A lot has happened this week on many different fronts, both personal and public, both positive and not so, some comical (like the porcupine that awoke me one morning because it had managed to climb to the second floor of the barn and toppled our sons’ many “earned” trophies) and others more serious, with some in between thrown into the mix, cuze life happens.
To that end, some of my best moments were spent looking and wondering. In the woods. Of course. In our woods, in particular.
I headed out onto the old cowpath in search of a dear friend, not certain if I’d meet him or at least spot signs of his passing. And it wasn’t a deer I was looking for–although, in a way it was because I haven’t seen a single one in several months and any scat along this trail is from last winter and spring and at that time it was so prevalent that with every step I took, it was there.
No, it was this little guy that I sought. This photo is from last winter when he and I spent hours eyeing each other.
Though his territory could have been several acres and there’s plenty of land out there to inhabit, he, like me, preferred the cowpath, and especially the stone walls since they served as perfect spots to cache his immense supply of pine cones, and as dining room tables, the better to see any approaching predators.
What he sought were the tiny winged seeds, tucked into each protective scale by the twos. If you’ve ever had the joy of watching him munch, you’ll know it’s fast paced as he deftly pulls the seeds out and discards the scales, getting right down to the “cob” of the cone.
The result is a pile of half consumed scales and a few uneaten seeds and cones not quite yet opened and some scat and its all known as a midden (by us humans anyway) or the trash barrel.
Actually, any high place will do and if it has nooks and crannies to serve as storage shelves all the better. Last year was a mast year for the White Pines in our woods. It takes two years for a pine cone of this species to reach maturity.
This year, there are only remnants of Red’s garbage pails and even they are almost hidden by twigs and leaves and needles.
But, while I was exploring his old neighborhood, I discovered something else in this pile that he had used for refrigeration and dining purposes.
Do you see what I spotted? Babies! No, not squirrel babies. But rather: Miniature White Pines.
Once I saw those, I checked every stack that we’d cut years ago and found the same story written upon them. The seeds Red had left uneaten found conditions were right on the rotten logs. Will they survive? Maybe a few, but there are plenty more tiny saplings on the forest floor.
The thing is that I found no evidence of Red and not once did he squawk at me, so I suspect either he moved on to a better food source or became a meal for another, passing all of that energy and sunshine he’d consumed on to the next.
This year, it’s the Northern Red Oaks that have produced a mast crop–of acorns. Actually, they did so last year, and the year before as well. For those of us who frequent Red Oak woods, it’s like walking on ball bearings–and can be a wee bit treacherous as they roll under our boots.
Red Oak acorns are filled with tannins and so, unlike their White brethren which are gobbled up almost immediately by rodents and birds and deer among their consumers, it seems a little of this one is nibbled, and then a little of that one initially. Eventually, the tannins leach out, especially if the acorn has been buried for future consumption, and then the entire nut within may be eaten.
As I looked for Red this past week, I found instead his cousins, the Gray Squirrels in action. Where Red Squirrels are very territorial, Grays tend to have overlapping habitats, and there are at least three on our six acre plot of land.
Burying acorns is their way of caching and it’s possible that what I observed was this squirrel leaving a scent mark with its nose so that come snowfall (and I have faith that it will fall–and can only hope abundantly), it can relocate the food supply. What this squirrel misses, another will find. And those that no one finds might turn into oak trees that will feed future generations, just as the pine saplings may someday do.
It’s for these critters and so many more that we ask that no motorized vehicles pass along the cow path, no matter how tempting it may be. (Thank you, Marguerite, for creating this sign for me.)
And if you are in there, you might happen along the rather rough labyrinth I created, a place that like the squirrels, I return to often.
It’s at the start of the labyrinth that brings a smile to my face each time, for Red had visited and his calling card is still there.
Thank you, Red, for planting your Squirrel Garden. And for capturing my mind and heart and soul this week.
I went on a reconnaissance mission today in preparation for co-leading a Loon Echo Land Trust hike in about another month–once hunting season draws to end. This particular property, like several others that they own, probably sees more people hunting and riding snowmobiles than hiking or tracking. The latter two fall into my realm and today found me doing a bit of both.
But first, I was stunned by the beauty of the ribbony flowers of Witch Hazel. I don’t know why these always surprise me, but maybe it’s the delicate petals that add bits of sunshine at this time of year when everything is else is dying back.
