Sometimes we follow familiar trails and other times we go off the beaten path. Well, sometimes we go off the beaten path along familiar trails. And other times, we just plain go off the beaten path because we’ve never explored an area before, and even then, we don’t exactly follow the intended route and part of that might not have been our fault for perhaps maps and blazes didn’t correspond. But in the end . . .
Wait. Let’s start at the beginning. We drove across the border into neighboring New Hampshire for a hike and though we’d never been to this spot before, I suspected when I spotted the fruits upon the Mapleleaf Viburnum, that we’d made the right choice. Usually it’s the colors of the leaves that tug at my heart strings, for there is no other tree, or shrub in this case, that exhibits these colors in combination: pinkish-red, purple, magenta, and burgundy.
But the dark blue fruits have disappeared on most that I’ve seen this fall and so I was thrilled to discover so many upon several of this species.
We followed the trail, and then went off trail, of course, for about 2.5 miles, but noted that the description of wetlands was rather deceiving. Oh, they were there, but not clearly visible from the trail and even when we did get to the edges, we could barely see the water for buffer vegetation was so dense. That said, I’m sure the water quality was good. That said, we were in an area with some warning signs about a mining operation years ago, and so the water quality must have been compromised and we can only hope is recovering.
As we circled our way out, we noted that we could have been anywhere in northern New England for we were familiar with all the plants and trees we met. And then My Guy, who does not like mushrooms as part of a meal, spotted a bunch of Red-belted Polypores, which we both admired for a few moments.
Our first leg of the journey completed, we ate lunch and then drove down the road and wandered into the woods again to locate the site of an open pit that was last mined in the early to mid 1900s.
Since then, others have tried their hand at prospecting and if you are a “Where’s Waldo” fan, I encourage you to try to locate a trowel in the photo above.
Among the waste rock dump, I was amazed to see a Marginal Wood Fern with its bluish-green leaves and loaded with sori (groups of spores) lining the edges of each leaflet. Their dark color indicates the spores had ripened, but still visible was the whitish, translucent tissue (indusium) that is kidney-shaped, and partly covered the spores.
We left that trail behind and headed off to complete one more loop. Well, we thought it was a loop. Turns out we followed two different trails that did not meet.
But, along the way, we discovered this huge bird box, a nesting box meant to encourage Barred Owls. I’ve since read that these should be in a mature hardwood forest near water. This one was located on a conifer at the edge of an old log landing. There was water nearby, though it took us some a while to locate it. Has the nest ever been used, we wondered. The Barred Owls in our neck of the woods seem to find tree hollows in which to set up housekeeping and the fact that I hear them most nights and occasionally spot one during the day, and have for several decades means they are quite happy living here, and don’t need a box.
But I digress and return home in that last thought and we hadn’t returned home yet for we had two more discoveries to make on our rather off-course trek, the latter one being the most significant.
As I said, we eventually located a wetland after bushwhacking once we reached a dead end on the trail. We would have explored it more, but had just realized that what we thought was a loop wasn’t and we wanted to know where another trail might lead in the time we had left before heading home.
Take note of the water level. Not too low. Curious.
In trying the connect dots, we returned to our starting point of this third leg of the journey and then hiked in the opposite direction. Again we reached a dead end. And again, we bushwhacked from there and came to one rather dried up wetland. Why?
Perhaps there was a beaver upstream? We don’t know. But we did spend some time exploring it.
At first glance, it was so barren and my heart was saddened for the loss of life. Obviously, this used to be part of the forest as evidenced by the tree trunks. And then it was flooded. And now it isn’t. Since the drought? Since before that? Answers we don’t have.
My Guy explored in one direction and I moved across the mud in another and met a stump garden.
In its own dried-up way, it was a thing of beauty with lichens and mosses and plants and grasses and trees all finding their niche in the midst of such apparent devastation.
On the barkless outside, I discovered a myriad of lichens from Pixie Cups to Powderhorn (now apparently called Wands) to Red-fruited Pixie Cups.
Not to be confused with British Soldiers, which do not have cups, the Red-fruited Pixie Cups brought a smile to my face due to their goblet formation topped with those outlandish caps along the margins. The red is actually the apothecia or reproductive structures where spores develop.
Beyond the garden stump was another and even another, their roots wrapped in a forever embrace.
But the show stopper was what I spotted in the mud. A track. There were deer tracks galore. But . . . another mammal or two or three had also passed this way. Note the details.
I present to you, my dear readers, a bear print. Black Bear in this neck of the woods. The smaller toe is on the left, which means this is a right front foot–their big toes are on the outside of their feet rather than the inside like ours; better for climbing trees.
Do my arrows help you to see the parts of the foot?
Bears are waddlers, which means they have wide hips and their pattern tends to be a bit of a zig zag, with a hind foot landing near where a front foot had been. Oh, let the tracking season begin.
With two white lines, I’ve tried to trace two bear tracks that My Guy is studying.
Suddenly this desolate, dried-up space, wasn’t so bad after all.
What is a wetland? Basically, it is wet land! But more specifically, wetlands are often those transition zones between dry land and deep water.
There are four basic types of wetlands, which can be broken into even more types, but let’s stick with the four: marsh, swamp, bog, and fen.
Marshes are typically located along shores of rivers and streams, and even the coastline. Plus they can be found in the shallow water of ponds and lakes. Cattails, Arrowhead and other soft-stemmed emergent plants grow in these areas.
Swamps are found along rivers, streams, and lakes where mainly woody-stemmed plants such as shrubs and trees, like this Tamarack, grow.
Pitcher Plants and Sphagnum Moss
Round-leaved Sundews
Bogs are found in our northern climate and often are deep depressions that have no drainage. They are covered with a surface carpet of sphagnum moss and insect-eating plants like the Pitcher Plant and Sundews.
Cranberry flowers and fruits
Native Cranberries also flourish in the stagnant and acidic water of a bog.
Sphagnum Moss
Leatherleaf
Like bogs, Fens are found in northern climes, but the water is slow-moving, and does have some drainage. Layers of peat (sphagnum moss) and sedges and grasses and low shrubs like Leatherleaf may grow in these areas. The carnivorous plants like them as well.
But it’s not just the flora that makes a wetland so special. These places provide habitat for a wide range of insects and animals and birds as well. In fact, they act as nurseries, or places where any of the critters might raise young.
And as soon as the sun warms the air in the spring, friends and I scour the wetlands in hopes of discovering who is emerging on any particular day. One of my favorites to watch is dragonfly emergence (in case you are new to this blog and didn’t already know that. You can learn more here: Developing Dragonfly Eyes, but really, type “dragonfly” into the search button of this blog and a bunch of dragonfly related posts will pop up–all worth a read, I promise you.)
And like other insects, once emerged and a few days old, canoodling commences and dragonflies such as these Belted Whiteface Skimmers find each other and a presumably private place to mate. Private, that is, until I show up!
Eggs are laid in a variety of ways and places depending upon the species and this is a female Eastern Pondhawk taking a break upon a lily pad.
And here is a Forktail Damselfly laying eggs upon vegetation.
Frogs are also a highlight of a wetland, whether they are hiding in the shade on a hot summer day like this Bullfrog …
Or pausing briefly in the sun, such as this Pickerel Frog chose to do. Actually, it wasn’t so much basking as trying to remain hidden from my sight by not moving until I passed.
Those who do love to bask, (frogs do this as well) are the Painted Turtles, and the more surface area that is exposed to the sun’s beams, the better. Sometimes I’m surprised when I do capture a photo such as this one, for they are quick to sense my presence or hear me coming, and quickly slip into the water. But if you wait a few minutes, sometimes they’ll reemerge.
And there are Northern Watersnakes always on the prowl, using their tongues to make sense of their surroundings.
Mammals also use wetlands for forage for food and build homes and one of my favorites is the American Beaver, who knows the value of a wetland, and can create one in a short time by building a dam. Beavers build dams to created a deeper pond through which to navigate, for they are better at swimming than walking. They may alter the wetland to suit their needs for a few years, but then move on and let the dam breach and then a new type of wetland emerges and more critters move in and take advantage of what it has to offer.
That all said, it wasn’t until I spent more time with the animal pictured above that I realized it was actually a Muskrat–look at that thick, rounded tail, unlike the flat paddle of a Beaver’s.
And birds! Oh my. Mergansers . . .
And momma Wood Duck and her offspring . . .
and Papa Woodduck . . .
And Great Blue Herons always on the prowl for fish or amphibians know the value of the wetland as a food pantry.
So, this spring and summer and fall, I’ve been following My Guy and our friend, Bruce, beside and into and sometimes, thanks to Bruce’s drone, over a variety of wetlands.
Bruce is an early riser (understatement), and occasionally I’ll meet him at a predetermined location as we did this past weekend–before the sun has risen. Though the thought of staying in dreamland for another hour or so is enticing, I never regret the decision because we get to view the world before it officially wakes up.
And with his drone we explore these areas we cannot easily access. This is one My Guy and I walked all the way around a few weeks ago without ever spying, though we knew it was there. But Bruce and I bushwhacked through a forest of White Pine Saplings and mature trees and reached the edge before he launched his bird and we were offered a glimpse of this most beautiful wetland with pockets of water connected by meandering rivulets.
The stream turned to forest for the trees told more of the story, as they closed in and I recalled that it wasn’t far from that spot that My Guy and I walked through a damp area where Royal Ferns grew and we found one teeny tiny mushroom fruiting on a hot summer day.
The mushroom was the little Orange Peel Fungus, and its name seemed so obvious. And the soil moist despite the severe drought.
Another day we began our exploration in the afternoon beside a small pond.
And the Droney-bird picked up on the wetland to the south.
But that day what struck us as being more important was that it also took a clear picture of a sandbar in the water.
And as Bruce navigated it closer to the watery surface, we could see clear to the bottom. Mind you, it’s not a deep lake, but this is the water of Maine. Clean and clear.
And we celebrate wetlands for the critical role they play in maintaining the health of the environment.
When I think about their ability to store and filter water and act as a natural sponge, absorbing and retaining large amounts of water during the heavy rainfalls of spring, and removing pollutants before they enter streams, and rivers, and lakes, it all seems so obvious that they should do this when you have a bird’s eye view.
So here’s the curious thing about this wetland. It is located beside a local dump. And the more I think about that, the more I question those who created the dump, but give thanks for the unwavering workhorse that this wetland is in the ecosystem.
It was on the rise above this particular wetland, in a very sandy spot covered with Reindeer Lichen, that Bruce and I made a discovery. Well, he discovered it first and asked for an opinion. I’m full of those and so I met him and we took a look.
The discovery was a plant new to us both. Sand Jointweed or Polygonum articulatum. As you can see, the flowers are astonishing in their pink and white display.
It was the stems that I found equally fascinating. At the base of the flower stalks there are sheathing bracts, giving it a jointed or segmented appearance. We didn’t see any leaves, but perhaps we need to look again. I think we were just amazed to have discovered a plant neither of us recalled meeting before. Often though, that means we’ll meet it again soon.
The small snippet followed me home, and today I looked at the flowers under the microscope and I was astonished to realize that they look rather like a map of a wetland.
I don’t jump at the invite every time it arrives for an early morning mission to explore a wetland, and one day really regretted it because when My Guy and I finally got to the location, we found a note with Bruce’s observations. We scanned the area with our eyes for about an hour before deciding that we were too late.
But . . . we promised ourselves that we’d pack a picnic supper and try again.
First we spotted one Bull Moose.
And then a second, and had a difficult time deciding that we should head home.
Did you know that 25% of Maine’s land area is wetlands? That’s four times the wetland area of the other New England states combined. The natural buffers they provide sustain the deep clear water we appreciate, and take for granted.
The margins or places where the land and water come together are bridges between two worlds. As many as 90% of all living things in our waters are found in these wetlands, no matter what form they take. I guess that’s why I love exploring them so often, because there’s always something to see. And another lesson to learn.
I leave you with this, a watercolor Bruce’s wife Eileen sent me recently. It was inspired by one of our local wetlands.
Some may see wetlands as dark and shadowy areas, mosquito hatcheries, with an abundance of leeches mixed into the scene, but the rest of us know their true value and I give thanks for living in this place where it’s so easy to go Bogging in Maine. And to share it with others. Thank you MG, BB, and EJB!
Just as a couple of friends and I were finishing a walk this morning, we spotted a Monarch Butterfly. One gal commented that it seemed too early, but I mentioned people have been posting pictures of them for the last couple of weeks. For all of us, that was the first of this season.
Back at home, I decided to do one of my favorite summer activities and stalk the gardens. Mind you, my gardens are not at all organized; they are rather like me–messy yet a wee bit colorful. I call them cottage gardens, but even those are probably not as random as these.
That said, they attract and provide for all kinds, including the Robber Flies who hide and wait and wait and hide.
Until a meal, such as an Oriental Beetle, enters the scene. I unfortunately missed the drama of the catch, but love that the Robber Fly was so focused on its meal that it stayed extremely still upon the granite post as it dined. As for the beetle, I was grateful for the fly because such beetles are garden pests.
In case you aren’t familiar with an Oriental Beetle, it’s similar in size to a Japanese Beetle, but as you can see, is much more drab in color. Those antennae, however, are fabulous and make me think that beetles with such are carrying around a set of forks, the better to create a salad.
Above the Robber Fly, a Silver-Spotted Skipper flitted between the Gooseneck Loosestrife that has taken over the driveway garden, and Hostas that are now blooming, seeking nectar wherever it was available.
Skippers are in the butterfly family and have you ever thought about how hairy they can be. Actually, I’m pretty sure the entire natural world is hairy.
Speaking of hair, its certainly true for the Common Eastern Bumble Bee, who stuck his red tongue into the plant’s nectary.
I’ve seen only a couple of Honey Bees so far this summer, but the gardens are full of Bumble Bees, as is the field beyond, and that makes me so happy.
And if you are worried about these critters stinging–they can and will if annoyed. But I’ve learned to be calm and quiet and they let me get into their space. If they don’t want me there, they simple take to flight and circle me or charge at me, but I know that is a warning and I need to slowly move away and give them their space.
Two-spotted Bumble Bees are also abundant. Notice his beard. And the yellow bands on his abdomen.
Also enjoying the offerings was a Gold-marked Thread-waisted Wasp, the first sighting of this species for me this year. Though in hind sight, I do think I spotted one dragging a dead spider across the patio the other day and suspected it was on its way to a nest to feed some young.
In another garden, I encountered a new-to-me moth doing its own wonderful job of pollination on an Ox-eyed Daisy. This is a Grapeleaf Skeletonizer Moth. Yeegads. What a name for such a lovely creature who held its wings straight out and flat the entire time I watched it. We do have grape leaves along a stonewall near the garden. And it also likes a relative of grapes, Virginia Creeper, and that too colonizes the wall.
One preferring not to be seen, was this little Crab Spider. I love that it has created a hiding spot by “sewing” the daisy petals together. And now it waits. Actually, by now, I’m sure it has had several meals and treats since I spotted it several hours ago.
And I would be remiss if I didn’t give time to the female Blue Dasher. I’ve seen her guy in the field, but she liked hanging out on the old Digitalis stalk. It was quite gnatty today, given the humidity, and I was hoping she’d make a meal or two, but I’m not sure that happened.
Instead, she spent her time in the obelisk posture, standing on her “hands” and sticking her abdomen up toward the sun to prevent overheating.
