hemlock varnish shelf (Ganoderma tsugae).

Witch’s butter (Tremella mesenterica) put me under its spell. I didn’t have any pins to prick it and let the jelly juices run, thus counteracting any adverse effects, but that’s okay–I think it’s a good witch.

The ice needles are forming again, ever curious in style and design.

A different color catches my eye–deep in the woods and yet . . . and yet, the human effect leaves its mark. Don’t worry, it’s not there anymore.

Finally, I followed the deer and moose trail home, and later decided to follow a more conventional trail.

Though I explore the trails beside the brook frequently, the change is constant.

This white pine, which is actually a snag, has taken to weeping. It’s nearing life’s end. I’d cry too if my outer layers of skin were cast away as if they meant nothing.

Another snag shows off its palettes of great size–artist’s conks.

A third snag is an old favorite for pileated woodpeckers and me. I can see by the light color that it’s been visited within the last week.

Fresh holes, fresh chips and fresh saw dust.

Of course, the crème de la crème–pileated woodpecker scat filled with carpenter ant carcasses.

In the midst of it all, the inner bark of the hemlock tree decked out in its characteristic bright cinnamon red color reminiscent of the varnish shelf that grows on this species.

A false tinder conk and a tinder conk, both looking a bit like a horse’s hoof, appear ready to gallop away.

The jelly ear fungus listens attentively to all who choose to share their thoughts.

And finally, a cache on an old stump let’s me know that winter is drawing near.

At day’s end, I’m ready for the next season, confident in the knowledge that everything old will be new again.

Making a list

December 17, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

and checking it twice. That’s what the busy beavers on a friend’s property appear to be doing right now as they ready for winter.

When JoAnne asked if I wanted to see the recent beaver works, I jumped at the opportunity.

Today’s rain didn’t stop us from heading out to explore. She first discovered this new pond when she walked down a sloping field and noticed through the trees what looked like water–where it wasn’t supposed to be.

A creek flows through her neighbor’s property and once supported several mill sites.

It continues, or should I say continued, across her property, coming in from the right. That is, until things changed.

This past summer, in the middle of what is now the pond, JoAnne stood beside the then creek and marked a property boundary with pink tape.

The ribboned tree was on the far side of the creek before her new neighbors came knocking.

At a former dam site, they took it upon themselves to do their own construction. It needs work as we could see some holes, but I’ve no doubt that they’ll be on that in no time.

Their industrious nature was evident everywhere we looked. No tree species was spared. Once felled, they trimmed the branches and carried or dragged them to the water.

With their large front teeth, beavers bite chips off trunks. Their rodent teeth never stop growing so gnawing wood helps keep them in check. Because their lips are located behind their teeth, they can keep their mouths closed while they work. No need to hum a logging tune.

Some trees are particularly tasty and it seems that they like more than just the bark and cambian layer, the softwood just beneath the bark. Or perhaps they are cutting them into log-size pieces to make for easier carrying and maneuvering in the water.

Nothing was safe, including the sapling that had grown beside the shed.

Sometimes things don’t work out quite the way they intend.

The upper part catches on other trees. All that effort . . . for naught.

We stood in awe and wondered about how nature plays tricks on them occasionally.

We marveled at the thought of them standing on their hind feet to work.

And we noticed their oft-traveled roadways throughout the area.

One of the truly curious things–most of the trees have fallen toward the water. Chance? Instinct? Engineering skills? They’ve learned how to fell a tree in that direction, thus creating the quickest route back to safety?

The lodge is large. Accessible only via underwater entrances, the beaver family has protection from some predators. Outside, we could see part of their winter feed pile. We suspect there are more sticks below the water that will be available once the ice finally forms.

When all is said and done, statues like this will remain to remind JoAnne and others of these natural engineers and how they altered the land to create the water world they need for survival, which will ultimately benefit other wildlife.

As for their checklist:

*dam secure?

*lodge in good repair?

*food cut, moved and stored?

How about you? Have you made your list and checked it twice?