Their wavy-edged leaves also add color as October quickly gives way to November.
A bit farther along the first trail I followed, I found something else to stop me in my steps. Little packages of bird scat inside a hole excavated by a Pileated Woodpecker. If you follow wondermyway.com, then you know that I LOVE to find the woodpecker’s scat, but this was much smaller and I had visions of several smaller birds huddled inside on a cold autumn night.
At the end of the trail I reached a brook that flows into a river. Today, it was a mere trickle. In fact, I took this photo from the high water mark and don’t think I’ve ever seen it this low. Well, not since I began exploring this property in 2020. But then again, since then, we’ve had some heavy rain years and this year has been a bit drier.
I knew once I spotted the trickle that the nearby Beaver dam would not be working to stop the flow.
But . . . in walking over to take a look at it, I spotted something else worth noting . . .
At first my brain interpreted this disturbed site as a bird’s dust bath. Until . . .
I spotted River Otter scat. A latrine, in fact. That’s when I knew (or think, anyway–okay, assume!) that the disturbed sight was a spot where the otter rolled around, or maybe two or three did as they most often travel as a family unit.
How did I know it was otter scat? Look at those fish scales in it. And it wasn’t all that old based on the leaves under and on top of it.
Feeling like I was in the right place at the right time, I doubled back on the trail because it ends at the brook, and then turned onto another to see what else I might find. Along this one, a second brook had a better flow and had me envisioning the land trust group dipping for macro-invertebrates in this spot we haven’t explored yet.
I also found another shrub that thrills me as much as the Witch Hazel. Also a shrub, I can’t pass by a Maple-leaf Viburnum in the fall without admiring its color. Mulberry? Heather? Sky-purple-pink? However you describe it, this I know–no other leaves feature these hues.
If you do spot one, take a moment and touch the leaf. I love the touchy-feely walks that are not about feelings, but rather about actually feeling something (as long as it isn’t poison ivy!).
As luck would have it, I was following an old logging road by this point, which these days serves as a snowmobile trail. Despite its uses, rocks and boulders mark sections of it. And atop one, oh my! Do you see what I saw?
A LARGE Bobcat scat and a tiny weasel scat. Could life get any better than that? I think not. Well, unless I saw the actual critters and as I write this a local friend just texted me that she and her family saw a pair of eyes reflecting in their headlights as they pulled up to their house: “I thought it was our cat from a distance. I got out to investigate. It was a bobcat! And it wasn’t afraid. I couldn’t believe it! It was so close. I could see the face. I ran inside to get a flashlight. It just watched us as we watched it.” ~Amanda.
If she was someone else, she’d jump on social media and inform the world that the big bad wolf is in the neighborhood because that seems to happen any time someone spots a Bobcat or Fisher. But, she appreciates the gift of the sighting and I’m so thankful for that.
Back to my Bobcat, or rather Bobcat scat–it was classic! Segmented, tarry, and no bones. Ahhhh! What dreams are made of–at least my dreams.
It was also quite hairy. Squirrel? Snowshoe hare? Weasel? Pop goes the weasel? Into the Bobcat’s mouth? I’ll never know. But I love that one marked the rock in the middle of the trail and the other followed suit. And I also love how that one piece stands upright like a tower. I don’t think I’ve ever spotted such a presentation before.
No, don’t worry, we don’t have yet. But I took this photo of a Bobcat print, also classic in presentation, along the same trail last February. Same critter? Offspring? Sibling? Any of the above.
At last I reached what would become my turn-around point, again on an out-and-back trail. And once again, I slipped off the trail and made my way toward an expansive wetland that is actually part of the small brook I’d crossed.
Old Beaver works, such as this American Beech with a bad-hair day from stump sprouting, were evident everywhere.
Other Beaver sculptures created a few years ago as indicated by the dark color of heartwood where the rodent had gnawed and cut the tree down, probably to use as building material, now sport fungi in decomposition mode.
In the wetland, I spotted two Beaver lodges, both featuring some mud for winter insulation. There were two other larger lodges with no mud, so I suspect these are the residences of choice for this year.
I also spotted a Beaver channel, but could find no new work on the land.
That surprised me given that there was new wood on top.