All of those creatures I saw because about an hour after arriving home from my walk, I saw a flash of orange out the window and realized that we too had a Monarch. It alluded me at first, but then I spotted it.
I remember when our 30-something sons were young, the Monarchs covered flowering shrubs with their presence. And now, sadly, we celebrate one.
I can only hope that as the summer progresses, this butterfly finds a mate, canoodles, and produces many more. I can only hope.
But . . . because of the Monarch drawing me back outdoors, when I was by one garden and had my back to our woods, I heard a scratching noise that didn’t sound normal.
Fully expecting it to be a squirrel, I turned around to peek. And was totally surprised by what I saw.
Oh, how I love it when that happens. Go without expectations. And be fully surprised.
As it crawled backwards down the tree, my heart sang.
One of my favorite critters was descending.
I did wonder, however, which way he would go once he reached the ground.
I had nothing to fear, for he headed toward another of the stonewalls that encompass our land.
He wasn’t aware of me, for the quills on this Porcupine’s back were not raised. Apparently I didn’t smell all that sweaty after all, for their sight and hearing are not great, but they do have a sense of odors, hard to believe given how much the scat that surrounds their dens stinks.
As he waddled over the stonewall and onto the trail I’ve created in the woods, I gave thanks for the butterfly.
We honestly weren’t sure anyone would sign up. Or show up.
Vernal Pools and Macroinverebrates Leigh Macmillen Hayes and Dawn Wood Friday, April, 25, May 2, 9, and 16th, 9:30 – 11:30 am April 25: The Hidden Life of Vernal Pools Discover the wonders of vernal pools—seasonal wetlands vital to forest ecosystems. Learn how wood frogs, salamanders, and fairy shrimp rely on them for breeding and why protecting these fragile habitats matters. Join us indoors at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church for this engaging workshop. May 2: A Day at the Vernal Pool Meet at Loon Echo Land Trust’s Raymond Community Forest, Conesca Road, Raymond. Walk ¼ mile to the vernal pool, where we’ll provide tools to explore its temporary residents and their unique ecosystem. May 9: Meet the Macros Ever wonder who lives in local streams? Join us to discover the tiny creatures that call them home! Dive into the world of macro-invertebrates—those fascinating “big bugs” without backbones—and learn how macros tell us about the health of the environment. This hands-on workshop will take place indoors at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church. May 16: Macro-invertebrates Up Close Explore the role of macro-invertebrates in stream health and the ecosystem. Join us for hands-on dipping and rock turning to assess water quality at Northwest River and Douglass Brook, Tiger Hill Community Forest, Sebago. Maine Master Naturalists Leigh Macmillen Hayes and Dawn Wood of Bridgton will lead these experiential classes. Both have a sense of wonder about the natural world and spend hours exploring only a few feet from a trailhead.
And then they did. Almost 30 of them. The first class, as you can see, was an indoor introduction to vernal pools where we shared our photographs, ID books, and models, and told stories about our experiences in these ephemeral habitats. Their questions were numerous and they shared stories as well, making it an even richer experience.
And then we ended with a musical treat since we knew that there was at least one conductor in the audience. As you click on the arrow to listen to the Springtime Chorus, remember that Wood Frog calls sound like “Wruck, wruck.” Spring Peepers: “Peep, peep, peep.” Green Frogs: “Ga-dunk, ga-dunk.” And Bullfrogs: “Jug-a-rum, jug-a-rum.”
Thank you, Jan, for leading this, and thank you to everyone for participating so willingly.
The following Friday we awoke to rain and again we were sure no one would show up. BUT . . . that did not stop them and we slowly snaked through the forest on our way to the vernal pool.
Of course, we all suffer from that most wonderful of syndromes: Nature Distraction Disorder (NDD), and the summer grape that grows along the Grapes Expectations Trail at Raymond Community Forest was the first thing to draw our attention.
Trailing Arbutus with its sweet little flowers also caused us to pause.
At last we reached the pool and because the sky was overcast and some raindrops and mist fell, we couldn’t see into the pool very well, especially to admire the egg masses deposited by Wood Frogs and Spotted Salamanders. But . . . we could dip.
And within a few minutes the prize of the day was discovered and everyone came to take a peek at what Dawn had found.
Soon one Fairy Shrimp (just enough to make the pool significant by Maine standards) was followed by multiple more. This particular one happens to be a female with a full brood sac at the top of her abdomen.
I’ve said this before, but it’s worth mentioning again and again:
40 Wood Frog egg masses make a pool significant; OR 20 Spotted Salamander egg masses; OR 10 Blue Spotted or Jefferson Salamander egg masses; OR a single, yes one, Fairy Shrimp.
Fairy Shrimp are cool because in order for eggs to be viable, the pool must dry out. And they can survive being dry for multiple years. And in any given year, not all eggs will hatch, thus saving some in the bank for another year or ten.
Our other finds that day include Phantom Midges–with inner workings visible through the translucent body.
And Predaceous Diving Beetle larva, plus . . .
the shed skin of a PDB, with a split where the wings of the adult emerged first and then the rest of the body squeezed out through that slit that the arrow indicates.
This is the adult, with an air bubble on its back end; and if you look closely, you may see a few Mosquito Wrigglers twisting and turning in the photo as well.
We always remind everyone that all larval forms must go back into the pool or stream or whatever waterbody, because in the whole scheme of things, everything is important.
I laugh when I look at this photo because as a youngster, my brother always noted that my mouth was always open in pictures–apparently he thought I talked too much.
But obviously, on this Friday I was waxing poetic about something.
Before we left the pool that day, the students had a surprise for us. The previous week I had pulled out a party noisemaker and reminded those who had attended our winter class on insects that it served as a great tool to illustrate how a butterfly or moth proboscis (mouth part) curls up in flight, but upon a flower, they extend it to reach the nectar. Turn the noisemaker over, however, and suddenly you have a frog tongue–as they snap it out to capture an insect.
And tada, unbeknownst to us, everyone was suddenly a frog. Heck, if we were going to make them perform in the frog chorus, then they might as well be frogs. It was awesome. And yes, they did perform in the chorus once again, after which we left the pool and headed home.
Week three found us back at the church, where we began with a slide show about Benthic Macro-invertebrates.
Benthic: Living at the bottom of a body of water (stream, river, pond)
Macro: Large enough to be seen with the naked eye
Invertebrate: Animal without a backbone
Macro-invertebrate: Large, water dwelling animal able to be seen with the naked eye.
Prior to the class, Dawn and I spent an hour or so trudging to and fro a local wetland to retrieve containers of water so that after the initial presentation, the students could take a look–up close and personal, in the comfort of a building. (Never fear: all critters were safely released in the same spot where we captured them with our D-nets)
They started starring into the water and began to notice movement. And then, using spoons and small containers and lids, all recycled, they were able to glimpse the wonders of the water.
One of the favorite finds was the larval form of a damselfly, with three paddle-shaped tails that serve as gills.
The critters love to hide under the leaves and muck that we’d pulled up so sometimes it took a few moments to wait for the water to settle before spotting something moving.
But they did. And with the use of loupes on lanyards that we borrowed from Loon Echo Land Trust, they found Mayflies and Damselflies and Dragonflies and Backswimmers and more.
Finally, today dawned. The forecast kept changing all week, so we were pleasantly surprised by the sun. That said, you know those Mosquito larvae we always encourage everyone to save? Well, they are hatching. But, just as for the rain, everyone was prepared.
Oh, and yes, another moment of NDD hit us only a hundred feet from the parking lot. We love mud.
Especially when it tells us who passed this way during the night. In this case, it was two critters: a Coyote and a Raccoon. If we can’t have snow, mud is great. In many ways, it’s even better than snow for the prints are much crisper and easier to read. (Don’t tell the snow I said that. Ever. If you do, I’ll deny it.)
But . . . we had a mission and a time frame. The Black and White Warbler didn’t care. Apparently, we had entered its territory and despite our presence, it went right on collecting nesting material.
When nature surprises us with these moments, I always feel we’ve been blessed to be witnesses.
Finally, it was time to dip the D-nets into the river.
We’d placed a few tables near it so everyone could take a look without risking going into the water. Plus, the trail to the water is narrow and once we realized the bird was building a nest there, it made it even more important that we not spend too much time.
The most prolific finds of the day: Mayfly larvae.
There are so many types of Mayflies as everyone soon realized. What I love about them: their feathery gills on the sides of their abdomens, and the three long tails that most feature, which they even had as adults, probably helping with balance for one thing.
Again, it was an enthusiastic crew and any time something interesting was discovered, all wanted a chance to see.
We had a damselfly that at first I thought was a Water Scorpion because the three shorter tails were held together so that they looked almost like the tubes at the end of the abdomen, but then I took a better look and realized that they weren’t elongated and in every other way, it had damselfly written all over its head and body.
Caddisfly larvae also entertained us and we found a Northern Case Maker, plus . . .
what might have been a Giant Case Maker, who built its home from the broken off tube of vegetation.
Everyone was fascinated, but we had one more stop to make so eventually we had to pack up shop in this location and move down the road to another trail.
Another NDD moment happened as we walked beside a vernal pool where we could not only spot Spotted Salamander egg masses, but also these of the Wood Frog variety, and tons of tadpoles feeding on the green algae. It actually created a full circle from our first classes about vernal pools.
A Pickerel Frog also caught our attention and delight. Bruce caught an amazing photo of the underside of its rear thighs–with the yellowish coloration. Both Pickerel Frogs and Northern Leopard Frogs have spots, but one of the defining differences is the yellow, or sometimes orange color that you see here.
Our final destination was Douglass Brook, where the water flowed faster than it did in the section of the river where we had dipped only a half hour earlier.
Our reason for this location was because it has lots of rocks and we wanted everyone to see how some critters use them as places to cling.
So once again, we took an up close and personal look.
And scooped up anything we could find.
Including Black Fly larva which like fast-flowing water. I think folks were not quite as keen on saving every little critter given how many Mosquitoes swarmed us, but still they did.
We also found a Dobsonfly Larva, aka Hellgrammite, who prefer the fast flowing water and hold onto rocks with strong claws on their legs, or so I read in A Guide to Common Freshwater Invertebrates of North America, and that’s exactly what this one did.
Two hours passed quickly and finally it was time for the four-week class to come to an end. And we were all smiles.
Senior College is an awesome opportunity for us mature beings to learn. The curriculum is diverse; there are no prerequisites, term papers, exams, or grades.
Hats off to the all-volunteer board. And to the students. We can’t believe how many of you joined us each week. And thank you all for helping us carry equipment today.
Many thanks also to Dawn for co-leading with me. And to Bruce for taking so many photos so that I could use them to share all of these incredible learnings with you.
Mr. Cretella, my high school Spanish and Latin teacher, popped into my head just now. In my yearbook, Mr. C. wrote, “Never lose your desire to learn.” Those words have reverberated with me over the years. I don’t remember what anyone else wrote, but his sentiment struck a cord. Pretty amazing, given that when I took Latin I my senior year, I was forever substituting Spanish words if I didn’t know the answer on a quiz or test.
Wherever he is now, I’m grateful that Mr. C. encouraged my desire to learn. And love that so many are the same.
We stood in her bedroom and peered into her closet, then I grabbed a shirt and was about to close the sliding door. It was Dad sitting on my shoulder, who reminded me, as he always does, to pull the string and turn off the overhead light.
Next I remember, she was getting ready to walk the three of us down the road to the bus stop. And grab the next-door neighbors on the way. We all always walked together.
That was my childhood neighborhood. My adult neighborhood is a wee bit different, but in a way, really the same. The length of our road is the same, with the same number of houses lining the street. We live at the dead end as my family did growing up. And it’s nothing but field and forest beyond.
One of my favorite parts about my current neighborhood is the vernal pool that I refer to as “MY” vernal pool even though it’s on a neighbor’s property. So, neighbors are still an important part of my life.
And while visiting the vernal pool to check on my amphibian friends yesterday as days of rain drew to a close, I discovered two new residents I hadn’t met in this space before.
Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Mallard have visited before, but in 30+ years of my journeys to this spot, I’d never encountered them. My first response was to scare them away. Thankfully, I came to my senses quickly.
But in those first few moments, all I could think about were the tadpoles that were using the pool to develop. Their moms and dads had left the pool just after the eggs that contained embryos that turned into the said tadpoles emerged. And because those moms and dads only spend about two weeks in the pool and then return to their upland habitat for fifty more weeks of the year, I always feel it is my duty to watch over and protect them. And the ducks . . . might gobble them up.
But she excited the pool and looked tall and poised and I was certain their visit was just for a moment and so I gave thanks that I’d had the chance to spot them.
He added his own stature to the landscape. And my presence seemed not to annoy either of them.
Though my concern was that they’d gobble all the critters I chose to protect, I did think that if they had any interest in the larval Mosquito wigglers or their pupal tumblers that looked like little bullet forms, then have at it and eat away. Just don’t touch my Wood Frog and Spotted Salamander tadpoles. “MY” tadpoles. Synonymous with “MY” vernal pool. Located on a neighbor’s property.
As I walked around the pool, the Mallards swam, and I realized that I’d forced them into the spot where the egg masses had been laid and I wondered how many they’d already eaten.
And then . . . they did start foraging. My only hope was that I know tadpoles quickly dart under leaves, so that might protect them. But what else could the ducks be consuming? Aquatic plants are few in this particular pool. Seeds, however, are abundant, so there was that thought. But really, I’m sure they were dining on my buddies as well as macro-invertebrates.
I tried not to think about it. Until I did.
Two years ago, we had rain all spring and summer and this pool, which typically dries out by mid to late June, was full until September, and for the first time in my memory of decades of visits, I witnessed the tadpoles developing hind legs first and then front legs.
Last year, however, due to drought conditions, all dried out in a short time, and if any tadpoles metamorphed, it was quick. And I think this year’s egg masses spoke to that for there were far fewer Wood Frog masses, but over forty Spotted Salamander masses. Perhaps the latter sensed the changing conditions last year and enough were able to develop quickly into adults.
On the way home, I searched the trees in our woods and finally was rewarded with one showing off the suds of a rainy day–when pine salts turn into bubbles at the base of a tree.
The better surprise occurred just up the trunk, where I suddenly keyed in on intense activity, in the form of Crane Flies canoodling and jockeying for a chance to canoodle. They were fervent in their attempts.
Today dawned SUNNY, and after church I headed back out to the pool. At first I didn’t see the ducks, but within moments realized they were still present. And I began to come to terms with their presence because really I love them too. I just don’t want them to eat all my other friends.
While I looked down, a cat-like meow called my attention upward and there I spotted a female Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. And I was drawn back in time to watching Sapsuckers raise families in our yard and on land trust property and I wondered if this female was a momma and if so, where had she hidden her gang?
And then, because of the sunshine, I could peer into the water through my polarized sunglasses and tada, I still had tadpoles. This momma was pleased and proud. So, maybe I could share the space with the Mallards after all–as long as they promised to not eat all of my babies.
In the mix, I also spotted Predaceous Diving Beetles, and of course, the ubiquitous Mosquito larvae.
As for my ducks, ah yes, I’d now accepted them as mine. Really, they are a handsome couple. My next question for them is this: how long will they remain? That, I know, depends on how long the pool holds water. Which depends on how much precipitation falls from the sky. One thing leads to another, which leads to another, and so life goes on.
Upon a floating log within the pool, more life happened, this time in the Midges trying to canoodle with other Midges as a Crane Fly looked on.