Toasting Chestnuts

December 15, 2015 ~ lmachayes

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire . . . ” So the traditional song goes.

Meanwhile, in Lovell, we’ve been toasting the American chestnut trees since The American Chestnut Foundation and the University of Maine recognized a tree on a local property as being the tallest in North America two weeks ago.

The final measurement: 115 feet tall. The only tree that has been found to be taller is a 121-footer that apparently is growing in a Belgium arboretum.

Why all the fuss? The American Chestnut Foundation “estimates that over four billion American chestnuts, 1/4 of the hardwood tree population, grew from Maine to Florida and from the Piedmont west to the Ohio Valley.”

These majestic trees were important to wildlife and man. Native Americans used the nuts to treat a variety of ailments. Deer, squirrels, birds and bears ate the nuts. Nuts were sold commercially and the wood was used to create furniture, fence posts and telephone poles.

All of that changed in the twentieth century.

A bark fungus or blight accidentally introduced on imported Asiatic chestnut trees began to attack the American chestnuts in the early 1900s. Blight symptoms include bark swelling and sucker branches.

While North America’s tallest tree isn’t located on Greater Lovell Land Trust property, we know that there are several American chestnut trees just up the road at the Heald/Bradley Pond Reserve.

Our intention–to celebrate the trees. And to try to get to know them better. It’s actually a where’s Waldo moment upon each encounter. Being a member of the Fagaceae family, which includes Northern red oaks and beech trees, the similarities throw us off.

The ridged bark is flat-topped and reminds me of the ski trails we see on Northern red oak. It takes a closer look to realize that chestnut has a wee bit different coloration and design.

The bark characteristics also remind me of aspen trees, which have flattened ridges and horizontal lines that visible on the lower portion of the trunk.

But the real clues are to be found on the ground.

Large painfully prickly burrs house the delicious nuts. They mature in the fall and fall to the ground following the first frost.

Usually three nuts reside within each burr.

The other clue–the leaves, which are longer and narrower than beech. Beech on the left, chestnut on the right.

The leaf’s margin is bristle-toothed and each hook curves inward. At the base, the blade tapers to the stem.

We paid homage to each tree before moving on.

Of course, we found other things of interest along the way–numerous grape ferns inhabit part of the trail. Their common name is reflective of the grape-like clusters of sporangia that grow on a separate stalk.

Downy rattlesnake plantain (Goodyera pubescens), though a common species of the orchid family, always stops us in our tracks. The striking leaves, with their network of silvery veins and a broad stripe down the center, resembles snake skin. They are covered in fine downy hairs, difficult to see from this photo.

Each seedpod contains 200-400 seeds–rather teeny seeds.

We also found checkered rattlesnake plantain (Goodyera tessellate), with its much more subtle green markings. Equally beautiful.

Yesterday, the labyrinth structure of tubes and pores on a Gilled Polypore (Lenzites betulina) wowed us.

Today, my second Pigskin Poison Puffball (Scleroderma citrinum) ever. This one was quite broken down and slimy rather than rubbery/leathery. But still–I recognized it immediately. My mushroom guru, Parker, was part of the group, and he thinks I’m getting better at identifying fungi. I’m not so sure about that, but this one is distinctly different from any others.

One final look at one of the mighty American chestnut trees on GLLT property.

While those chestnuts roasting over open fires are now European chestnuts, we toast the American chestnut trees of Lovell as we wonder about their future.

Welcoming Embrace

December 10, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

It was a wee bit foggy when I arrived at the trailhead for Bald Pate Mountain today. I was on a return reconnaissance mission in preparation for an upcoming hike for Loon Echo Land Trust.

As I walked along, I felt the welcoming embrace of the fog–soft in its touch as it enveloped me.

My intention was to hike to the Foster Pond Outlook first because it was getting dark earlier in the week when I’d visited. I was on my eternal search for bear claw marks. Instead, there were other discoveries to be made.

Like me, the pines were wrapped in the fog’s grace.

And the pond invisible, yet I trusted it was still there.