I could have walked farther along the wetland and may have spotted some freshly hewn trees, but when I spotted several Wood Ducks on the far side, I decided to stand still for a bit because they are easily spooked.
And my grand hope was that if I was quiet, I might get treated to a Beaver sighting. Or two.
For a half hour I waited. Nada. And so I climbed back up to the trail and walked out.
But, I was present in the moment today and received so many gifts, which may or may not be there when I bring others to explore. That’s okay, because together we’ll make other discoveries.
Thanks for stopping by, once again, dear readers. I leave you with this painting as a parting gift for being so faithful in following me as I wander and wonder.
In the spring of 2006, I did one of the bravest things I’ve ever done. Picking up the phone, I dialed the number for Laurie LaMountain, owner, editor, and publisher of Lake Living: Southern Maine’s Leisure Lifestyle Magazine, and told her, um, that I thought, um, she needed an, um, assistant editor.
You see, a few years prior, Laurie had interviewed My Guy about his running career, and in particular about training for marathons (think: 2 Maine in Portland; 2 Marine Corp in D.C.; and 2 Boston, with qualifying time for a third that he never did run due to time conflicts). While I enjoyed the article, I was annoyed because she had spelled my name “Lee” and not “Leigh.” Plus, there were other grammatical errors that I had noticed.
To say I was nervous was an understatement. I wrote (and edited) what I wanted to say, knowing I had to be positive about the magazine at the start and make it personal. I also knew my voice would crack and quiver as I spoke, and it didn’t let me down.
But, I’d gone through a copy of the magazine — with the red pen of my teaching career and made all kinds of edits and suggestions. Toward the end of our phone conversation, Laurie politely said I should share the edited copy with her. Of course, I did.
And she couldn’t believe all the corrections I’d made. She said she’d send me article to edit and I should keep track of my time.
Eighteen years later, I’m still keeping track.
For the next issue, she asked if I had any ideas for articles and I suggested she should contact Steve Collins who had built an Annapolis Wherry® row boat from a kit. Much to my surprise . . . and delight . . . she suggested I interview Steve and write the article.
Sometimes my voice still cracks and quivers when I interview people.
It certainly did during that first interview with Steve, even though we were both serving on a local board, and I’d known him for years, and he and My Guy had trained for the 1st Boston Marathon together.
It’s just that it’s always a step out of my comfort zone to set up a meeting and then actually come face-to-face with the other person, knowing that in the end I had to tell their story they way they envisioned it.
That first article will always be my favorite–maybe because Steve let me borrow and read and quote from his diary of the building process, and watch him at work. Maybe because I really liked how I had organized it, describing his process, but including snippets from the diary. Maybe because it was my first published article in Lake Living.
It certainly wasn’t my last and I’ve had the good pleasure of writing two or three articles per issue. I’ve also had the opportunity to meet so many cool, creative people who call this place home.
In the past week, I’ve been reflecting on the magazine and though I won’t tell you my least favorite articles that I wrote, and I can think of at least two–both interviews with the same person, though about two slightly different topics, I will share a few that stand out.
One was entitled “Bringing Earth to Life,” about Kathleen (Kathy) McGreavy, a potter from Brownfield we featured in Spring 2010. There were two memorable things about researching and writing that article: 1) Kathy let me throw a pot on the wheel, which she later finished, glazed, and gave to me.
It now holds some gear on my desk; and 2) I developed the article around the different steps of creating art on a potter’s wheel, beginning with wedging and continuing on through centering, opening and pulling, etc., and thought I was incredibly clever.
For the Winter 2013 issue, I wrote about a soul-filled choir–an a cappella group of women and men who sing for the terminally ill or those on the threshold between life and death, and their families. What was so special about that interview was that they invited me to sit in the center of their group. “I closed my eyes and suddenly I was surrounded with a cadence of voices in three part harmony singing ‘River of Jordan.’ I felt as if I was softly embraced by a warm blanket.” The memory still warms my heart.
There have been so many others, but the list is too long.
It was also a thrill to have a cover shot or two chosen from my many offerings, including this from Winter 2015-16.