As for the ducks, they again moved under the branches where the egg masses had been, but this time they preened.
And into the midst of all, in flew a couple of Black and White Warblers, and I felt rewarded once again for being in this place at this time.
Zebra birds might be another suitable description.
A few minutes later and Mrs. Mallard demanded my attention once again as she took a bath.
And then she climbed upon a rock in the pool, while he circled around for a while, protecting her or so it seemed.
She finally settled and he joined her, pausing to preen.
And then they both took a nap. Apparently my presence wasn’t a concern.
Thank you, Mom, for your visit. It was so awesome to spend some time with you last night. And thank you for making me realize that we don’t have to necessarily be moms to human children, though I do give great thanks for our boys who have been in touch throughout the day even though we couldn’t be together, to be nurturing. To all who guard and watch over human babes, and amphibians, and birds, and insects, including monarchs, and furbabies, and you name it: Happy Mother’s Day. Your efforts are gallant. Your souls are brave. Your hearts are full.
I love it when my parents show up in my dreams, but couldn’t believe my good luck today to wake up after a visit from Mom.
After he finished Yoga, and we both purchased veggies, eggs, flowers, jam, and goodies at our favorite farm market, aka Fly Away Farm, and picked up sandwiches at The Stow Corner Store, it was time to pull into a parking spot and head off on a journey, knowing full well that it would probably begin raining before we returned. That said, we left our rain gear in the truck. Wouldn’t you?
Our trail of choice this morning was actually a dirt road. One with a million names, but possibly most easily identified as Forest Road 9.
Because the gate is still locked, we had a two-mile walk ahead of us before we reached our lunch spot, but actually, that is my preferred way to travel this route. As I reminded My Guy, when we walk another road during the winter to a location very close by, we get to see bear hair on telephone poles. There were no poles along today’s road, but there could be other things worth noting.
Like Sessile-leaved Bellwort, aka Wild Oat, showing off its drooping bell-like flower that almost blend into the roadside scenery and if you don’t know to look, you might miss it.
And Coltsfoot! What looks like a Dandelion, but isn’t a Dandelion? I LOVE this flower because like all spring ephemerals, it is so fleeting.
In the Aster family, the flowers can be distinguished from Dandelions by the presence of obvious disk florets and ray florets. The stems are unique in that they are covered in tiny bract-like, scaly leaves, and the actual leaves for which the plant received its common name, don’t grow out until after it has flowered.
At last we reached our destination, after, of course, My Guy showed me where the snowmobile trail turns to the left and comes close to a trail around Shell Pond that we’ve viewed while circling that body of water.
Today’s water body: Deer Hill Bog. One of my favorite places to go, especially when the gate is closed and there is no traffic.
But, I’ve been thinking about that descriptor: Favorite. It’s rather like this one: Common. So many species are named Common This and Common That. And I find nothing common about them at all. I guess it’s true for favorite places. On any given day, no matter where I am, it is my favorite. Unless it isn’t, of course, but that doesn’t happen very often. Thankfully.
Beside the water, we heard a loud BUZZ, and there was a huge Bumblebee nectaring among the tiny bell-like flowers of Leatherleaf and I’d forgotten that they should be in bloom already.
All along the road, and then right in front of the wildlife blind, was another fav that I can’t resist photographing: Hobblebush. I’ve yet to find one with the tiny fertile flowers open, to that means more photos to come.
While munching on my sandwich, I saw fast movement on the water surface as it appeared the critter was running. When I zoomed in with my camera lens, I realized it was a Fishing Spider, who has a hairy, water-repellent body that help it move across the water.
It was while looking down, that I heard a high-pitched whistle I recognized, but was surprised to look up and watch an Osprey land on a snag right in front of us. My, what intent looking eyes, most useful for detecting objects under the water, with fish being its main food source.
That said, the Osprey is a raptor, and I suddenly spied a Canada Goose on a nest atop an old Beaver lodge, and thought about the breeder’s camouflage and how well its wings blended in with the nesting materials making it not quite so noticeable from the air.
Really, though, I think I was the perceived threat since the Goose held its head low and pointed at me as it guarded what I assumed were eggs below its body. Thankfully, it didn’t hiss at me, and when I realized the situation, I moved on.
All the while though, I kept an eye on the Osprey who had flown across the bog and perched–looking in the opposite direction of the Goose. I didn’t want to find out if Goose eggs were on the menu along with a fish. Though it would have been great to have observed it catch a fish.
Mergansers were also out and about on the pond and these two vocalized, which drew my attention to their location upon a log where I fully expected to see Painted Turtles basking. But today wasn’t that day–basking day.
Instead, as had been predicted, it began to rain and we had two miles to walk out and unlike the ducks, could not oil our feathers and let the water roll off.
That said, it wasn’t a raw day and we really didn’t mind. I know I rather like rainy days. Besides, we both had extra clothes waiting for us in the truck.
As we walked out, I mentioned that I was surprised we hadn’t seen any Red Trilliums in bloom.
I kid you not, a minute later I spotted a Painted Trillium, the first of the season for me.
My Guy wasn’t surprised, but wanted to know if I could make a Moose appear.
No, but about a mile later . . . a Red Trillium. We had missed both of these flowers on the way in, which is another reason why though loop trails are wonderful, I don’t mind retracing my steps because there’s always something different to see.
As for the Moose, no sightings today, but . . . I still want to give a Shout-out to the Universe for what we did spot both at the bog and along the road.
I know I should take in the bird feeders. After all, it is April 8. And a friend found bear tracks in her yard about seven or eight miles away on April 1st–and it was for real, though I did question if she was trying to fool me.
But I haven’t done so yet and the past two days have offered insights and outsights as I’ve stood at the back door periodically, ever ready to snap a photo.
Picture taking began early on the 7th–at about 6:15am, when the lighting was a bit dark and my camera encouraged me to use the flash, but I chose not to because I knew it would offer a reflection of light on glass and I’d never get a photograph of the critter of my intent.
Much to my surprise, a Sharp-shinned Hawk helped me greet the day. The bird perched about twenty feet from the back door, right in the midst of my feeding station–well, the feeding station I’d set up for birds, though my plan has always been for me to provide the food in the form of seeds and suet, not in the form of other birds.
We spent a few minutes together, Sharpie and me, and not a single bird flew in–thankfully.
The feeders were actually quite low on seed, but knowing the Hawk was around, I decided to wait to refill them and instead took off for a hike with My Guy, where we spotted Beaked Hazelnut in flower.
Back at home, I immediately filled the feeders and spread seed on the ground, and it seemed like within seconds, we had visitors.
The female Mourning Dove was a bit of a hog–filling her crop non-stop.
Her male counterpart didn’t seem to care about eating and he marched about going this way and that.
And then I noticed him begin to fluff out his feathers and all I could think of is a Tom Turkey and I suspected I knew what he had on his bird brain.
He’d fluff, then calm down and strut past her, but she didn’t seem to care as she stayed low and kept on gathering more seeds for later consumption.
Then he’d fluff up again.
And preen to make sure he was looking his best. I was impressed.
She didn’t care.
Like her, I turned my attention in a different direction as at least three Song Sparrows splashed in a large puddle and also sought seeds. I’ve yet to hear their songs, but they’ve been back in Maine for at least a couple of weeks.
And then a female Bluebird joined the scene and made me give thanks for our neighbor’s field and the houses she has installed for these beauties.
Her mister also kept flying in, actually more often than his Mrs., but he only occasionally sought sustenance. The rest of his time, he watched and waited, and waited and watched.
When I did turn my attention back to Mr. Mourning Dove, he was fluffing up again.
And then he approached his true love.
And tried to jump on her back, but she quickly hopped away. It took him a while, but finally, he headed north, walking across the yard to I know not where. And she stayed and gathered more seeds.
At one point all three species, the Tree Sparrow, female Mourning Dove, and male Bluebird all occupied the same space, but then he flew–as birds are known to do, especially when I want to photograph them.
More interested in suet was the male Downy Woodpecker. I kept expecting his lady to arrive, but she never did appear.
There was, however, a lot of Chickadee action, and I cannot say whether male or female, for to my uninformed eye, they all look the same.
White-breasted Nuthatches also came, seeking both suet and seeds in no particular order.
And for the first time this year, an Eastern Phoebe entered the scene. She’s tried to build a nest over our front door one year and on our back shed the next. I’m curious to see where she decides to locate her adobe this year.
The final bird for yesterday was the Squirrel Spoonshovel, so deserving of its common name for all it seems to do is shovel seeds into its mouth. Nonstop. All day long. This one and six of its nearest kin.
But eating bird food apparently works, and I couldn’t believe it when I saw it take flight.
This morning dawned with the Bluebirds and all their neighbors back in residence. And I could not help but think of the patience this male has as he perches for minutes on end.
That is . . . until it began to snow and he looked at the first flakes with disdain.
And then back at me as if it was all my fault. Really, I tried to explain, I can’t control everything, despite my fervent attempts.
The star of the show today, however, was another unexpected visitor, this in the form of an American Mink!
My photos are not crisp for so quickly did he bound, but I couldn’t believe my good fortune to have spotted him.
I’ve seen fewer squirrels today and wonder if he might know why. Although, as I typed that, I looked out the window and tada, there was one, and then a second.
They fought for a chance to sit in the bird feeder . . . of course! Because after all, they are Squirrel Spoonshovels, that rarest of bird species.
The wild out my window . . . is truly wild here in western Maine. And each of these is just a snapshot of time, for honestly, I don’t spend every moment standing by the backdoor.
When I least expect it, the Universe speaks. And suddenly all makes sense. Well, not all, but a few things become clearer and my understanding of the natural world grows.
So it was early this week when I walked down a forested road and met tracks well worth pondering.
To set the stage, we’d had a 5 – 6 inch snowstorm Friday night into Saturday, followed by some melting, and then rain and freezing rain on Sunday, and fog and rain on Monday. A smorgasbord of spring weather.
As I walked along, I noticed some disturbance in the snow and when I reached it, I noted that there were two disturbed sites almost parallel in orientation.
And my heart gladdened, for I immediately recognized these as representing the travels of a River Otter, or two or three. What’s more, they had been made over the course of at least two days.
The bounding slide on the left was first and probably occurred early Saturday as it still snowed. Such was the bound and slide so filled in, yet still representational.
Do you see the diagonal orientation of pairs of prints in the above photos of the second set of tracks? And the five toes–tear-drop shaped as they were?
These prints were much clearer and appeared to have been made Monday.
Because I was traveling light, I only had my Maine IF&W card in my pocket to offer a sense of size. But a closer look revealed that this particular trail included the Otter(s) moving in opposite directions, again at different times due to the clarity or non-clarity of the prints.
I looked across the road upon which I walked and saw that the bounders had come up and gone down to a stream via a very steep embankment. “Yeehaw!” I could almost hear them shout.
It was a rather circuitous route to the water, but that’s the way of an Otter. Why do straight when you can move in any direction you choose.
Eventually I moved on, and the next beauty to share a sign of its presence in these woods was a Snow Lobster, aka Snowshoe Hare. Remember, the two feet at the top of the photo are actually the hind feet, while the two behind, that form the lobster tail, are the front feet–as the hind feet swing around the front and land as this hopper leaps forward.
The snow conditions were such that the impressions were rather wide.
But not as wide as those I’d seen the day before. My, what big feet you have–indeed.
Continuing on, I began to notice the tracks of others who had passed this way, and the first clue to identification was the manner of movement–this being a rather straight line with a hint of a zigzag down the middle of the road. This was the track of a Red Fox.
And soon a Bobcat appeared. Well, it didn’t actually appear, but its track did.
Some prints were almost perfect–with a lead toe, much like our middle finger, and the C ridge between toes and heel pad.
That’s not all, There were more sets of prints oriented on the diagonal. Think back to the River Otter, who is in the Weasel family. This small critter is a member of the same family, but these are the prints of a Mink.
By this time I was feeling really rich. Especially since I didn’t expect to find so many different species in this space I walk frequently.
And then I met an old friend, the one and only pigeon-toed Porcupine. Actually, if you look closely at this photo, you might note the Mink bounding over Porky’s path, only actually, I think the Mink passed this way first. And it’s not a known predator of the quilled one.
I didn’t venture off trail to locate Porky’s den, but I knew it was among the boulders just beyond where I stood for I could see its tracks moving back and forth between them and suspect there is more than one home site in this locale.
As I moved on, I followed Porky’s path along the road for a while, before he moved off into the woods, toward what I assume to be its feeding site.
That said, you should note another critter also passing this way–another perfect walker, this one being a Coyote.
And then, and then, the creme de la creme:
A do-si-do dance, all the moves worked out, with a promenade forward and then a turn around several times until the Porcupine ended back at the spot where it began these fancy steps.
I knew at once what this represented and though I shared this video only a couple of weeks ago, upon seeing the fancy footwork in the snow, I knew exactly how to interpret it.
The video is from my game camera and after you click on the arrow, you can watch the prickly critter do a do-si-do dance before climbing a tree. This is the reaction to a predator in the area.
In both situations, it was the same cast of characters who could serve as a predator: Red Fox, Coyote, and Bobcat. Of all of them, the Bobcat would be of most concern. The largest concern would be a weasel whose tracks I did not spot–a Fisher.
The circular route that my prickly friend took gave it an opportunity to show off the quills on its back–a warning telling others to stay away. For the time being they did.
And I gave great thanks for the opportunity to see signs of so many critters, but especially to decipher the Porcupine dance. Just like that, it all began to make sense.
I’ve lived in Maine for just shy of 40 years and can barely recall the month of March going out like a lamb, as the saying goes.
It’s certainly true that once again this year the ending of the month is more lion-like with an overnight and morning snowstorm, with freezing rain on the horizon for tonight and tomorrow, followed by a warm-up and rain on Monday.
That all said, March snow doesn’t last long.
But still . . . it has me dreaming. Remember, I LOVE winter, but am as ready for spring as the next person.
And so I spent much of today (when not shoveling, which really didn’t take long) holed up in my wee studio where I’ve been working on a vernal pool series of paintings.
The idea for this post actually came to me in a dream last night–why not turn those paintings into a blog post. Why not?
Because, it’s scary to share creative works with the world. But, I am probably my own worst critic. My instructor, Jessie, always reminds me to put my inner critic into a box, place the cover on top, and get to work. And besides, by sharing here, I can hide behind the screen. She wants those of us in her class to host an art show, but I refuse to do that. It’s much more comfortable for me this way.
I’ve only been painting since last May, but let’s not let that be an excuse. The thing is, working with gouache paints means I can easily edit, much like writing. And believe me, I have. My motto has always been that there’s no such thing as a final draft–whether it be an article for a magazine or a work of art.
Have you noticed that I’m procrastinating? And putting all of my excuses out there.
It’s snowing again.
All right, I’m almost ready. But here’s the other thing–in sharing these with you, may you be inspired to do something you never imagined and discover that the time you spend doing such is most enjoyable and it’s easy to get “lost” and just plain have fun and decide that even though the “end product” isn’t exactly what you first set out to create, it’s still half decent and you had the most delightful time sitting quietly as is my custom, doing just that: creating.
And now . . . for a look back as a way to look forward to a vernal pool as it emerges from winter or early spring, or mud season, or almost spring but still winter, or whatever season this is.
Pine and hemlock needles and branches from winter storms coat the ice as it slowly begins to melt along the edge of the pool, providing a glimpse of the sunken leaves below, where life awaits.