I discovered the light of the season . . . in leaves lingering still,.

in bark appearing snowy,

in beauty revealing inward,

in miniatures branching upward,

in droplets anticipating release,

and mountains floating beyond.

This is the season of expectation. I expected to find bear claw marks, but didn’t. Instead, I found warmth and light. And some other cool things to share with others.

I welcomed the fog and its revelations. I reveled in its embrace. Happy am I for opening my eyes and heart and mind.

Rejoicing for Jinny Mae

December 4, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 8 Comments

When my friend Jinny Mae received an ominous diagnosis in June, she faced it with admirable spirit and courage. All who know her watched in awe as she underwent treatment and slowly made her way back into our midst. Despite everything, she continued to spend as much time in nature as possible, whether observing from her chair by the window, walking her dogs or eventually joining friends for tramps. And today–she received fabulous news that I learned about as I was about to hike up Bald Pate Mountain in South Bridgton. She is in remission. INDEED!

So as I did when I first learned of her diagnosis, I took her along with me in spirit on today’s hike. I would have asked her to join me for a celebratory tramp, but it was late in the day. We’ll have plenty of opportunities.

I was on a reconnaissance expedition because I’m leading a hike for Loon Echo Land Trust next weekend. Having Jinny Mae along meant I noticed some things I may have walked by previously. In the end, I discovered a mixture of my favorites and hers.

Because there is a beech forest at the base of the mountain, and it’s located adjacent to an orchard, I’m determined to find bear activity. Is this the work of a bear that gave the tree a side-ways slap?

I don’t think so. More likely, the younger trees beside it waved in the breeze enough to create slight scars that have grown with the bark.

I poked around under a large hemlock, and noticed what I thought was old deer scat. But then I realized that some of it was a wee bit longer and had the curved shape characteristic of porcupines. As I continued to look, I saw that many small twigs had nipped off ends cut at an angle–porcupine it was.

For a while, hemlocks became my focus as I checked under each for signs of activity. On the backside of one, I found this funnel weaver web–standing strong against the elements. It reminded me of someone else.

That someone would certainly have stopped by this old hemlock stump to admire these varnish shelf fungi–it wouldn’t matter to her that they are withered and old. There’s beauty in age.

Every once in a while I felt the nudge to go off the trail and explore–when J.M. keeps track of our tramps on her GPS, the line always zigzags. This rotting log caught my attention. Bear or fisher activity?

No hair or obvious scratch marks from claws, but some scat–pileated woodpecker scat. I left it there in hopes I can show it to people on the hike and let them see that it’s filled with carpenter ant bodies.

Behind the log was this ledge. A quick look at it and I knew that a certain someone would want to inspect it.

It’s almost completely covered in smooth rock tripe. Sorta looks delicious enough to eat–if you boil it for days on end maybe. Apparently it can be used to thicken stew. Too bad I made stew the other day.

And growing among the tripe–a few polypody ferns, who also appreciate a moist, rock surface. Thanks J.M. for encouraging me to take a closer look.

While I’m on the topic of lichens, here’s one that was new to me. The rust-colored projections among the shiny brown lobes made me squat for a photo call. At home, I thumbed through my go-to lichen book, Lichens of the North Woods by Joe Walewski, and discovered that this foliose lichen is Many-fruited Pelt. Those reddish-brown projections are the fruiting bodies on the leafy margins–thus the name. One for us to learn, J.M. We’ll probably see it everywhere now as it grows on soil, moss or rocks.

And because we like to learn, here’s another–Common Toadstool Lichen. That should be easy enough to remember, given its warty appearance.

At the summit, I paused briefly to take in the views of Peabody Pond and

Pleasant Mountain. It was getting late and I still wanted to hike to the Foster Pond Outlook via the Bob Chase Scenic Loop.

And then, just as I stepped back onto the trail, I saw this print in the mud and a couple in front of it. My heart sang.

I was in bobcat territory. My favorite place to be. I only hope I have such luck next weekend and that I can pull out my David Brown Trackards to show the difference between bobcat and coyote prints.