And I do have to say I kinda like the article “What I Love About Winter” that appeared in that particular magazine. Things haven’t changed. “And the more time I spend outside, the more I love it [winter]. It’s not just the cool, crisp air that I find so exhilarating. During this season, the landscape reveals itself and all its complexities. Intense color gives way to details I may dismiss in other seasons . . . ”
All of this brings me ’round to the latest issue of Lake Living. If you’ve kept track since the start of wondermyway.com in 2015, you may have noticed that pre-COVID we published four issues a year. All that changed in 2020. This is a free magazine, which means advertisers are needed to pay for printing and distribution . . . and even me and my efforts!
With the onset of the pandemic it became difficult for Laurie to get advertisers (I’m proud to say My Guy has always advertised in the mag) and so we cut back to two issues: Summer and fall/winter.
This latest issue is probably the last.
Yes, let that sink in for a minute. You read it correctly.
Laurie is ready to retire. And it would be sweet if she could find a buyer.
I shall miss it.
I shall miss long conversations with Laurie where we first catch up with each other and our families and other interests, and then get down to the business of brainstorming as we bounce ideas around and laugh and talk and ask questions and toss presumed answers into the mix. It’s often out of these sessions that we notice a theme begin to emerge.
I shall miss seeking out all the people who do such interesting work in our communities and help make them thrive, despite my nerves when talking to them.
I shall miss the excitement of opening the final product–that smell of hot-of-the-press paper on crisp pages with fantastic layout created by Laurie and graphic designer Dianne Lewis.
What I won’t miss is opening the pages and realizing I’d missed a spelling or punctuation error or something else. But then again, I remind myself that only God is perfect and probably (I hope) only a handful of grammar police are on duty at any given time.
All of this said, dear readers, and now I present to you Fall 2024, vol 27. no 2.
Be sure to read my article about the Mountain Division Trail expansion coming our way soon. While writing this, I got to meet Andrew and Terry and Andrew’s young sons and learn about two incredibly involved people who care passionately about their respective communities and are volunteers extraordinaire.
Read also “Finding Rhythm in Weaving,” an article in which I not only learned a whole new technique, but also had the opportunity to get to know a fellow Episcopalian parishioner better.
Be sure to read Laurie’s article, “In Praise of Print.” It’s her good-bye note after 27 years of creating this magazine that so many have come to love.
We know we’ve grown through this experience and hope the same has been true for you.
Where there is water there may be Beavers. And so I explored two locations on several occasions this weekend in a quest to spend some time with one of the most incredible mammals of our region.
One such spot is beside a wetland associated with a brook. It’s a place rich with color and texture, and ahh, those fall scents of earth and water and fallen leaves and Balsam Fir all settled together in the late afternoon after the morning sun has baked them.
The other was beside another brook that served as the outlet for a small pond, and again the colors and textures and scents filled my senses, enhanced by a slight breeze that made for a most delightful exploration on October days with temperatures in the 70˚s.
I don’t want temps to remain in the 70˚s always, but these days are gifts meant to be cherished and remembered by our skin and our soles.
I discovered along the way that I wasn’t the only one basking in the sunlight, for Painted Turtles also took advantage of the warm rays to regulate their body temperature. It also provides an opportunity to hang out with friends as they congregate along logs and rocks.
Easter Painted Turtles, beautifully adorned as they are, feature intricate red coloring along the sides of their shells and bodies, plus a orangy-yellow belly, and lines of red and orange and yellow green on their necks and legs.
But beyond all of this, I’m reminded that they play a vital role in maintaining the health of their ecosystems as they consume a diverse diet from aquatic plants, to algae, insects and small invertebrates, thus cycling nutrients throughout the habitat–an environmentally healthy habitat.
I gave thanks to the Beavers for reminding me of that fact.
Back to the Beavers, my journey continued when I spied new Hemlock branches atop a lodge.
And then I began to find pathway after pathway across land to water where the family, since there are usually two or three generations of Beavers who live in a lodge and work the area together, had dragged downed trees and branches overnight and carried them between their teeth out to their residence.
Their works were many and sculptures magnificent as they chiseled away and when I spotted this tree, I had visions of one standing on its hind feet and using its tail to form a tripod, the better to steady its body, as it turned its head to the side and began to work. With head cocked, it created the consistent angle of the half inch groove as the upper and lower incisors come together.
To reach such heights, I could only assume it was a mature Beaver. That, or one stood upon the back of another. Ah, but that’s the stuff of fairy tales. (I do like fairy tales–just saying).