Once the ice finally melts, barren trees offer a reflection that speaks to winter, but there’s hope in their buds.
And no sooner has the ice gone out, when upon my approach I hear “Wruck, wruck,” and know that the Wood Frogs have returned to their natal breeding grounds. At first, they dive as soon as they hear me approach. But I stand still, sometimes for up to fifteen minutes, and ever so slowly, one by one, they rise to the surface and float.
It’s the lucky male who has the best “Wruck, wruck,” that finds a mate. He clasps her with his forelegs and as she begins to deposit eggs, he fertilizes them externally.
I return a couple of days later, in the late afternoon, and can’t believe my good luck. The pool is coated in pollen and the sun hits it in such a way that I see a rainbow of colors and love how the tree reflections are in two orientations upon still water.
A few weeks later, looking deep into the pool, which isn’t really all that deep, I notice blobs of eggs clustered together in a mass that has a tapioca-like shape to it and notice little life forms moving about in the shape of tadpoles. I feel like a proud momma. The thing is, the Wood Frogs mate, she lays eggs he’s fertilized and within two weeks, the parents are long gone, back to their woodland setting. And so I do feel protective parent–or maybe foster parent–keeping watch and celebrating achievements.
Another life form who uses the pool as a natal breeding spot is the spotted salamander and though I tend to mostly spy them on Big Night, I can tell by egg masses left behind that they have visited.
Their egg masses are a wee bit different from the Wood Frog masses, in that they have a gelatinous coating around the entire grouping, so they don’t look so tapioca-like. Mosquito larvae, tumblers at this stage, also wiggle about in the water.
And if I’m lucky, though this has never happened at the pool behind our house, I might see a fairy shrimp or dozens.
So here’s the thing: 40 Wood Frog egg masses make a pool significant; OR 20 Spotted Salamander egg masses; OR 10 Blue Spotted or Jefferson Salamander egg masses; OR a single, yes one, Fairy Shrimp. And this one is a female, as noted by the sac of dark eggs she carries.
Fairy Shrimp are cool because in order for eggs to be viable, the pool must dry out. And they can survive being dry for multiple years. And in any given year, not all eggs will hatch, thus saving some in the bank for another year or ten.
Hanging out by the pool, Green Frogs are always willing to dine on whatever is available. So the Green Frog has dorsal lateral folds (or bumps) along either side of its back that start behind the eyes.
The Bullfrog differs in that the line behind the eye circles around the tympanum (ear drum) and ends.
Here’s the other thing to remember: Males have tympanums larger than their eyes; females are smaller or equal to eye size.
And I like to think of this painting as a Frog-ersation.
This week I actually framed two paintings to send to friends, the Bullfrog being one of them.
There. I did it. Survived the art show.
As I bring this to a close, I realize there’s one more painting I should add to the collection, but I’ll save it to paint another day.
Thank you for marching into the vernal pool with me. I hope you are glad you did.
The crossover from winter to spring is actually emulating the same from autumn to winter with fluctuating temperatures and snow. But still there is so much to see if you can get outside.
Yesterday, My Guy and I paid a visit to “our”vernal pool (located on a neighbor’s back forty) and noted that it was still ice covered. That said, I know I’ll start making almost daily visits because any time now the ice will begin to melt and tada, the action will start to happen.
The day before, we’d walked a local trail that still had areas of snow here and there, but were delighted to spot our first Great Blue Heron of 2025, which was apropos as this morning I received an email from the state biologist asking if I’m still willing to monitor three rookeries as I have done for the past 15 years. YES!
And the day before that, while hiking another trail in a different town where there was almost no snow, we had a quick sighting of an Anglewing Butterfly that I couldn’t name to species because it flew off before I could spot the markings on the underside of its wings.
Now those sightings seem like only memories and how could they have possibly occurred given that five inches of snow accumulated quickly yesterday.
But early this morning, the snow turned out to be a tracker’s delight, for fresh tracks showed details providing names for the creators who passed this way.
And so along our cowpath (where cows haven’t walked in years), I followed the Red Fox, wondering where it might lead me.
I knew I should have backtracked it so as not to put pressure on it, but knowing and doing are two different things.
If I had backtracked it, I might have discovered the source of its scat left in such a location beside a tree stump, that I thought it was a boundary marker the Fox had deposited.
And it may well have been, but I suspect there was other important information given off by the scat such as the fox’s gender, age, and health, for a few steps later it left a sign and scent of its availability in the form of skunky-smelling pee. I thought mating season had come to an end, but apparently I thought wrong and the fox knows best.
We stayed together for a bit, though there were a few downed trees I chose to walk over or around, rather than under like the fox did. When it reached the stonewall between our land and the neighbor’s field, I decided to turn around and head toward the vernal pool instead to perform my daily check.
The transformation from yesterday to today should not have amazed me–My Guy and I walked in sleet and then snow yesterday, but still . . . the vernal pool seemed like a whole other place–almost like December 25th rather than March 25th.
To the left of the pool I noticed tracks that I’ve seen frequently here and beside the cowpath and knew that the resident Porcupine had been out and back overnight. I love the sashay of its track pattern and will miss seeing that when the snow does finally melt.
I followed Porky’s track to a Hemlock and noted that it had climbed up and down. I know about where its den is because I followed its tracks a few weeks ago over a couple of stonewalls and then into the yard of a neighbor around the corner, but decided to not locate the actual spot cuze it might seem a bit odd that I was looking for such.
Can you imagine seeing this woman show up in your backyard because she wants to know where the Porcupine she displaced this winter is now denning?
On my way out today, I did grab the game camera because I fully expected to see the Red Fox on it. For some reason, it alluded the camera, but I did find a couple of Porky videos. The first was taken about a week ago and I encourage you to watch the ten-second demonstration of the mammal’s behavior.
Not only do Porcupines sashay, but they have other dance moves as well, and I only wish I’d seen these in snow, but if I ever do, I’ll have a better understanding of interpreting them.
This behavior is one of self-defense–as Porcupines don’t see or hear very well, but it must have sensed danger. The camera didn’t pick up on a predator, but those erect quills being flashed all around indicate something loomed in the night.
I’d love to call it a dance of joy, but know better. It was meant to be an intimidating dance. If a predator should get close, Porky could lash out with those 30,000 quills, which are easily detached and can become embedded in the skin of the attacker. Definitely not a dance of joy from the predator’s point of view.
A couple of days later, Porky was all business as he headed toward home, leading me to believe he felt no threat in that moment.
Here’s the thing. His den is the same den of the Porky by the vernal pool and I know he has sampled several trees poolside, as well as several trees cowpath-side, so I assume it is the same animal.
I left the pool behind and walked down the driveway of a local business and then slipped into a park where I again met Foxy Loxy on the move.
He wasn’t the only one moving, either. Do you see the tiny black mark by my tracking card?
Winter Stoneflies were having a heyday this morning. It always excites me to see them because their nymphs require healthy, clean water and so to live in a area where these tiny insects are abundant means we are among the fortunate.
How fortunate? Super! For my next great find was . . . drum roll, please . . . an Otter slide. My heart be still.
I’ve seen their slides in this very spot before, but it’s been quite a few years. Of course, I had to follow the path that they took, which was really a bushwhack, given that they crossed the path we humans have created.
This is the spot where the Otter came out of the brook and bounded up the hill. I assume it was one, but sometimes they travel in family units and follow the same route so what looks like one could be two. Foxes do the same.
Speaking of that, do you see a set of tracks coming in from the east to meet the Otter? Or at least sniff around and wonder where it went? Those belong to the Red Fox.
The same Red Fox who traveled through our woods? Possibly.
And this is the spot where the Otter slid back into the water.
Fortunately the Otter didn’t meet its fate by becoming a meal for the Red Fox. Yet.
I moved on from that spot, but it seemed no matter where I went the Red Fox had been there before me.
And always searching. Food is a strong motivator.
So is finding a mate. More urine and this time there were two foxes, so I wonder if he found a she.
And I’m wondering how many Gray Squirrels who frequent our bird feeders will become meals for kits. The squirrels are well fed; I can attest to that.
I felt like life couldn’t get much better, and then others made their presence known, like the Long-jawed Orb Weaver,
Winter Firefly,
and another robust spider.
As for those suddenly ubiquitous Stoneflies . . . I kept looking for one that had actually reached a tree and was at last successful.
Until it wasn’t, and I wanted to say (and actually did), “Hey Bub, you took a wrong turn. You’ll never find a mate if you don’t reach that tree trunk.”
Of course, there are many more trees in the forest and perhaps something didn’t seem quite right about this one.
Until it did. And the Stonefly started to climb up onto the bark.
Do you see it?
How about now? It’s definitely a Where’s Waldo moment.
Does the arrow help?
With his abdomen, he’ll create a drum beat only she can hear, and I left him to it in hopes that he was successful.
As I turned around, I met a young mother and her two-year old son out for a nature hike and so I introduced them to the Stoneflies. The tot was thrilled and he kept locating others. We chatted for a few minutes and then it was time to part and he turned to me, smiled, and said, “Goodbye,” and then blew me a kiss. His mother was as surprised as I was. I blew a kiss back to him.
There was so much out there to make my day today, and that kiss was the final seal.
It brought me back around to the Anglewing Butterfly. On Saturday I couldn’t tell My Guy if it was an Eastern Comma or a Question Mark, both species that as adults overwinter behind bark.
This is a Comma, where as the Question Mark would have this same line, plus an additional dot making it look like a QM.
My Guy’s comment, “For you, it doesn’t really matter. They are all Exclamation Points.”
YES! And today was full of Exclamation Points. I’m forever grateful.
P.S. As I headed home a couple of hours later, the temperature had risen and snow plops were falling from trees and the conditions for tracking had significantly deteriorated.
We parked on the little dirt connector road between Route 160 and Lord Hill Road, close to Bog Road, because we knew the conditions would be such that driving into Brownfield Bog would be impossible. Besides, walking would offer more time to catch up on each other’s lives. Well, I’m afraid I did most of the talking, but at least my friend Bridie is up to speed on my life. Hers is so full of students and research and writing, that just having time to breathe in the fresh air of her childhood backyard was enough.
At the old shed, we paused to admire the work of her mom, Kathy McGreavy, a potter who created this tile map of Brownfield Bog in 2017 as her capstone project for the Maine Master Naturalist program. And we wondered how many of the same species we might see or encounter today.
One particular tile always elicits a shared memory, for I was with Bridie when we spotted an Eastern Ribbon Snake slither across the road and down into the water.
It was then that I learned that Ribbon Snakes are a species of special concern in Maine, and rather uncommon. Since then, I’ve seen at least one more in the bog and a few more in several other local spots, but each sighting is special, and always I return in my mind to that first time.
And why the wire across the tile art work? It seems woodpeckers like to peck at the tiles and Kathy had to repair a few a year or two ago.
We couldn’t go out on the bog today, as we had done previous winters. After all, we are on the cusp of spring, and didn’t trust the ice. But from the edge we admired Pleasant Mountain forming the backdrop–and always giving us an idea of where home is located.
Down a side road, which we were able to walk being not flooded (yet), we found our way to Pirate’s Cove along the Saco River and the water is high and mighty and muddy. For a few minutes we watched in silence. Well, we were silent, but the river wasn’t.
Returning to the main drag, we made our way back to the Old Course of the river and were greeted by the most delightful bird chorus, including the conk-le-rees of the Red-winged Blackbirds.
With their bright red shoulder patches bordered below in yellow, they were calling from high perches among the shrubs.
Puffing out while calling is indeed a breeding activity, and so the race is on. May the best males find a mate.
Our other bird sightings included this White-breasted Nuthatch, plus Hairy Woodpeckers, American Tree Sparrows, Canada Geese, and a thousand Wood Ducks. Or so it seemed. The fact that they moved every time we spotted them, even if two hundred yards away, might mean that there weren’t quite that many, but rather that we kept meeting the same ones in different locations.
We also saw signs of Pileated Woodpecker works. Not only do they excavate holes while in search of Carpenter Ants, they also shred and chisel and in these woods, that seems to be a favorite activity. We wondered why, but couldn’t come up with an answer.
We did, however, do what Bridie taught me to do a million years ago and searched for scat. Bingo! Though we saved this thought for another day, we did wonder if we dissected the scat, would we be able to tell about how many ants had been consumed?
And no adventure with Bridie would be complete without some tracking in the mix. Our snowpack is quickly dwindling and where three days ago at home, we still had a foot, now there are lots of bare spots and what snow is left might be only about four inches.
That said, we relished the finds we did make, including lots of Vole tunnels like these. And I reminded Bridie that she was the one who introduced me to the subnivean layer, that microhabitat between the ground and the bottom of the snowpack (think back to Thanksgiving 2024), which provides insulation and protection for many animals, like the Voles, who happen to be on everyone’s dinner menu.
Our other finds included Raccoon tracks,
Mink,
and Coyote,
plus a family of Coyotes on some sand at Goose Pasture.
And, of course, our adventure could not be complete without discovering several Coyote scats.
And just for good measure, we met one large Six-spotted Fishing Spider.
Okay, so it wasn’t really as big as the close-up made it look.
There were also beaver works in various places, though we suspected this was a wee bit old, but not older than a few months ago based on the color of the wood. The warmer temps made the sap flow a bit.
There are a bunch of well-mudded lodges in the bog, but we didn’t see any hoped for activity today.
We did, however, discover some scent mounds and know that claiming territory is an important assignment that will become more significant as the ice begins to melt and the two-year-olds leave the lodge to venture off on their own and claim a territory.
Next, we turned our focus to a few shrubs, including the Winterberry. While I still have some dried bright red berries as decorations in my house, most of the berries on branches have shriveled and we wondered why the birds hadn’t dined on them when they were ripe.
What we discovered, much to our delight, was that some had been procured by little brown things, presumably mice, and had been consumed in a bird’s nest. It’s illegal to take bird nests without a permit and this is one reason, they are recycled into homes for other critters.
What totally surprised us about the Winterberry, however, was that we found one shrub with the berries still bright red and plump, as if today was December 18th and not March 18th. Again, we wondered why.
We also found a few of last season’s cranberries hiding under their leaves. That reminded me of another day I’d spent searching for cranberries in the bog years ago–and though I told Bridie about it, I’ll save that two-day story for another day.
Leatherleaf also had offerings to provide, in the form of little flower buds along the woody stems.
At last we reached the old Oak at Goose Pasture and stood there for a bit taking in the sun and warmth and feeling like it was a bit of a beach day. But, our time together was coming to a close, and we knew this would be our turn-around point.
That said, there were a couple of other gifts to share together, as today was the first day this year that the two of us saw Pussy Willows in bloom.
And, drum roll please, we heard them before we spotted them way over on the other side of the bog, but their distinctive call told us to look that way and sure enough there were two Sandhill Cranes.
Like the Wood Ducks they flew, but the two morphed into three as we watched them take to the air.
We’d been blessed. In so many ways.
And at the end of our time together, after traveling 6.2 miles, we needed to say our goodbyes.
The thing is, she wasn’t really with me, which I realized when I went to put my arm around her for our selfie shot. But, in my mind, she was and I had the best time Bogging with Bridie today, her birthday.
The text arrived from one of my first playmates on Wednesday. “Good morning,” she wrote, “Just wanted to give you a heads up my fat and sassy Juncos are headed your way. Only had a couple yesterday and none this morning. Hope they had a safe trip! Blow them a kiss for me. Hugs.”