The substrate changed a few times, but we traveled the same route.

I also found coyote prints. My hope was that since I was hiking so late in the afternoon, I might actually see one or both of these mammals, but that was asking too much. Finding evidence that they’re here is enough.

One last view–the Foster Pond Overlook. And then I followed the trail back to the parking lot, thankful to have Jinny Mae along with me in spirit as I rejoiced in her glad news. I’m looking forward to many more opportunities to wander and wonder with her.

Black Friday My Way

November 27, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

Shopping on Black Friday is the perfect tonic following a Thanksgiving feast. And so I was excited that my friend, J.M., agreed to join me for the venture–and even happier that she offered to drive.

Our destination–the MDT store in Fryeburg. Everything we needed under one sky roof.

The first department we visited was decked out in shades of red.

The rusty inner bark of this Northern Red Oak practically jumped out at us. How could we resist such temptation? Add it to the cart.

Sometimes the display made us stop and wonder.

We hunted about to make sure our identification was correct before we settled on Pitch Pine rather than Red Pine. Both share similar bark, but the former has three long needles, while the latter sports two. The correct coupon in hand, we continued on our way.

Red-belted Polypores pulled us from the main aisle to admire their construction. Talk about an exclusive offer–woohoo!

And we couldn’t resist the raspberry red pyramid of the Staghorn Sumac. A taste of Sumac Lemonade danced in our heads while we continued shopping.

About a year ago, I’d told J.M. about a salmony hue in the winterscape. As we came upon this item, she understood what I meant about the color. And I was thrilled to discover that they had plenty in stock–I had no idea that White Oak grows in Fryeburg. I’m slowly adding towns to my list–where it grows and where it doesn’t grow.

The free-form structure spoke of a dance performance. And then we realized that we were in a wind tunnel. Even though it wasn’t windy at the moment, the marcescent leaves have retained their fluid shape.

We also found variations of red in Bush-Clover, which is a typical species of this place, though we didn’t realize that at the time.

From the Bush-Clover, it was an easy transition into the texture department where more bargains awaited.

The velvety feel of the Staghorn Sumac warranted a caress. Having grown up with Poison Sumac, it always strikes me as odd to be so enamored with a member of this family. But I am.

We stepped into the next aisle and found these corn-dogs on a stick. Cattails get their common name from their end-of-season fluffy spikes or tails. Need insulation or mattress stuffing? Check out aisle 6. From food to shaving cream to antifreeze, this is a bargain you don’t want to dismiss.

There’s even a two-for-one sale.

In contrast, though graceful in appearance when leafed out, the formidable thorns of a locust tree seem to serve as a warning sign–hands off the seed pods. Not exactly what I’d call a sweet deal.

Impulse items drew our attention as well–those things we didn’t need but couldn’t resist. The spiraling of the Evening Primrose seed heads and

the curling leaves of the Sweet-Fern’s leaves begged to be noticed.

The light was starting to wan as we made our final purchases before heading home.

Our shopping trip along the Mountain Division Trail, a 4-mile long section of the rail trail in Fryeburg, had come to an end. But we were guaranteed free shipping for those purchases we couldn’t cart home.

J.M. and I bagged some exclusive specials as we hand picked the near endless stream of deals and discounts on this Black Friday. We knew we’d come to the right place . . . to practice our shopping expertise.

Trending Blaze Orange

November 17, 2015 ~ lmachayes

Donning our blaze orange, eight of the Greater Lovell Land Trust‘s docents joined me today for an exploration along the trail to Otter Rock at the Heald and Bradley Ponds Reserve.

Our destination was the Otter Rock spur, not very far, but it’s amazing how long it can take us and we were impressed that we actually reached our goal.

grape fern 1.jpg

Along the way we stopped to admire the blunt-lobe grape ferns and their separate fertile stalks, some still intact.