As I looked around the base of a tree for more evidence, I discovered this. What could it possibly be? Scat?
No. Pellets? Yes. Several of them. Filled with bones. And maybe hair. And/or feathers.
The creator? My brain automatically went to Barred Owl and I’ve seen and heard the owl in these woods on many occasions.
But . . . these natural treasures could also have been produced by a resident eagle or hawk or so many other birds. Based on the number of pellets under this one tree, its a certain signpost of a productive area for whatever bird chose to prey from above.
Moving farther along as I bushwhacked, I knew I was getting closer and closer to the animal of my dreams when I spotted trees being turned into logs.
A beaver’s dental formula is this: 2 incisors on top, 2 incisors on bottom, 0 canines on top, 0 canines on bottom, 2 premolars on top, 2 premolars on bottom (that look like molars), 6 molars on top and 6 molars on bottom, for a total of 20 teeth. Recently, I was able to sketch the upper part of the skull of an older family member, who’d lost some of its molars.
These large, semi-aquatic rodents are gnawers. To that end, their incisors are highly specialized for chewing through really, really tough things and they grow continually throughout the critter’s life.
And like all rodents, the front surface of their incisors is coated in enamel reinforced with iron (hence the orange color), which makes it resistant to wear and tear from gnawing.
When the chisel-like teeth chew and fell trees, the much softer white dentine layer (the section behind the enamel) is ground down quicker than the enamel, thus creating a sharp chisel surface.
As strict herbivores, a Beaver’s diet varies with changes in the season. During spring and summer, they are drawn to waterlilies, algae, grasses, sedges, herbs, ferns, shrub leaves and shoots. By late summer, however, tree cutting begins as they gradually change their dietary habits from herbaceous to woody materials. Twigs, roots, bark and especially inner bark become the source of nutrition. Aspen, birch, alder, and willow are favored species, but beavers will cut almost anything including conifers.
Occasionally, I saw individual logs on land or upon a muddy spot in the water. Again, the consistency of the gnawing was to be admired.
And where there are Beavers, there may also be Porcupines. At least, there was a couple of years ago when I spent some winter days tracking one to this cozy little den. Remnants of scat are all that remain and spiders have instead made a home in the hollow of this tree.
And then I spotted the most amazing feat of all. A widow maker dangling from a tree (that is if you are about eight inches tall), its bottom gnawed off and more gnawing about a foot and a half off the ground.
My search was interrupted again when a Spotted Spreadwing Damselfly entered the scene in a sunny spot. So named Spreadwing because unlike other damselflies that fold their wings over their backs when at rest, the Spreadwings, um, spread their wings. On the of left hand side it looked like this insect had four wings rather than two, but such was the sun’s angle in that spot and thus the shadows upon the leaves.
Identification was based on the lower side of the abdomen, where it is difficult to see, but there are two spots below the thorax stripes as compared to the Great Spreadwing with has two yellow stripes with brown between them, and no spots.
Autumn Meadowhawks were also on the fly and I kept seeing males with no ladies about.
A couple of hours later, one flew in, but though they danced in the air together as he chased her, they never did canoodle, in my presence anyway. And the last I saw of them, they headed to separate branches of a pine tree, perhaps to spend the night in rooms of their own.
The Beavers weren’t canoodling either, but they were certainly active given the rolls of mud and grasses and sedges and probably reeds I kept finding along the water’s edge.
And then I discovered the much sought after (at least by me) Beaver print. It’s a rare occasion to see a print, but sometimes I do in the snow. Their tails and the trees they haul swish away such evidence of their travels.
As I stood beside a Beaver path and downed trees just above where I spotted the print, another flying insect entered the scene. And I had the joy of watching her as she deposited individual eggs in vegetation.
With her ovipositor located under her abdomen, the female Swamp Darner punctures a hole in mud, and logs, and aquatic vegetation in which to lay her progeny. The cool thing is that her eggs can survive a year without water, incase the level is low as it is right now. I suspect by spring these will be quite wet.
I never did find the Beaver(s) of my dreams, but spied another platform that may have been a lodge in the making. I hope they are still living there as the evidence leans in that direction.
At the end of the day, however, my heart was full with all my findings in both locations and I gave great thanks to the Beavers who led the way and all the discoveries I made as I searched for them.