A few hours letter I wrote back that I’d let her know when they arrived.
And a few minutes, voilà! My second text to Kate: “No sooner said than BINGO! I looked out the back door and there were three!”
On Thursday afternoon, the Bluebirds arrived. Kate told me she’d had three couples all winter in Connecticut. “They are so stunning! They seem to be the kindest of breeds. They don’t squabble as much as others and share better.”
After that, it was a Tree Sparrow. And many more Juncos each day.
And today, the Chickadees and Tufted Titmice and Bluejays, of course, but also Goldfinches, and one Tree Sparrow, and Mourning Doves, and Red-breasted and White-breasted Nuthatches, and Downy and Hairy Woodpeckers, and I’m sure others that I’m missing, and suddenly, the feeders were busy. Toss into the mix Red and Gray Squirrels, and Crows, though the latter stayed about ten feet away from the action, while the former got right into it, and it was a full house.
This afternoon, I interrupted the action for a few minutes when I headed out the back door to go for a tramp in the woods and had just reached an opening when I heard, then saw this guy and knew that our resident Red-shouldered Hawk had returned.
According to Stan Tekiela’s Birds of Prey of the Northeast, “Adults return to the same nest and territory for many years; the young also return.”
Welcome home!
I had no sooner lost sight of the hawk, when movement from another source caught my eye.
Flying from the ground up to a tree limb was a Barred Owl. And my heart was even happier than it had been.
We spent a few minutes together and I gave great thanks also that the vernal pool over which the owl perched is still rather frozen. No frogs or salamanders would be on the menu yet. I did, however, worry about the birds in my yard, but there was nothing I could do.
Except, that is, watch my friend for a few more minutes before waving goodbye to him and moving on.
And that’s when I heard a song, or rather many songs, that took me back to a summer morning and realized that as much as I don’t want winter to come to an end this week, the time has come because there is so much more to see and welcome and wonder about. The Red-winged Blackbirds were in a large flock with Grackles, and Robins, and more Crows. And the chorus was most delightful.
I’d say the female Hairy Woodpecker was much quieter than the others, but it was her inflight song that encouraged me to look for her.
I just hope it wasn’t Emerald Ash Borers she was seeking as she drilled a few test holes in the tree. Of course, if she can help control them, then that’s a good thing.
My journey led me to a local brook where the Mallard flock is spreading out more as the ice is receding quickly during these suddenly 50˚ days.
That said, they are still there.
He preened . . .
as she looked on.
Others did what we should all consider doing on a Sunday afternoon: stick our heads under our wings and take a nap.
But I didn’t. How about you?
Upon a second brook that flows into the first, another species caught me by surprise as I rarely see it in this place. A female Common Goldeneye. I’ve always had a problem with the descriptor “common.” That prominent golden eye is hardly common in my book.
Moseying along, I realized it wasn’t just birds who were greeting the day. Chipmunks have been dashing about on the snow for the last week or two, taking advantage of any acorns the squirrels may have hoarded. (And birdseed–as I watched one stuff its cheeks the other day.)
One critter that surprised me was a Carpenter Ant making its way toward a boulder rather than a tree. Though I see the exoskeletons of these ants in Pileated Woodpecker scat all the time and even found some fine specimens in our woods today, I don’t recall ever spotting one on snow before.
Speaking of Pileated Woodpeckers, their freshly excavated holes are dripping with sap and by this hole I found a couple of Winter Fireflies. So, um, Winter Fireflies are fond of Maple Sap. In fact, some call them Sap-bucket Beetles. But White Pine sap? Do you know how sticky it is? As in, you can practically glue =-your-fingers-together sticky.
When I first spotted these two, I wondered if the sap might have given them pause. Were they stuck?
But then there was movement and in that moment, all was good with the world.
I had one more discovery to make–actually, it’s been my quest this year to find this species and its relative who is only about a half inch longer.
But I must have missed the mass emergence of Small Winter Stoneflies, and their cousins, Winter Stoneflies, for like today, I’ve only seen one or three or maybe five on any particular occasion near these brooks, when in the past there were so many more. Might last summer’s drought and water conditions be the reason for so few? After all, these species are highly sensitive to pollution and thus, are indicators of excellent water quality. I have to hope that I just missed the right day.
After the Stonefly discovery, I did find one more thing that always brings me around to the cycle of life. A small bird was plucked and became the meal of a larger predator.
Curiously, some feathers were stuck to the bark of the tree . . .
My thought was that the predator sat high above, and let the plucked feathers drop and being a pine, a few stuck to the sap, or maybe just to the rough bark. Or maybe the bird was consumed right there on the side of the trunk.
I don’t know and I don’t know who the predator was, but energy was offered and sunshine turned into seeds and insects that fattened up the smaller bird were passed on to the bigger critter.
Perhaps the Barred Owl knows the whole story. Or the Red-shouldered Hawk.
All I know is that I gave thanks for this day to wander and wonder and be greeted by so many who are all a part of my neighborhood. Well, really, I’m a part of their neighborhood, and I appreciate that they share it with me.
When asked the other day if I am enjoying spring, I responded, “I’m still loving winter.”
So is My Guy.
And so today, we took to a beloved mountain trail and reveled in the sights and sounds.
Beside a brook, our journey began, where as the water flowed, nature’s artistic hand created a magnificent display of ice sculptures.
On the way up the loop trail, and again on the way down the other side, the golden carpet was set before us, for into the warn pathway do leaves settle after a wind event.
Because we were hiking in a deciduous forest to begin, our eyes kept scanning the tree trunks, and tada, we were rewarded. Well rewarded.
It seemed like everywhere we looked, we spotted American Beech trees with bear claw marks indicating multiple visits to feast upon the beech nuts.
We suspected some of these trees we were meeting again as if for the first time, but though we lost track of how many we spied, we knew it was more than we’d seen in the past and gave thanks to the trail conditions that allowed us to move without caution, and the fact that it is still winter and there were no leaves to hinder such views.
While studying almost every tree for a while, I kept noting the trunks of another species, this the two-toned aspen that looks like an oak toward its base, but morphs into a birch toward the top.
There was no question whether Quaking or Big-Toothed for leaves upon the snow told the species name: My, what big ____ you have!
As we continued to climb, the neighborhood changed and so did the forest floor–of course, still upon firm snow, for suddenly, we walked upon a green carpet.
It was in this section of forest that I began to spot Common Polypody ferns predicting the temperature, for they were still a tad bit curled indicating it wasn’t exactly warm, but not completely curled telling us it wasn’t freezing cold either. It was just right!
Well, almost just right, for because of recent rain and warmer temps last week, the melt down has begun and ice flows along the trail were frequent in the coniferous forest.
That same flow continued down a crevasse that we admired from the path, but didn’t need to descend. Thankfully.
A short distance later, we reached Lunch Ledge, aka North Ledge, and took in the view toward Mount Washington.
As we ate, we looked at all the Beech trees below (and other species, of course) and wondered how many more Bear Trees there are in these woods since we saw so many just from the trail. And we wondered if there might be a den nearby.
Following lunch, we continued our trek, and then found a spot where another had dined.
By the number of fresh holes in the tree, we knew the Pileated Woodpecker had visited this spot on more than one occasion, rather like the Bears and the Beech trees.
I must confess, I cannot pass up the opportunity to look for scat and so I heeded the invitation to hunt for the treasure. And again was well rewarded.
At this time of year, Pileated Woodpecker scat includes bits of indigestible Carpenter Ant exoskeletons and some wood fiber. The whitewash is uric acid since birds evacuate the acid and feces simultaneously–from an opening just under their tail called the cloaca or vent.
Some of the trees along this part of the trail are Balsam Fir and we kept spotting their cones on the ground.
And then middens or garbage piles of Balsam Fir cone scales started to appear and we knew that a Red Squirrel had been dining. We saw some tracks, but never actually heard a squirrel, red or gray, though a Chipmunk dash across the snow and hid from us.
In one area, there were multiple middens, the one in front being about eight inches high. And that brought us to a discussion about the fact that until about 25 years ago, I had no idea what a midden was. Or a cache.
Nor scat. But oh my. A midden and scat on the same rock!
Which came first? My thought is that a Red Fox deposited its twisted and hairy scat–in typical manner upon a high place by a trail, and that the Red Squirrel came along at a later date to dine upon the same rock. I don’t think the Fox’s meal was this particular squirrel. In fact, by the color of it, I don’t think it was a Red Squirrel at all.
But this brought up an additional comment from My Guy about the fact that I can’t stand to see someone spit (think baseball games), but get all excited over scat. (And kill sites.)
I blame it all on Bridie McGreavey for teaching me about such, and once again rejoiced when I spotted Ruffed Grouse scat in a pile that told me the bird had roosted in this spot along the trail one night this winter.
My Guy claimed that he was going to contact Bridie and tell her that she took a mild-mannered English teacher and turned her into . . . me! (There was a reference to Lois Lane in there;-) )
I might have to mention that I never imagined him practicing Yoga!
At last we reached Dessert Ledge, aka South Ledge, again with Mount Washington in the offing, and the northern slope of Round Mountain in front of us.
From there we began our descent, pausing again to admire the ice and water that were part of the display and the blue hues exhibited.
This one crossing I have to admit I was dreading for I thought it might be under ice, but the rocks, which you can’t see because I was standing on them, were bare, and I felt comfortable pausing to take in the view.
We knew by what we spotted, such as these four slabs of ice somehow caught and wedged by a tree, that the force of the water had been quite strong in the past week, given the weather conditions.
We even spotted an ice berg upon the opposite bank.
Water always soothes my soul, so I thought I’d offer this short video for you to enjoy.
The planet offered us some amazing sites and sounds today, but our favorites were probably the Bear Claw trees.
Yes, we’re still enjoying winter as we did today while we celebrated Creation along the mountain: Long Mountain.
And gave thanks as we always do to Larry and Mary who share this trail and others with so many of us, and Bruce, their trail creator, who does an amazing job.
We call ourselves the Trail Snails–a group of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church parishioners always accompanied by various non-parishioners who like to crawl at a snail’s pace.
Each week I try to find a different location, thinking fairly flat for locomotion and with natural elements that will bring out their sense of wonder. The first isn’t always easy, especially given the amount of snow and ice we’ve had this winter; but the second is a cinch since there’s so much to wonder about in our little corner of the world. When we started these walks in the fall, I did not expect that we’d continue weekly throughout the winter. But we have.
And so today six people (parishioners and non) joined me at my house to head out to the well-packed snowmobile trail. Of course, it wasn’t as well packed for the first thirty feet and that proved a bit challenging because we all wore some variation of micro-spikes rather than snowshoes, but they all persevered.
Once on the main trail, I showed them Porcupine tracks and then asked them to find the next set of such. It only took a minute for one to spot the pattern. While we looked at them and I shared some fun facts, I looked around and realized I was standing in the middle of recent Porky activity. Not only were there fresh tracks, but also scat and twigs cut at the traditional 45˚ angle, with buds and needles missing. We looked up into the tree, but fortunately no one was at home.
I think I know this Porcupine because he’s a frequent visitor to the Hemlocks in our woods and the neighbors’.
When I asked the group to share the findings and become a Porcupine, they did so, though I think they think I’m a wee bit crazy. Maybe I am. Anyway, Left to right: Nancy holding some scat on my scat shovel, Marion and another Nancy with twigs, Marcia smiling about it all, and Gary wearing my Porcupine socks to show how the feet are like sandpaper to gripe a tree as they climb, while his wife Julia was there for moral support and to help him up if need be.
We paused at many other spots along the way, including looking at the silk a Pine Tube Caterpillar uses to construct its tube.
And admire a perfectly round display of Lungwort, a foliose lichen consisting of a fungus and a green algal partner living together in a symbiotic relationship with a cyanobacterium.
Had I brought water, I would have poured some on it to show off how green it quickly gets since the alga would have kicked into action to provide food for the fungal structure.
Lungwort is sensitive to air pollution and habitat loss, so spotting it is always a treat and reminds us of why we love living here in western Maine.
We also looked at buds on an Ash to figure out which species and I told them about the Emerald Ash Borer and showed photos of what blonding looks like.
It turns out what we were looking at was a White Ash–hairless buds that dip into the upside-down, C-shaped leaf scar.
And then there were the Winter Fireflies that we found still as could be on the snow. I picked one up in the scat shovel and thought it must be dead.
That is . . . until we noticed its antennae began to move.
And then it started to walk. Last we knew, I’d left it and its kin on their favorite tree, a Sugar Maple, with hopes that as the temps warmed today and will continue to do so going forward, the insects will survive.
Just before reaching our driveway at the end of our walk, we also saw a Winter Cranefly, but moments after I scooped it up in my scat shovel, it flew. At least most everyone got to see it.
As Trail Snails, we walked not quite a mile and a half in two hours, but saw so much, and I was especially jazzed by the new Porcupine evidence. I think they were as well. Maybe not jazzed, but curious.
And in our time together we saw only three snowmobiles. While it was brought up that those on the machines miss all that we were seeing, I did explain that My Guy often comes back from a ride and tells me of the wildlife he and friends sighted. There I am being so quiet and not seeing any, but somehow despite the machine he spies so much more.
And then this afternoon, I picked up a friend and drove to another section of the local snowmobile system. We walked and talked and talked and talked some more, catching up because despite retirement we are both incredibly busy. In a good way. Doing things we love to do.
As we walked, I kept pointing out Porcupine tracks and if we’d had snowshoes on, I might have convinced her to look for the feeding trees and den sights, but we chose to begin with micro-spikes and quickly ditched those since the snow conditions on the well-packed trail were just right.
We also paused to listen to a Barred Owl and tried to spot it to no avail.
And then, near water, we spied tracks of a different sort. And scat. And mud. And not quite open water.
The scat was from Otters. And I really wanted to take a closer look, but didn’t trust the trail down, despite it being well traveled.
What I now realize I didn’t take a photo of were tree marks in the snow, which in the moment I surmised were twigs blowing down toward the water.
I noted that the track continued across the road upon which we walked and so I suggested we take a look and see if we could note anything about the Otters’ behavior.
We certainly did not note anything about such, but instead discovered fresh Beaver works. And suddenly the indentations left by the twigs made sense–Beavers dragging tree branches down to the water to take back to their lodge or winter food raft.
Maybe like some people that I’ve heard are looking for more firewood right now to stay warm the rest of the winter, the Beavers didn’t realize everything would stay frozen as long as it has and so they needed to replenish the pantry.
Shortly after that, at about the 2.5 mile mark from our journey’s beginning, we turned around and started to walk back. And then something stopped us in our tracks. It took me a few moments to say, “Look,” and grab my camera and I feared this something would slip out of sight before I did so.
The Beaver must have come up the hill to cross the road to go grocery shopping by the trees he’d previously cut down, and then spotted us and we watched it waddle down its well packed trail toward the ice.
We thought our time together would end in a second as it slipped into the water, but then we realized it was looking for an open hole.
And scratching the snow and ice, even to the point of getting snow on its face.
It kept trying and we kept watching.
Still no luck for the Beaver, while we felt we were having all the luck in the world.
Traveling on land is such a vulnerable activity for Beavers and I could only hope that the Otter scat in this very spot where we stood above the water was the result of the Otter eating something else and not making a meal of a Beaver kit. Because really, they both can take advantage of the same hole in the ice.
We also wondered where the lodge might be but the bank’s edge was too steep for us to note if it was nearby.