4 birches.jpg

And then we looked up. We’d been talking about tree bark, and right before our very eyes were four members of the birch family.

paper birch

Paper Birch (Betula papyrifera) features chalky white bark that often peels away in large sheets. The peeled bark reveals pink or orange tints, only partially visible here, but evident on other trees in the neighborhood.

yellow birch

To the left of the Paper Birch stands a Yellow Birch (Betula alleghaniensis), with its curly ribbon-like strips of bronze or yellowish-gray bark giving it a shaggy appearance.

black birch

And to its left the one that excited us most, Black Birch (Betula lenta), sporting gray bark with long, horizontal lenticels. All trees have lenticels, but they are more obvious on some than others. These slits allow for the exchange of gas so the tree may breath.

gray birch

Last in the family line-up, a Gray Birch (Betula populifolia) showing off its almost dirty appearance and chevrons below the former branch sites.

dragonfly nymph 1

At Otter Rock, we found dragonfly nymph exoskeletons still clinging to tree bark

df 2

and rocks.

shell remnants

Our discovery of shells made us wonder and smile about others who have passed this way.

wh b

Now that the leaves are gone, we delighted in the knowledge that there is so much more to see, including Witch Hazel.

witch hazel gall

We examined one of the few remaining ribbony flowers, the scalpel-shaped buds, fruiting bodies, asymmetrical leaves and a spiny gall all on one branch.

witch hazel Bob.jpg

Our very own Witch Hazel Expert, Docent Bob, demonstrated the way the seeds pop–referencing Henry David Thoreau’s discovery of this phenomenon.

docents 1.jpg

Before we headed back to the main trail, the group posed for a photo call. They all look so sporty in their blaze orange.

wild raisins

A few more finds as we walked back to the parking lot: remnants of a wild raisin (Viburnum cassinoides), so named because the shriveled fruits that remain look like raisins;

black cherry bark.jpg

Black Cherry bark (Prunus serotina), easily identified by the small scales that curl outward like burnt cornflakes or potato chips;

red oak leaves

and Northern Red Oak leaves displaying holiday colors.

Mill Stream

Though most of us parted company just beyond the mill stream, a couple of us continued on to the John A. Segur Wildlife Refuge off New Road.

Heal All

We focused our attention on winter weeds, a topic for our January 9th walk. On this old logging road, some of the Selfheal or Heal-all (Prunella vulgaris) stands at least a foot and a half tall. As pretty as it is in the summer, it’s still a sight to behold in its winter structure.

evening primrose

Another to look forward to is the Evening Primrose (Oenothera biennia). Its fruits are four-parted capsules arranged in a spike at the tip of the stem, looking rather like flowers themselves.

There’s more to see, but I don’t want to give it all away.

CS view 1

My last stop for the day was a loop around the Chip Stockford Reserve. I wasn’t the only one trending blaze orange. The glow of the late afternoon sun cast an orange hue across the beech leaves.

November in western Maine. We’re happy to don our blaze orange and get out on the trails.

Wer-if-est-er-i-a-ing A-long

November 6, 2015March 12, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Thank you to my friend, Judy Lynne, who shared this word with me today. I know I do it, but I didn’t know there was a word for it. And I love that it’s an Old English word–takes me back to college days and my History of the English Language Class where we learned to read in Old and Middle English.

And so it was that today I wandered longingly through the forest in search of mystery with five other naturalists–all MMNP grads who will bring the Master Naturalist course to Bridgton in the spring of 2016.

After a tour of Lake Environmental Association’s Maine Lakes Science Center, we took care of some housekeeping items (coursework) before heading out the door. I made them practically run through Pondicherry Park–well, maybe run is an overstatement, but we moved quickly for us–not much time for werifesteriaing.

It was our afternoon tramp at Holt Pond when we allowed ourselves more time to pause and wonder.

As we started down the trail, Beth saw this snake hidden among the leaf litter. It’s the third garter snake I’ve seen this week. The day was overcast and we weren’t sure if he was coiled up because he was cold or if something had attacked him.

We stepped onto the boardwalk to view the Muddy River and it almost sank beneath our weight. The water is quite high and I suspect I know why.