Betwixt. Between. Be flowers. Be bugs. Be glad for there is so much to wonder about in the natural world. And I don’t even know the half of it. But I wouldn’t be happy if I wasn’t always learning.
It was 28˚ when I awoke this morning. Late this afternoon on this brilliant sunlight day, with temps at least 30˚ warmer, I walked out through our woodlot to the right and then looked back across the neighbor’s field toward our house, taking in the sea of seedheads and I was sure my insect hunting days had come to an end.
But much to my surprise, and really, I shouldn’t have been surprised, the chirps of crickets and grasshoppers, like this Red-legged example, filled the air. I might not have seen the grasshoppers if they hadn’t flown to a new spot occasionally, for so camouflaged are they in the current setting. Or always.
And then, much to my delight, I noticed a Saffron-winged Meadowhawk flying low and making frequent stops, allowing me to do the same. We live in a wet area, but still, I’m often surprised by some of species I meet here.
From the field, I decided to continue along the power line that crosses our property and the neighbor’s and many more beyond that and as I’d told my friend Meg from North Carolina the other day–Mount Washington, our mighty New England Rock Pile, is at the far end and it looks like we could walk right to it. Give or take a few days–or drive there in about an hour.
It’s along the path below the lines that I discovered Cotton-grass, which is a sedge, with its fluffy little heads speaking to the bogginess of this area.
Cottongrasses self-pollinate, their flowers being “perfect,” given that each contains both male (stamen) and female (carpel) parts. And the seeds are attached to parachutes waiting for a breeze (or animal) to move them to a new home.
Spotting the curly, cottony-hairs reminded me of the belly hairs of porcupines, which of course, reminded me of the Porky some friends and I spotted in another field in town yesterday. The time is coming when these critters, whom I’ve come to adore, will transition from life in the field to life in forest trees.
Last November I wrote about this particular porcupine, Bandit, whom I met in our yard, along the same route I began today’s journey. Perhaps soon, we will meet again.
Getting back to today’s story, I left the power line, and headed out an old logging trail that I tend to frequent most often in the winter. But it was sunny, and I was enjoying that warmth, and wondered what else I might spy along the way.
For starters, there were the “dried” Pearly Everlasting Flowers, which I should have gathered because they do dry so well. Instead, I just admired them.
And I had frequent encounters with more Saffron-winged Meadowhawks, flying much like White Corporal Skimmers in early spring–always landing and then moving a couple of feet ahead of me whenever I made a move.
Helping with ID of this species, are the fine black lines in the sutures of the abdomen. And the red stigma toward the tip of each wing is outlined in black. Otherwise, I might confuse it for an Autumn Meadowhawk.
I also had the pleasure of meeting a female Shadow Darner, but then I went to offer a finger for her, thinking she might want to take advantage of my body heat, and instead she tried to bite me. So, I let her be and we went our own ways.
At a former log landing, Juncos were on watch, and given how much seed is available, I know they’re mighty happy with the current conditions. It seems like they just arrived in the past week or so, but the good news is that many will overwinter here.
Oh and a few will fly to Connecticut so that my dear friend, Kate, can watch them as well.
Being an old logging road and log landing, conditions were apparently ideal this past summer, and I paused for a moment to admire forest succession, with grasses and herbs forming the floor, and more grasses and sedges growing taller, topped by Gray Birch, and a backdrop of Red Maples, and Big-tooth Aspen, and Paper Birch.
And then it was back to the now dry bed of a stream crossing where Speckled Alder shrubs are closing in on the trail, and Woolly Alder Aphids are living their best life seeking sap from the woody plants.
That Cotton Candy or even Cotton-grass look is actually a waxy material they produce from their abdomens, and when they group together like this, perhaps its meant to detract visitors. Or protect them from the weather. Had a I visited on a summer day, I’m sure I would have spotted ants trying to tickle them (it’s called farming) to take advantage of the honey dew the aphids secrete.
Speckled Alder Aphids live an interesting life style. Actually, according to Donald W. Stokes in his book, A Guide to Observing Insect Lives, “There are two life cycles in this species. In one, the aphids remain on alder trees throughout their lives. They are believed to overwinter as adults in the leaf litter at the base of an alder. In spring, they crawl up the plant and feed on its sap. There are several generations per year and adults of the last generation overwinter.