And then, just like that, the Beaver found open water and this was the last we saw of it before it made its escape.
We knew we were blessed, Marita and I. And gave great thanks for hearing the Barred Owl, spying Otter Scat, and spending a few minutes with a Beaver.
What a day, from a Porcupine’s Tale to a Beaver’s, two mammals with tails of grand importance–the former being for defense and stability on a tree limb, and the latter for a rudder, as well as stability like a tripod when cutting down a tree, and fat storage as well.
I’ve been waiting for this day for the last few weeks. To that end, every couple of days I’ve snowshoed out the back door and made my way down to the park, eyes always looking down just in case. To no avail.
Oh, the ducks are always there, as its their winter hangout, being one of the few places with open water given how cold the temps have been. Even this morning, the thermometer registered -7˚ at our house.
What I love about the sun shining on the male Mallards heads was that some appeared green and others blue in their iridescent hue. They rather reminded me of Ebony Jewelwing Damselflies who have bodies of the same color, albeit a million times smaller.
But it wasn’t the ducks that I sought. Instead, it was this. A Winter Stonefly!
In winter, crazy as it may seem, the aquatic immature stage of a Winter Stonefly, aka naiad, crawls from the rocky bottom home of the brook where it has spent the last year or more maturing (going through as many as thirty molts) and shredding fallen leaves, climbs up through crevices in the snow that covers the brook, finds a plant or some other spot to emerge as an adult, and leaves behind its shed skin, much like a dragonfly or damselfly.
Today, though not abundant, the insects were all on the move and most headed west, as I’ve noted in the past.
Their mission: to reach a tree trunk.
Once there, they’ll crawl under the snow beside the trunk and I had to wonder if we’ll hear the sounds of their party reverberating through the cold night air tonight. That said, today it wasn’t hundreds of insects; but that day will come soon.
Why to the tree trunks? And why crawl under the snow? The bark is warmest in that spot, so it is a good place to get out of the weather.
Stoneflies have hammer-like structures on their abdomen that make noise when thumped against a surface, like a tree trunk or a twig or even the ground. This is a mating call. The males drum, and the females drum back, and voila, they find each other and canoodle.
And just to mix it up, this spot is also home to Small Winter Stoneflies.
Like Mayflies and Caddisflies, Stoneflies are particularly sensitive to pollution and serve as bioindicators of water quality. That means the brooks beside which I walked have excellent water quality. That is good news indeed.
Since I was in the park, I decided to look around to see who else might be living there. There was an abundance of Gray Squirrel tracks, and those left by a Red Fox or two, and even Raccoons. But then in a spot where I hadn’t spotted this tree for any reason before, I noticed that a Beaver had paid attention.
Can’t you just imagine the Beaver cocking its head to the side and trying to cut this tree down. From the looks of it, this tree was partially chopped down before ice formed over most of one of the two brooks that flow through the property, so I would imagine in early December. How did I miss this before?
And where there are White Pine Saplings, some times there are signs of a Pine Tube Caterpillar’s winter home. Well, it could have been in this one or any of the dozen others I spotted nearby.
The larval form of the Pine Tube Moth, Argyrotaenia pinatubana, binds clusters of needles together. What typically happens is that the caterpillar uses between ten and twenty needles to form a tube or hollow tunnel. (You might also see the little white Pine Scale insect to the left of the tube.)
In October 2021, I had the good fortune to watch some Pine Tube Caterpillars at work.
Back and forth they moved, excreting silk that formed a ladder-like web. The caterpillars moved up and down their silk-lined tunnels to feed on needles at the tip. When the time comes, each caterpillar creates one more tube and does the same thing until it is ready to pupate overwinter.
The moth will emerge in April, when I’ll need to pay attention again (if I remember). Two generations occur each year and those that overwinter are the second generation.
Those were all great sightings. BUT. Not all is perfect with the natural world. And the blonding on the Ash tree is certainly an indicator of one thing that is wrong.
Emerald Ash Borers are invasive insects that will attack and kill both weak and healthy Ash trees of all species.
Most of the EAB’s life cycle takes place below the bark.
Tunnels or galleries from feeding larvae accumulate and disrupt the flow of a tree’s nutrients. All wood boring insects leave behind tunnel patterns, but to my knowledge no others have the S-shaped or sinuous curves of EAB.
During the winter, woodpeckers probe for larvae feeding beneath the bark, and often reveal infested trees. The “blonding” I referred to earlier is the light color left behind as the birds remove the outer bark.
I checked some of the debris below one of the infected trees, in hopes of finding woodpecker scat filled with the larval and/or pupal forms of EAB, but so far have not had success. Though some towns are bringing in parasitic wasps to attack the mature insects, wouldn’t it be great to know that we have birds who can help in the effort?
While studying the Ash trees, I looked across the trail at a couple of Sugar Maples and discovered another insect whom I think the world of, the Winter Firefly.
So here’s the thing: fireflies are not flies; they are beetles. Unlike many beetles, however, Winter Fireflies overwinter as adults.
Also, they are diurnal and don’t have lanterns to light up the night sky.
Once I started looking, I discovered quite a few either crawling on the trunk or tucked just underneath where the bark curled away from the tree.
There were also a bunch on the snow, like this one above, and they appeared to be dead, which surprised me. Or maybe they were just taking a rest?
Back to the ducks I returned before heading home. And this time, it wasn’t just Mallards who came into my view. I would like to confidently say that the duck on the left is a female American Black Duck and on the right, a female Mallard.
BUT . . . yes, it’s true, there always is a but, I’m only basing my conclusion on the difference in their beaks and according to The Sibley Field Guide, there are hybrids.
The rest of the bodies of these two look almost identical, and perhaps not as dark as the Black Duck should be. Am I right? (You know that when I’m alone I’m 100% correct, but in blog-land, I’m not alone so I welcome any tips to help me have a better understanding.)
There were a zillion Mallards and though some seemed to be couples like these two, others ganged up and squawked and zipped about chasing each other in circles.
And then into the mix entered a pair of Hooded Mergansers, she being the more drab color. Actually, I spotted two males, but only one female. Then again, I stood only in one spot to view the open water, so I don’t know who might have been around the bend.
Both the male and female Mergansers were diving and feeding, possibly on small fish.
As I watched them, another duck paddled my way and I thought for sure it was a rare species and couldn’t wait to get home and check my field guides.
He had the green head and yellow bill of a breeding male Mallard, and gave chase to his woman.
But that white bib?
It was almost as if the White-bibbed duck had the opposite coloration of the male Mallard, with the light colored chest and dark flank versus Mr. M’s dark chest and lighter flank.
Mr. White-Bibbed also had a white eye line that I didn’t see in the Mallard. And his chest seemed to stick out prominently.
The best I can tell from a little research, is that this is the result of a Mallard canoodling with a domestic duck. Again, if I’m wrong, please let me know.
Some call them Manky Mallards or Domestic Mallards. Mrs. Mallard seemed rather pleased with her choice and if these two do stay together, I can only wonder what their offspring will look like.
Just before I walked home, I heard and then saw a pair of Northern Cardinals. She didn’t make herself clearly visible, because if you look closely, you’ll note the berries of another invasive, Bittersweet, that she was dining upon. Junk food for birds. And they are the reason it spreads so rampantly in our area. I have to say, I remember a time when I thought Bittersweet was beautiful as a decoration.
At the end of the day, I have to say I went in search of Winter Stoneflies and came home well rewarded.
I can’t believe I missed the date by two days. I’d been planning this for months. Well, in the back of my mind, that is. No actual thoughts were jotted down on paper. I just knew what I wanted to do and when I wanted to do it . . . until I forgot. Or rather, it slipped my mind. Momentarily.
No harm done.
As the saying goes, “There’s no time like the present,” and so my gift to you dear readers will be to give you the present of time by taking you back to the beginning of wondermyway and then making our way to the present. And all of it is because I was given the gift of being present in the moment on so many occasions. Egads. That’s a lot of presents. And presence.
My first blog post was published on February 21, 2015, and entitled Wonder My Way. It began with these paragraphs: Wonder my way as I wander through the Maine woods. So often I see things that make me stop and wonder. Sometimes I figure it out, but other times, I’m just as happy that I don’t. It’s TheSense of Wonder that Rachel Carson wrote about which keeps me going. Do we need to have all the answers? I think not.
So join me for a tramp from our woodlot to the world beyond. I know not where this trail will take us, but I can guarantee that we’ll have fun along the way. Read more . . .
Spring is so fleeting in Maine. Oh, I know, it lasts the usual three months and the beginning and ending overlap with its seasonal partners, but really . . . one must take time to pause and watch or you’ll miss the most amazing action that occurs in slow motion right outside the window–and beyond.
For those who are new to my blog, Jinny Mae, who is featured in this and many blog posts, was a dear friend whose name I turned in to an alias as she faced cancer courageously and rather privately. In the end, the cancer consumed her, but the things we enjoyed along the way were bountiful, including this spring adventure to an incredible space in our little neck of the woods. Read more . . .
I shared a unique experience with five other naturalists, the majority of them in the six to eleven age range. For twenty minutes the six of us watched a Ruffed Grouse at it moved about, overturning leaves and foraging on buds. When we last saw it, the bird headed off in the opposite direction that we intended to journey, and so we moved on with wonder in our eyes and minds.
And then the next day I returned on a mission to study some twigs at the same property. No sooner had I stepped onto the trail when I heard the sound of leaves cracking a wee bit and what to my wondering eyes should appear but the same bird.
The curious thing: the bird followed me, staying about ten feet away as I tramped on. I stopped. Frequently. So did the bird.
And we began to chat. I talked quietly to him (I’m making a gender assumption) and he murmured back sweet nothings. Read more . . .
Okay, so My Guy and I have enjoyed The Amazing Race show over the years and felt like there were some challenges either or both of us could face, but others that neither of us would dare attempt. And so . . . I created our own version.
The thing is that until I take the time to change the order of this post on my website, you’d be best to start at the bottom and read each entry, going up one step at a time. As in, this: Scroll down to February 18 on this link and then after reading that entry, make your way up one episode at a time, until you reach the last recorded on February 2, 2019. Oh heck, read it in any order that pleases you. Just get into the spirit of the race I created cuze I certainly had fun with it. And fooled a few people along the way.
The Amazing Race–Our Style
I’m sure when we said our wedding vows back in 1990, there was something in there about only riding a snowmobile once. And I did that once two years or so ago–mostly because I knew it would please my guy. Certain memories remain from that experience: I felt like a bobblehead inside the helmet; I lacked control as I sat behind him and couldn’t see; when I did peek around, I was sure my head was going to strike a tree so narrow was the trail; and I didn’t like the speed. Oh yeah, and at a road crossing, I do believe I jumped off and walked to the other side. With all of that in mind, I’m not sure what I was thinking when I created a Valentine’s gift for him–our very own Amazing Race. Read more . . .
Five years ago today (ten now!) I turned from taking a hundred million photos on each tramp to taking a hundred million photos and writing about them.
Typically, on the anniversary I scan the past year’s posts and choose one from each month, providing a photo to represent it, with a brief (or not so brief) comment and link to the full read.
But . . . because this is a milestone I never imagined reaching (posts: 733; views: 76,793; visitors: 44371; followers: 578), I thought I’d take the time to thank you, the readers, for wandering through the wonders with me.
We had no intention of eating lunch in this spot today, but while looking for a mountain to climb, we kept encountering full parking lots and so our backroad meander put us beside a bog at lunch time and voilà, we managed to walk all of less than two tenths of a mile. Total.
But in that short distance, our eyes feasted. First it was all the Painted Turtles basking in the sun. Read more . . .
For the past two weeks at Greater Lovell Land Trust we’ve had the good fortune to conduct a wildlife survey in the waters that surround the newly acquired Charles Pond Reserve in Stow, Maine. Our hats are off to Alanna Doughty of Lakes Environmental Association (LEA) for her willingness to be the lead on this project and work in collaboration with us. Alanna, you see, has conducted previous surveys for Maine Inland Wildlife & Fisheries (MDIFW) at LEA properties, and was trained by wildlife biologist Derek Yorks to set these up.
MDIFW maintains a comprehensive database on the distribution of Maine’s amphibians and reptiles, as well as terrestrial and freshwater invertebrates and the data we’ve collected will add to the bigger picture. What we discovered was just as important as what we didn’t find. Read more . . .
Thank you to all who read and comment and share wondermyway.com. Some of you have followed my blog posts since the beginning, February 21, 2015. A few have joined the journey as recently as yesterday. I’m grateful for the presence of all of you in my life.
To mark this occasion, I thought I’d reflect upon those moments when my wonder gave me a glimpse of the “Thin Places” that I’ve experienced either by myself or in the company of others.
To quote my friend, Ev Lennon, “A Thin Place is a spot of beauty, loveliness, space–an example of the wideness and grandeur of Creation.”
I think of them as places that you don’t plan a trip to visit, but rather . . . stumble upon.
And that brings me to this year and this anniversary, belated as it may be. I can’t believe it’s been ten years since I started this endeavor, which has served as my diary and memory, and been a place for me to share so many incredible extraordinary ordinary experiences with all of you. Thank you for being faithful readers.
As I compare the numbers to year five, I haven’t written as often in the last five years, but your support has been incredible.
And since I retired as Education Director for a local land trust just over a year ago, I’ve added some other fun to the mix.
I did a thing. Years ago I wrote a children’s story. Well, a bunch of them actually. And I tried to sell this particular one to publishing houses. No takers. Then, a couple of years ago I purchased a Fairy Coloring Book created by the one and only Solana, teenage daughter of the Fly Away Farm Wards in Lovell and Stow, Maine, and approached her about illustrating my fairy tale. She took on the task and did an amazing job. Then I asked copyeditor Pam Marshall to wave her magic wand over it. And I asked local graphic designer Dianne Lewis to use some fairy dust and turn it into an actual book. I always said I’d never self-publish a book. And tada: I did just that. And now it’s even better because it’s published by http://www.indieauthorbooks.com.
At the end of April I began taking an art class offered by one of my peeps, a young woman who walked into the lives of many of us one day about twenty months ago; a young woman with a million talents to offer. Among those talents, she is a self-taught artist and we’ve been begging her to teach us.
At our first class, we had to draw a small box in the upper left-hand corner of the paper and place the person who has been our biggest art critic into it. That done, the critic was forever boxed–well, until she sneaks out, which she seems to do way too much.
And then we looked at some photographs in magazines and had to sketch them and determine the direction the eye would travel in the picture.
Next we looked at lines and perspective. I’d brought along my favorite colored pencils, but immediately felt my inner critic jump on me because all of my classmates were working with watercolor pencils, watercolor paint or acrylics. And the artist herself, gouache. Until I met her, I’d never even heard of gouache. Or at least never paid attention, if I had.
And we said goodbye to Lake Living magazine, a glossy publication I’ve worked on since 2006.
We are movie stars! Well, maybe not quite. But, many, many thanks to Evan Miller of Lake Region Television for filming and editing Laurie LaMountain, owner and publisher of Lake Living magazine, and me recently as we said, “Fare Thee Well,” to working on this publication.
The car in front of us pulled just off the road and then we saw a hand reach out the window and beckon us to drive forward. And so we did. And rolled down the passenger side window. We thought something was wrong.
Instead, we learned everything was incredibly right. For on the road between the two vehicles was a mammal track. Our driver pulled over to the side of the road and seven of us quickly emerged from the two cars.