Off to the side, we saw fresh evidence of beaver works.

And in the river, a lodge topped with new sticks. I think the dam down the river has probably been rebuilt.

Looking from this vantage point, the layers of communities are pronounced, with the wetland plants like leatherleaf, sheep laurel and sweet gale growing low by the river, topped by alders and small red maple trees, topped by tamaracks, topped by white pines, hemlocks and Northern red oaks.

Similar layers surrounded us with the bright red winterberries forming the creme between two wafers.

As happens each time I pass this way, I am forced to photograph the pitcher plants.

Have you ever noticed the pictures on the hairy inner lip? Do you see what I see? A woodland landscape–trees with extended branches, a layer of colorful foliage and a grassy edge leading to the lake (water in the cup)? I know the hairs and design are important for the attraction of insects, but I never really paid attention to the actual design before.

We also found more woolly alder aphids, which Joan and Ann held in their hands so everyone could get an unclose look at the squiggly insects. Rather disgusting, yet fascinating.

Even a single moment at Holt Pond translates into tranquility. (And I had to channel this moment for Judy Lynne.)

Gordon, Beth and Joan tried to keep their feet dry as we examined the plant life along the quaking bog boardwalk.

Karen spotted one cranberry and then another, and another, so everyone could sample the tart flavor. Pucker up.

Our next fun find–a raptor pellet comprised of hair and bones galore. For the naturalist course, this will come into play.

Every once in a while, I’d ask if it was raining. It was–beech and oak leaves.

While we stopped to admire several older hemlock varnish conks, something else caught our attention.

Do you know what it is?

And then Ann spotted this little tidbit–leftover from someone’s dinner. We still don’t know who ate whom. Or if it was related to our earlier find of the pellet.

What we do know is that we spent a delightful day werifesteriaing along.

As for the mystery photo–the inside of hemlock bark. This is the bark that I think of when trying to remember how trees decay–hardwoods rot from the inside out, softwoods rot from the outside in, but hemlock bark often remains. In the 19th century, hemlock bark was used in the tanning process because the tannins found in the bark preserved a hide and prevented natural decay while giving it a brown hue. At the same time, the tannin left the leather flexible and durable.

Here’s hoping you’ll have the opportunity to wander longingly in search of mystery.

Barking Up A Bridge

October 31, 2015October 31, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

On September 11, 2010, the Bob Dunning Memorial Bridge was constructed in true barn-raising fashion. The bridge is a key feature of Pondicherry Park in downtown Bridgton.

Bob Dunning, who died suddenly, was a builder, an artist, and among other things, a teacher–sharing his craft with students young and old.

To honor Bob, who treasured traditional building techniques, his friends and fellow craftsmen designed and built a covered bridge leading into the park.

“As the poet said, ‘Only God can make a tree’–probably because it’s so hard to figure out how to get the bark on.” ~Woody Allen

One of the unique things about the bridge is that each tie beam comes from a different tree species, with the bark left on. As I walk across the bridge, my eyes are always drawn to the beams.

Until I took the Maine Master Naturalist class, I recognized only a few species by their bark. But my eyes were opened to the fact that each species has its own presentation, which is true for everything in the natural world. I wanted to know all of them so I set out to teach myself, beginning with the species on the bridge. These became the focus of my capstone project for the class. I spent hours upon hours pouring over reference books such as BARK by Michael Wojtech, The Tree Identification Book by George Symonds, Manual of Trees of North America by Charles Sargent and Forest Trees of Maine by The Maine Forest Service.

I sat in front of trees and sketched them, trying to gain a better grasp of their nuances. I dragged foresters into the field and picked their brains. And I drove hiking companions crazy as I tried to point out clues.

The result was a brochure that you can pick up at the kiosk (let me know if you can’t find a copy) and a powerpoint presentation that breaks down the species by types of bark. Did you know that there are seven types of bark? I learned that from Wojtech’s book and it made it easier to note the differences.