In the other life cycle, the aphids alternate between two plants. The aphids overwinter as eggs placed on maple twigs. In the spring they hatch into females, which feed on the undersides of maples leaves and reproduce. They are wingless, but in midsummer produce winged offspring, also females, which fly to alders. These females feed and reproduce on alders, and give birth to wingless young. Then in the late fall, they produce winged young, which fly back to maples and give birth to both male and female young. The males and females mate, and each fertilized female lays a single egg on a maple twig. Only the eggs overwinter.”
It’s things like this that add to my sense of wonder. Two life cycles? The adults of one life cycle overwinter while the eggs of the other are do the same? That’s amazing.
And on the fly in a bit of abundance right now for I saw a bunch today and I’ve been seeing them along many trails that I hike, are the flying aphids. If you stick your hand out and cup it, you can get one to land.
Don’t worry, they don’t bite. And they don’t even tickle, despite that waxy hair.
They’re actually kinda beautiful in their own way and as they fly they look like tiny flakes of snow, thus some refer to them as Snow Bugs.
So I have two forever-friends-since-birth and I’ve already referred to Kate earlier in this blog because she is a great lover of Juncos, along with everything else in the natural world, and so is her sister, Patty, who once told this joke when we were kids:
Q: What’s white and goes up?
A. A dumb snowflake.
One of these two is eleven months younger than me and the other is eleven months older and she and I just chatted yesterday and I’m so thankful to have them in my life all these years. Yes, B.S., I am also incredibly thankful to have you in my life.
But once again I digress. Except I had to tell that joke. Because it kinda reminds me of the aphids in flight.
Back to the power line, I decided to pull the Mighty Mount Washington in with the telephoto lens. Yes, dear readers, that is snow! Several inches of the white stuff has fallen over the last few days. And there is rime ice.
My favorite season is only a walk down the power line away.
In response to shorter days and sunshine's declining density, leaves begin the age old process leading to their demise.
Like so many others, I make time to honor the tapestry they weave before they fall.
Chlorophyll, the green pigment we associate with summer, and necessary for photosynthesis, slows and then stops manufacturing food, and the leaves go on strike.
Veins that carried fluids via the xylem and phloem close off, trapping sugars, and promoting the production of anthocyanin, the red color we associate with Red Maples and Silver.
Though in the same family, Sugar Maple displays the yellows and oranges of the ever present Carotenoids, which had previously been masked by Chlorophyll.
Stripped Maple knows only one hue, making it easy to spot its large display of brownish yellow.
One of my favorites is the reddish-pinky-purples of Maple-leaf Viburnum, a shrub with maple-shaped leaves.
Ash follows suit, though its leaves are the quickest to drop and disappear into the forest floor.
Big-tooth Aspens turn a golden yellow, but other colors have a tendency to seep in and create a striking picture.
American Beech, Paper and Gray Birch show off a yellow to golden bronze presentation.
And a little late to the show, Northern Red Oaks put their colors on display after other species have already dropped their leaves.
Not really a part of the foliage, but still important because it is present, is the splotchy display caused by Anthracnose fungi, a result of too much rain stressing trees and not allowing them to properly respire.
Once connecting tissues between leaf petioles and their twigs form a seal, the forest floor is colored with gems that will eventually turn various shades of brown as they decompose and restock the soil with nutrients, plus provide food for numerous organisms. And shelter.
In a Senior College (Lifelong Learning) class this past week, I attempted to use watercolor pens to capture the colors.
And then at home, I tried to do the same, only this time using watercolor pencils to show off the vibrant variety of hues.
In doing so, I was forced to slow down and notice how the color changes often followed the veins in this biochemical process.
Fall foliage is fleeting, and I give thanks that every year we can celebrate the work of the leaves.
Saying goodbye is so hard to do, yet at some point we all must. These last few days I’ve been trying to wrap my brain around how best to do that and not feel melancholy.
But then again, maybe the future isn’t all that far off. Wait a minute. Blueberries in flower? Yes! Sadly so. Over the past week or so friends, relatives, and I have noticed various species flowering due to warmer than normal autumn temperatures. These of the low-bush variety are along the path that my neighbor mowed through the field where I’ve spent many a glorious hour observing.
It’s in the same field where I delight in spotting bowl and doily spider webs and this one, a funnel web with the funnel weaver sitting inside waiting for a meal to arrive.