In the dusting of snow that had fallen before we met in China, Maine, on Tuesday morning, the prints were almost perfect. Not quite because they’d been created a wee bit before the storm ended and/or wind had filled them in a tad. Close enough to perfect though that we could easily read them.
And we knew we were in the right place with the right guide, because who else would stop in the road to begin our tracking lesson? We were six Maine Master Naturalists and our guide: Professional Tracker and Naturalist Dan Gardoqui of Lead with Nature.
We could easily look at the tracks and prints from the three perspectives of flying (what was the setting?), standing (how was the animal moving?), getting down to look for details, and I think we all quickly surmised the creator was in the cat family, but . . . the lines in the snow indicate our brand new learning. If we started paying more attention to the trail width, we could determine whether the animal or in this case, more than one animal, was walking or trotting. It’s one of those things I think my brain processes without giving it much thought most of the time, unless I’m actually backtracking and pulling more of the story together, but the two gaits side by side and Dan’s lines outlining the differences, gave it a whole new perspective.
Back into the cars we piled and continued down the road.
About ten feet.
And then we pulled over again.
Another set of tracks, much more unique than the first set. With a tail mark between them.
The opposable thumb helped us ID these as belonging to a Virginia Opossum. Just look at those toes and nails. It’s been a few years since I’ve spotted Opossum tracks in our woods, and they are always so fun to locate.
The thing was, there were multiple Possum tracks, and we soon learned when the neighbor came out to see what we were doing (a bunch of weirdos crouching over snow in the middle of the road should cause concern?) that they were well feed. One lived under a shed or something by his house, but the others came nightly because he feeds them.
My big take away: I knew that the deeper grooved line was created by the prehensile tail as it dragged behind the Opossum, (which would be a tail-slap in deep snow, and not quite as prominent), but I’ve never noticed the lighter drag lines on either side of the tail. Dan explained that those are nail drags.
At last we reached our intended destination of Thurston Park, a 400-acre forest on the edge of town.
Almost immediately, well, after noting the routes and patterns of mice and voles, everyone’s favorite meals, we came upon the track of a predator who placed a hind foot exactly where a front foot had been before moving forward. Again, we looked at the setting, pattern, and other hints like the X between the toe pads and metacarpal pad, plus the gait, and without following it out too much to search for other clues, surmised that despite the not-so-clear prints, we had found the track of a Red Fox.
And then he showed us another cool thing that I need to remember to employ–imagine and actually draw the legs and then the body of the animal and you have a sense of size. Most of the time. It helps to add the head and tail like he did.
A bit later, we stepped out into a wetland and headed to a spot where Dan had seen Otter activity last Friday on a pre-hike, before the storms of the last few days. Most of that action was obliterated or almost undecipherable, but we spotted something else in the middle of the ice that we really wanted to examine.
Not a pretty site, but a kill site never is. That being said, Dan did not see any of this on Friday, and by the fact that there was a game camera overlooking the scene, and there were bones from several animals, and one carcass looked a bit folded up, we surmised it had been placed here either to attract predators for the sake of hunting them, or to watch what predators came in to feast. It was the thought of the latter that appealed to most of us. So we looked around for signs of dinner guests and found mostly Raven tracks.
Farther out on the snow-covered ice, we discovered that deer had crossed multiple times. One of those crossings provided another interpretive lesson. We could tell the direction of travel by the way the cloven hooves faced, and would see the changes in the gait, but what Dan helped us to understand better was the fast trotting gait and then the slow down (almost like it put the brakes on) to a walking gait. And then a change of pace again. We had to wonder what may have spooked the White-tailed Deer, causing it to speed up and then slow down.
Our next stop, after exploring an island for a bit, was to check out one of several beaver lodges. The sticks were rather on the fresh side and it had been mudded this past fall.
Were the beavers home and wondering who the heck was knocking on the roof?
Possibly, but given that it was another brisk day in Maine, I expected to see hoar frost at the steam hole and am not convinced there was any. I could be mistaken.
The next find as we headed off the ice and back toward the woods was a lodge of another critter. I may have seen one of these twenty plus years ago at Brownfield Bog, but have failed to identify any since then so was grateful for this lesson.
Meet the home of a Muskrat. Anyone home? Again, we couldn’t be sure. But it was the ability to look at the structure and gain a better understanding of its construction that I so appreciated. Rather than a home of sticks like the Beaver lodge, these are made of vegetation, including the cattails that were abundant in the wetland.
We took a look at the 45˚ cut of the cattail stalk, given a Muskrat is a rodent.
Back on land, we found a sunny spot protected by trees and took a lunch break out of the wind, during which we learned more about Dan’s career as a naturalist and shared with him about our Master Naturalist training and volunteering.
And then we continued, noting abundant snowshoe hare tracks. What we wanted to see were signs of them eating, which we finally found upon some Beaked Hazelnut branches. Again, it was the 45˚ angle cut.
While looking at that, something else caught our attention: Glue Crust Fungus (Hymenochaete corrugata), which migrates from tree to tree and glues twigs and branches together. What we couldn’t see happening is that the fungus was feeding off the decaying wood beneath its dark crust.
Another stop and another sign I need to start looking for at home and beyond: do you see the yellowey-orange coloration on the the tree scar?
It turns out this is the work of a Gray Squirrel. It’s called Squirrel Striping and is a scent post. Similar to how a Black Bear bites trees or telephone poles by cocking its head to the side, and rubbing against it, so does the Gray Squirrel, perhaps announcing its territory or making a statement about its health or availability. After biting, the critter rubs its check and/or deposits saliva on the area to leave a scent. And it may return to the same spot year after year to mark it.
Not to be outdone, we found the tap bites of a Red Squirrel upon a Red Maple. Okay, so I never would have guessed that that was what we were looking at on the bark. Instead, I would have talked about the tree being diseased. And I would have been wrong.
These marks are old and show how the tree healed the wound. And now I must pay attention and look for fresh evidence, but what happened is the same dot and dash (Thank you to Susan Morse for teaching me that description during a two day workshop about twelve years ago) behavior as the Gray Squirrel and Black Bear. The squirrel anchored its upper incisors, creating the dot, and the dash is the cut made by the lower incisors as they were drawn toward the upper ones. Again, head cocked to the side.
After tapping a tree, apparently they don’t lick the flowing sap immediately, but rather wait until the sugar has crystalized. It’s kinda like hard candy.
Another stop in the warm sun was by a White Pine grove, where we noted that the leader branches on some of the saplings had been attacked by weevils, and the next whorl of branches had taken over and reached for the sky.
I’ve broken the dead leader off in the past, recognized by its crosier-like appearance, and had the joy of seeing the larval weevil crawl out, but never did I think to cut the branch and look for frass. Bingo! A new trick in my pocket. And maybe yours as well.
Our final finding of the day had me absolutely certain of ID and then mystified. We were again by a wet area and though the prints weren’t clear, by the placement of the two feet with one being larger than the other in the first set and the opposite in the second and looking like they were on an alternating diagonal, I was certain we’d found a Raccoon, but didn’t want to make a fast judgment.
We followed the track and I was at the end of the line, but the pattern changed and a trough occurred as the critter plowed through the snow and I was questioning Raccoon and leaning more toward Porcupine.
And then it changed again when we got under some trees where the snow wasn’t as deep and the Raccoon prints reappeared and Raccoon it was. Dan explained that in deep snow this waddler uses a more direct registration walk and that’s what we were seeing in the trough.
Thank you to Karen H, and Dorcas, for pulling this adventure together and inviting me. And thanks also to Karen, Olga, and Beth, for sharing a brain and sharing knowledge.
And thanks especially to Dan for teaching us educators innumerable lessons in the course of six plus hours.
We knew the minute we got out of the cars on the road in to Thurston Park that it was going to be an incredible day of learning. And it was, all of this being only a sampling of what we actually saw and learned. And we loved becoming students again.
While most critters in the woods make their presence known only by signs left behind, there is at least one who is bold and loud and ever present in my neck of the woods. It often begins the day with a salute of drumming on a hollow snag to mark its territory just after the sun rises, and then I hear it or see it fly about our yard and woods and across the field beyond the stonewall throughout the day.
Every once in a while it honors me with a chance for a closer look. And so this afternoon, as I headed off into the woods to snip some twigs for an upcoming class that I’m teaching, I noticed some evidence that my friend had been present in the recent past.
It was the wood chips on the snow that served as his calling card. Well, his first card that is. By these, I knew he’d been chiseling the tree above, but always, when I spot this behavior I look for a second sign. And came up empty-handed. No scat.
While I was looking, however, I began to realize I could hear a familiar tap, tap, tapping from another tree.
And so I looked around, expecting to find one of his cousins, for the taps, though consistent, were not as loud as the drumming he uses to advertise his territory or announce his availability to a potential mate, but rather featured a softer rhythm.
Much to my delight, there he was, high up in a White Pine.
I was sure we wouldn’t get to spend too much time together, and so I wanted to focus on him as best I could. And that’s when I noticed the bark had been sloughed off the tree. My friend was hunting for bark beetles.
I decided to take my chances and move a few steps in order to get a clear picture, and still he stayed, though I thought our time might be over when he looked away from the tree.
Thankfully it wasn’t. Do you see all of the tunnels the beetles had carved where the bark had once been?
Oh, and how do I know it was a male? By the red mustache on his cheek. His lady does not have such a marking.
He turned back toward his work and I loved how it was obvious that his tail feathers formed the third leg of a tripod to provide support against the tree. When you have a head-banging job such as his, and only two legs, that third is important.
Eventually I pulled myself away and continued on my quest to locate certain tree species and snip just enough twig samples for each pair of students. Along the way, however, there were other things to notice like this recently deposited Bobcat scat offering a classic look at its hair-filled contents and sectioned presentation.
There are a million tracks in the woods right now since everything has been on the move following the last snowstorm, and the Foxes and Coyotes and Bobcats have been in dating mode, so it was no surprise to find Bobcat prints on top of other prints left behind.
Besides all the mammal tracks, I found lots of evidence of Ruffed Grouse walking about as well. They always remind me of my friend ArGee, whom I met in 2018, and wrote about several times, including this post Nothing to Grouse About. I may never get to have the experience of spending some quality time with a Grouse again, but seeing the tracks of one so clearly defined always makes me smile.
Another who has become a constant companion this winter is the Winter Crane Fly. Like all Crane Flies, he’s not a mosquito, though he looks like an oversized one. Crane Flies have no mouth parts, therefore, they can’t seek your blood. It’s only job is to find a mate and breed.
They are called Crane Flies because of their long legs and beaks that long ago were thought to resemble a Sandhill or Whooping Crane.
So why fly in winter? Perhaps because your predators are few. And your chances of mating without being eaten better.
Snow Flies have six legs, but if you look carefully, you’ll notice this one only had five. As for that missing leg, Snow Flies self-amputate so that ice doesn’t enter body. It’s a fighting chance to survive the frigid winter and this photo was taking on a very cold day. An incredible adaptation.
Fast forward to today, which felt almost like summer (in the 30˚s), and I spotted another, this one with all six legs still intact.
And those two yellowish bumps on its thorax? Halteres, or small club-shaped organs, that help provide information for wing-steering muscles of True Flies (Diptera). From The Snow Fly Project, I’ve learned that “Snow flies are distinctive in their appearance, with long, spindly legs. They lack wings but do possess halteres. It has been suggested that their lack of wings might have evolved due to exposure to cold temperatures and wind (Hackman, 1964; Byers, 1983; Novak et al., 2007).”
Eventually it was time to return to our woods where I noticed more works by my friend.
Below this tree, there was even more debris and by the number of holes, it was obvious that this was a much more bountiful tree than the first one that stopped me in my tracks. That is, if you are seeking insects.
And so, I had to bend down and take a closer look. It’s like a treasure hunt at the base of a tree and let’s me know if the bird was successful in dining or not.
And I was well rewarded. All kinds of scat packages sat upon the wood chips and I knew that while the woodpecker found plenty of Carpenter Ants in the tree trunk, it had also recently dined on Bittersweet berries. As for the berries, well, um, Bittersweet does grow locally.
There was even some scat dripping off the tree! My heart be still.
As for Mr. Pileated, he’d moved on for the moment, but just before we’d parted ways earlier, he offered me a quick opportunity to spot his tongue between the upper and lower beak. Pileated Woodpeckers have sticky tongues, which they probe into the tunnels the delicious (to a woodpecker, that is) ants and other insects have created.
On this day, like so many others, I want to express my appreciation for the Pileated Woodpecker’s part in this world, for creating nesting sites that others, such as small songbirds, may use, and how he helps the trees in the forest by contributing to their decomposition, for as much as some think that these woodpeckers and their kin are killing the trees, the trees are already dying due to insect infestations, and the birds’ work will eventually help the trees fall to the ground, add nutrients to replace what they had used, and provide a nursery upon which other trees may grown.
Thank you, Pileated Woodpecker, and Bobcat, and Winter Crane Fly and Snow Fly. So many to honor.
It’s been delightfully frigid this past week. My kind of temps because it makes me feel so alive when I’m out in the woods. And as My Guy and I were saying when we hiked this afternoon, it’s all about dressing right. So we did.
Just after turning onto the side road of our intended destination, we watched a Vole scamper across and then dart this way and that while I stopped the truck. Did either of us take a photo? No. But those moments are always for the mind’s eye.
And then, after parking, I spotted this sweet little snowman on the other side of the snowbank and thought, “What a job well done, given the cold temps of the week.” You see, it’s not really snowman-building-kinda snow, but someone was successful.
Our journey included walking a mile in to the trailhead, though we noticed a few people had actually driven in; something you can’t usually do at this time of year . . . if there is more snow. Alas. That we don’t have.
But . . . I love to walk in because . . . there are telephone poles. And being adjacent to the National Forest, it’s a rather wild place. And these poles tell a story of just how wild.
In fact, on this one the shiny numbers have been attacked and I can just imagine the activity that took place here.
In my mind’s eye, the Black Bear scratched the pole and then rubbed its back as it turned its head and bit at it. Why? That’s a question for which I’ve heard several different answers over the years, from something different in the woods, to it likes the creosote, to it feels the vibration coming down from the electrical wires above. I’m not sure of the answer, but I do know that I like to use my back scratcher once in a while and I can imagine the Bear does as well. His is just MUCH bigger than mine.
I always tease My Guy that this is his favorite game, to which he guffaws. But I can’t resist taking a look. I mean, look at pole 17. The metal is fairly intact, but can’t you just see the upper incisors chomping down and dragging back toward the lower, while the head is turned to the side?
And don’t you just covet those hairs? My Guy asked why some are so light in color–that’s because this action may have occurred in the spring. It could be territorial, and maybe that’s the only answer we need. Anyway, over the summer, the color bleached out.
This pole had been attacked so many times over the years, that the numbers are now completely gone. In the past, I’ve noted that the number 5 somehow seemed to draw the Bear’s attention, and today I don’t recall seeing Pole #5 or #15. Maybe this was one of them. Because I was with you-know-who, I didn’t take too much time to pay attention to what number this pole should have been.
I was just happy to be out there looking at them.
Once we reached the trailhead, well, actually, even before we reached it, we noticed Red Fox prints and tracks. By the gazillion.
And then, in the middle of a field that is part of the trail, a perfect Red Fox scat filled with fruit. You can thank me for not making this a more upclose and personal photo.
There was a reason for the fruit . . . because the trail next passed through an old orchard. And there, the tracks increased significantly.