Follow me now, as I take you across the bridge and give you a glimpse of each tree. We’ll begin on the east side (closest to Renys) and work our way west.

Beam #1: Black Cherry (Prunus serotina): Scales; gray-brown to almost black; small, rough scales randomly placed; curled outward like burnt cornflakes or potato chips.

Beam #2: Yellow Birch (Betula alleghaniensis): Peeling/Curling; bronze to yellowish-gray; curls away horizontally into thin, papery strips; shaggy appearance.

Beam #3: Red Maple (Acer rubrum): Vertical Strips; light to dark gray; almost smooth or cracked vertical, plate-like strips; curls outward on either side; sometimes bull’s eye target caused by fungi.

Beam #4: American Basswood (Tilia americana): Ridges; gray to brown; flattened, square-like ridges with parallel edges; may intersect like a woven basket every 6-12 inches.

Beam #5: Northern Red Oak (Quercus rubra): Ridges and Furrows; light colored, with rusty red inner bark; wide, flat-topped ridges run vertically parallel like ski tracks; dark, shallow furrows separate ridges.

Beam #6: Eastern Hemlock (Tsuga canadensis): Scales; cinnamon-red to gray; rounded or irregularly-shaped scales; inner bark has purplish tint.

Beam #7: American Beech (Fagus grandifolia): Smooth/Unbroken; silver-gray or grayish-green; sometimes blotched with lichen; carved initials remain visible forever; often pockmarks caused by fungi.

Beam #8: White Ash (Fraximus americana): Ridges and Furrows; ashy-gray to brown; intersecting ridges form obvious diamond-shaped furrows; look for letter “A” or pattern of cantaloupe rind.

Beam #9: Eastern White Pine (Pinus strobes): Scales; dark gray to reddish-brown; thick, irregularly-shaped scales; fine horizontal lines evenly spaced along scales like lines on a legal pad.

Beam #10: Red Pine (Pinus resinosa): Scales; mottled red and grayish-brown; flaky scales; jigsaw puzzle or sandstone appearance.

Beam #11: Sugar Maple (Acer saccharum): Vertical Strips; gray to brown; finely cracked; looks like old paint; curls away from trunk on one side; look for horizontal scars indicating work of maple sugar borer.

Beam #12: Big-Tooth Aspen (Populus grandidentata): Ridges and Furrows; greenish-brown to dark gray; V-shaped furrows intersect every 6-12 inches; flattened ridges appear sanded down; gnarly look; periodic horizontal lines; on older trees resembles Northern Red Oak at bottom and Birch toward top.

Beam #13: White Oak (Quercus albra): Ridges; light gray with reddish cast; rectangular-shaped blocks with flaky surfaces; ends of blocks curl outward; feather-like in mature trees.

Beam #14: American Elm (Ulmus americana): Ridges and Furrows; ashy-gray; diamond-shaped furrows; flat-topped ridges; alternating light and dark layers like vanilla and chocolate wafer cookies.

Beam #15: Black Birch (Betula lenta): Lenticels Visible (note: all trees have lenticels, but they are more obvious on some than others. Lenticels are tiny slits in the bark that allow for gas exchange, just like our pores); gray to brown-gray to black; may crack and form scales that curl away from trunk; long, thin horizontal lenticels.

Beam #16: Paper Birch (Betula papyrifera): Peeling/Curling; white to creamy white; peeled bark reveals pink or orange tints; small, horizontal lenticels visible.

That’s it in a nutshell. Ah, but here’s the thing. Except for the American Beech, tree bark changes as a tree ages. And beech trees can be equally confusing because some are severely affected by beech scale disease. So, just when you think you know a species, you may come upon a younger or older version and get totally thrown off. The key is to take your time, walk all the way around the tree, and look at other clues like the twig and bud formation. Touch the bark. Smell it.

And take a walk across the bridge and into the park during any season. Chances are, I’ll be there doing the same.

Thanks for joining me for this lengthy wander. I hope you’ll find time to wonder about bark.

wondermyway

Wonder along with me as I wander through the woods

Tree Bark