Apples were on the Fox’s menu and those that had been buried under the snow were excavated.
And because it is that time of year, I noticed something else going on in the midst of all the tracks.
Do you see the downed White Pine branch?
Take a closer look and you’ll see urine. Fox pee. Male Fox pee.
Just yesterday I was hiking with a friend through her acreage and we found the same. Numerous Fox tracks and spots where the Fox had peed on saplings and anything else that poked out of the ground and snow. And so I invited her to get down on her knees and sniff it, just like a vixen would do.
Skunky!
She stood up smiling and it’s a smell she’ll never forget.
The Fox guys are leaving their messages everywhere to let the ladies know they are available for a date or two or three.
Speaking of yesterday, as we continued to hike, we spotted lots of Deer runs, well worn pathways through the woods. And then a spot where they seemed to browse a bit on downed Hemlock twigs.
But why were the twigs on top of the snow? I lifted one up and noted the 45˚ cut of it. The same on the next. And the next. And then we spotted the curved form of . . . Porcupine scat. Plus some pee.
We looked around and couldn’t find Porcupine tracks anywhere leading to or from the tree.
And so I looked up because that’s what I do whenever I’m under a supposed Porky tree. And low and behold, he was walking out on a branch high above us. We quickly moved away from the trunk and enjoyed the view from below, before continuing our tour.
But I digressed and so I looked skyward today and noticed ice dangling from the cliffs above–prickly in nature, much like yesterday’s Porcupine, but beautiful all the same.
And down low, we noted a good crossing point in case we needed it because last year we arrived at this brook from the opposite direction and discovered the bridge had been washed to the opposite shore during a storm and we had to find our way across with snowshoes on our boots. We wanted to be prepared today.
Much to our dismay and surprise, the bridge hadn’t been repaired, but fortunately the brook was iced over in this section and we decided to run across in hopes of making it safely to the other side.
Success.
A bit farther on and we reached the lookout point for the pond we were circling, with the mountains of Evans Notch forming the backdrop. It looked like a perfect skating rink.
Fox tracks and Coyote tracks continued to mark the way for us and at one spot we saw a few deer bones. I really wanted to look for more evidence of what happened, but time wasn’t on our side.
Instead, I paused only briefly to admire how the snow and ice danced across a fallen log.
Admired an old friend who watches all who pass this way.
And noticed more colorful ice dripping off a ledge as the sun dipped lower in the sky.
And then, much to my surprise, some Beaver works right beside the trail.
There were more and they were rather fresh and there was a trail to the water and so I asked My Guy if he’d mind if I checked out the activity for a moment.
He did what he always graciously does when I ask such, and found a rock to sit upon and patiently wait.
At the water’s edge, I found more signs of the Beaver’s activity, including gnaws on a much larger trunk, and a pile of chew sticks. Did the Beaver sit here to dine? Perhaps. The water was open, so he didn’t have to eat under the ice.
On the way back up the hill to meet My Guy on the edge of the trail, I smiled at the sight of another Beaver tree, that showed how the Beaver, like the Bear, turns its head to scrape the bark and get at the cambium layer.
Funny thing about this one, possibly a previous generation of this Beaver’s family had visited the same tree, as evidence by its graying top that had been cut at least a few years ago and had started to stump sprout.
We had one more bridge crossing to make before heading back to the telephone-poled road, this time with ice and open water to view.
And clumps of stars fashioned upon the ice that reflected the sky.
To say it was a Bluebird day is trite. But truly it was with the sky matching the bird’s plumage.
And on the way out, while I looked at another telephone pole, My Guy saw a Coyote run across the road. A minute later and I spotted a second one headed north as well.
Dancing Vole. Fox dates. Beaver works. Icy art. Coyotes hunting. The first and last were alleged since we don’t have photographs to prove our sightings, but My Guy assured me that since the two of us saw them, they actually happened.
I’ve been lamenting the lack of snow. That is, until I head out the door, don microspikes over my winter boots, and slow my brain down. And then . . . the winter world pulls me in.
It’s amazing what stories there are to interpret, whether in a dusting or a few inches of snow. But first, I need to think about the overall picture and consider where I am.
What state am I in? Maine
What season is it? Winter (my favorite)
What type of forest? Ah, that’s always changing and this week saw a range, for sure. Sometimes it’s coniferous.
Other days, deciduous.
But also a mixed forest.
Or beside a frozen wetland.
Or even a wetland with some open water.
When I do encounter tracks, I have to think–how is the mammal moving through the landscape? In more or less a straight line with a bit of a zigzag to it?
And if so, is it just one mammal, or more than one?
I need to look at the overall pattern, which might mean backtracking a bit (don’t want to put pressure on the mammal, especially if the tracks are fresh).
The thing is that the tracks in the three above photos were made by three different critters, all of whom often move in the same pattern–straight line with a bit of a zigzag as I already said. The left front foot lands and packs the snow, and as the animal moves forward, the left hind foot lands where that front foot was, and visa versa on the other side. So what is actually a set of two prints, one directly or almost directly on top of the other, looks like one print from our point of view. The front foot pre-packs the snow and the hind foot lands in the same spot to make it easier for the mammal to move more efficiently, especially since he doesn’t have a warm fire and dog food awaiting him after a walk in the woods.
“Who created them?” you ask, because of course, I can hear you wondering. The first with my foot beside the prints: Red Fox; second: Eastern Coyote; third: Bobcat.
Briefly, I want to share other forms of movement that we might spot in the woods. These are groups of four prints left behind by a leaper/hopper. Several critters move this way and the best way my brain can tell them apart is by the straddle or trail width–measuring from the outside of one of the larger prints to the outside of the other.
Just to clarify, what you are looking at in one group of four, two smaller prints are the front prints, which land first. The hind feet swing a bit forward just before the front feet lift off and so the hind feet appear to be in front of the front feet.
“What?” Yup. Thus, this mammal is moving toward the top left of the photo, because the hind feet always appear in front of the front feet. Have I lost you yet?
Together, they look sorta like a set of two exclamation points. In deeper snow, they can also look like double diamonds, or even Batman’s mask.
My game camera recently caught a Gray Squirrel in this motion, and if you look closely, you can see the back feet swinging around in front of the front feet.
What is the trail width or straddle for a Gray Squirrel? 4+ inches
Red Squirrel? 3+ inches
Chipmunk (who does come out occasionally in the winter)? 2+ inches.
Another leaper/hopper also leaves a set of four prints, but usually (not always) the two front feet are not parallel like the squirrels. This mammal is hopping toward the lower right hand corner, with the hind feet being out in front to indicate direction.
If you take that photograph and flip it 180˚ so that the world appears upside down, cuze sometimes it just does, you may see what I see that helps me with a quick ID: a snow lobster: the two hind feet out in front, being the claws and the two staggered front feet behind forming the tail.
“And the creator of the snow lobster?” you ask.
Snowshoe Hare.
Just when you think you are getting it, a wee critter enters the scene because, well, it’s everyone’s favorite food (for those who are predators that is), and I have a hunch you’ll spot these tracks rather often.
First, the wee one moves in the direct registration (zigzaggy straight line) gait of the coyote, foxes, and bobcat.
But then it changes things up and may even start tunneling as it leaps forward. And in deeper snow, you’ll see a hole beside vegetation and know that it ducked under to try to avoid becoming a meal.
These are the tracks of a Meadow Vole.
There is a group of mammals who are bounders, so much so that their bodies move almost like accordions, and as the hind feet push off, the front feet land on a diagonal, and the hind feet follow suit and land where the front feet had been, while the front feet are airborne once again.
Do you see the diagonal pattern of the impressions. For the most part, they move on the same diagonal for a while, and then might change it up.
It’s the weasel family that leaves this pattern, and these are from a Mink. Long-tailed weasels and Ermines leave even smaller prints.
Fisher prints are larger and they sometimes change their gait a bit, but always you can find evidence of the diagonal in the middle of pattern; and Otters LOVE to slide.
Finally, in this discussion of patterns, there are the waddlers, those critters with wide bodies (Think Beaver, Porcupine, Raccoon, Black Bear). Their forward motion varies, but this is one of my favorites: the sashay of the pigeon-toed Porcupine.
Another waddler, or wide-hipped critter is the Raccoon. It’s feet look a bit like baby hand prints. But a key (pun intended) characteristic is the switch of the diagonal when looking at how this critter moves through the woods.
Now that you’ve thought about the surroundings and looked at the mammal’s gait, it’s time to consider the size and shape of the print, count toes that are visible, look for nails, examine the overall track and prints from different angles, and take measurements.
We often talk about the X ridge between the toe pads and metacarpal pad of the canines. But sometimes people have a difficult time seeing it, so I find outlining it may help.
Think about this cast of a Coyote print: In your mind’s eye, flip it over so that the oval shape is actually at ground level, and the prints, that were in the mud were below the oval. If you look closely, you’ll realize you are looking at two impressions. The smaller one on top, would have been at the bottom of the impression as one foot landed. And then the second foot landed almost directly on top of it.
“Wowza,” you exclaim.
And notice the toe nails–how they are rather close together and not splayed like your fur baby’s nails when you go out to play in the snow. Conserving heat. Brilliant.
Here’s a look at what you might see when you spot an actual Coyote print.
Another with the X that I didn’t outline, but I hope you can see, is the impression of a Red Fox print. I made this one with an actual Fox foot courtesy of the Maine Master Naturalist Program (and Dorcas Miller). What I love is that you can see the chevron that appears in the metacarpal pad of the fox’s foot .
Sometimes I can see the chevron, sometimes I can’t. It’s all about snow conditions. Some days are perfect for tracking and others are a challenge. But I’ve said a hundred times, when I’m alone, I’m 100% correct in my ID.
To differentiate the walkers/trotters, there’s one more letter to consider, this one being closer to the beginning of the alphabet: C. And it indicates a Bobcat. C is for Cat. Another thing to think about when looking at the zigzaggy straightline, are the toes symmetrical or is there a lead toe?
Symmetrical: Coyote and Foxes. They are also more oval shaped; or kinda like an ice cream cone with one small scoop on top.
Lead toe: Bobcat. Round shape, about the size of a fifty cent piece, while your cat is a quarter.
I’ve been seeing lots of Bobcat prints and tracks this winter. And Snowshoe Hare. Hmmm.
Okay, so enough for the lecture. I want to show you what else I’ve seen in the past week, cuze part of the fun is interpreting the stories.
Last weekend, in the midst of a snowstorm, I taught a tracking lesson for this year’s Maine Master Naturalist class. One of the activities, that also served as an icebreaker for the students, was that within their mentee groups, they were assigned a critter and they had 15 minutes to figure out how to portray that critter so that their classmates could ID it.
This group created a Beaver Lodge and had beavers swim in with sticks from their winter feeding lodge, and one added mud to further insulate the lodge.
I won’t share them all, but this group represented a Red Fox, except that the tail (scarf) got caught. The Xs created by humans were intended to be the X in each print.
And then on Sunday, while hiking in to a wetland a mile plus behind our home, My Guy and I spotted Snowshoe Hare tracks aplenty, but something else caught my attention.
I thought it was a spider in the Hare print because I’ve seen so many on the snow in this area this winter.
That is until I took a closer look and realized it had five legs rather than eight. Oops, I wonder what happened to the sixth leg.
Despite the lack of that other leg, it moved across the snow as best it could. This being a Snow Fly. As for that missing leg, Snow Flies self-amputate so that ice doesn’t enter body. It’s a fighting chance to survive the frigid winter.
Oh, and it’s not always about tracking, especially when a bit of bird calls and color drew our eyes skyward, where we watched and listened to a flock of American Robins, and . . .
Cedar Waxwings on a chilly winter day.
On Monday, My Guy and I made a quick journey around the trails at Viles Arboretum in Augusta, and I actually never took a photo. Yikes. I bet you didn’t think that was possible.
On Wednesday, fellow Master Naturalist Dawn and I spent time at Loon Echo Land Trust’s Tiger Hill Community Forest in Sebago with a group of people curious to learn about tracking and came away jazzed by their level of interest and involvement as they took measurements and noticed details.
On Thursday, My Guy and I climbed the Southwest Ridge Trail on Pleasant Mountain in Denmark, where there wasn’t much snow given the trail’s orientation to the sun, but we did spot quite a few deer prints and runs. I love how deer follow the same trail, making it easier to get from a sleeping area to a feeding area within their “yards.” For years. We’ve lived in our house for over 30 years and I can tell you where the deer runs are located. Always have been. I pray they always will be.
Despite the lack of snow, the views were grand. And he was pleased that nature didn’t slow me down too often.
On Friday, I spent a few hours with these four and two more as we explored at Loon Echo’s Crooked River Forest in Harrison.
One of our cool discoveries was a Porcupine path that led to a den, in the same location we found it last year. I was happy to know that there was no need to move.
And based on the hoar frost around the entry way, we surmised there was at least one Porcupine inside.
We left it or them alone and followed the well worn track in the opposite direction to the feeding tree, an Eastern Hemlock, where there were plenty of downed branches cut at the typical rodent’s 45˚ angle.
And we found the curved scat that had dropped from the animal as it fed while sitting on a branch up in the tree. Happiness is!
And then we made a discovery that didn’t make sense at first, but I think we interpreted correctly based on the evidence provided. At least this is our story: Deer tracks led to the steep river embankment, which in this spot was two-tiered before it reached the water. From our spot at the top of the embankment, we spotted deer tracks leading down to the next level and saw this crazy writing in the snow. And then it occurred to us. There were no human prints or any other prints in the area down there. Only the deer prints leading to it. And on the ice-covered river below, more deer prints. What we surmised is that the deer leaped down to the next level because we could see a couple of prints on the embankment leading to it. And then slid. This way and that. And as it tried to steady itself, it fell on its side, and did a full body slide all the way down the ice and over the leaves and directly down the second embankment to the river below, where it continued to slide once it got upright, and wobbled a bit (wouldn’t you?) before it crossed to the other side.
Regrettably, I didn’t take any more photos, but we discovered that at least one more deer had done the same to the left of where we stood, and it ended up sliding down in the same spot as this one pictured, all the way to the river.
Knowing that deer have traditional runs or paths, I can’t help but wonder if this is one of them, and usually the trip down to the water isn’t quite so perilous. You can bet I’ll check again.
And finally today dawned, and after some errands, I headed into the woods to reset our game camera. That’s when I began to spot blotches of black on the snow. Huh?
Not blood from an animal. What could it be?
Some were rather big. But a closer look soon gave me the answer as it looked like pepper grains were on the move.
After a frigid few days and before what could possibly be a real snowstorm tomorrow night and the next polar vortex to follow, Springtails (Snow Fleas that aren’t really fleas and don’t bite) were doing their thing–springing from the furcula, an appendage under their abdomens, as they fed (though I could only imagine the feeding part because I couldn’t see that action) on decaying plant matter.
What I really wanted to see, I suddenly spied–a predator in their midst! The spiders that I often find on the snow, feed on Springtails. Tada!
Dear Readers, this has been a long post, and even the Robin would agree. But I wanted to share all of these amazing things with you with hopes that you’ll head outside and look around and see what you might see. The stories are yours to interpret. It’s really so much fun. Thank you for sticking with me.
I received the best compliment this morning when a current Maine Master Naturalist student sent me some track photos to check on ID: “Thanks for your assistance- after your presentation I’m finding tracks in places I normally frequent yet I wasn’t paying attention!” ~J.K.
wondermyway 