Orb weavers have also been mighty abundant this year and at first I assumed this was Ye Olde Black and Yellow Garden Spider that I love to watch at work–usually wrapping its prey as this one was doing.
Before I say more, take a look at the silk coming out of its spinnerets. I like this explanation by Naturalist R.J. Adams about spider silk: “Within each spider’s abdomen are a variety of silk glands which can vary in number depending on the species. Some of the oldest lineages, including relatives of California’s tarantulas and trapdoor spiders, have only a single type of silk gland, while some orb weavers can have up to eight different kinds. Each gland produces a protein-rich liquid which connects to numerous minute spigots at the tip of the spider’s spinnerets. When silk is needed, tiny valves behind each spigot control its release, and as the fluid is compressed through the spigot’s openings, tension orients the molecules into a solid, thread-like structure.”
Liquid. Spigots. Thread. What an amazing invention!
As I watched the spider move away from its packaged meal, walking so confidently on those guide lines, I realized its coloration was a wee bit different than that of the Black and Yellow Garden Spider.
Not only was the design/coloration different, but also the fact that there was no Zig-zaggy stabilimentum, an ultraviolet runway of multiple threads which perhaps provides stability or attracts prey or tells others to stay away, a trademark of the Black and Yellow.
That’s because this was a Banded Orb Weaver with a different pattern. And now I can’t wait to look for these again next year.
Until a couple of days ago, I was still seeing Black and Yellows, but not as frequently as I had all summer long. It seemed like this gal had stocked her pantry, perhaps knowing her days were coming to an end.
The good news is this sac, soft on the inside and parchment-like on the outside, was created by a Black and Yellow, and within her eggs will survive the winter months. Where there is one sac, I suspect there are dozens more.
Do you see them? The egg sacs I mean? No, I don’t either. Camouflage is the name of the game as the goldenrods and asters go to seed.
Despite or because most of the flowers have gone to seed, those that still thrive are the subject of heavy pollination activity. Frenzied in fact. From Honey Bees to . . .
an American Lady, to . . .
Female Pearl Crescents (gender ID based on orange color of antennal clubs versus dark colors for males) and their counterparts who all greet me each day, to . . .
Yellow-collared Scape Moths, to . . .
Locust Borers, to . . .
long-bodied Sweetfern Underwing Moths, to . . .
Paper Wasps, to . . .
Bumblebees, this one special because it showed me that its proboscis is orangey-reddish, to . . .
Flower Flies with big eyes.
The plants literally tremble with all the activity so it’s easy to figure out where the insects are located.
The best part of greeting so many is that occasionally a tiny new visitor enters the scene and I have to watch for a few minutes to get a good read on who it might be as it flits and flutters and finally lands.
It wasn’t the diminutive size that made my heart skip a few beats, but rather the color when the Eastern Tailed-Blue Butterfly opened its wings–a mixture of blue and pink that made me think of skyblue-pink we often see at sunset.
And then another sighting stopped me in my boots. It’s camo is incredible and it could simply be another goldenrod leaf.
But rather, it is a Katydid, only the second I’ve spotted this year. Katydids always make me happy because they remind me of my forever-since-birth friend and at about the same time that I spotted this insect she just happened to comment on a photo I’d taken during a hike this past week–of a mountain stream–because it reminded her of our “fishing” adventures as children, sticks being our poles and leaves our fish. Katydid. Of course she did.
But of all my finds, my heart was the stillest for this magnificent creature, also a gossamer-winged butterfly. I noted it first on August 3, 2024, and again on August 26. But to see one on October 4, 2024 . . .
Incredible. And RARE! I contacted Dr. Ron Butler once again as he’s one of the co-authors of Butterflies of Maine and the Canadian Maritime Provinces.
Different Bat Time, but same Bat Place for this sighting.
Ron’s reply, “Lucky you. I’ve only seen them in more southern states. I’ll add this to the database.”
Lucky me indeed. According to the book, White M Hairstreaks have only been spotted in our region four times (prior to the three I’ve now noted) and they were seen from late July to late August. So, um, that can now be updated to early October.
BUT . . . what does that mean? Ron has only seen them in more southern states. Blueberries are flowering in October. My nephew shared a photo with me this past week of a Lilac blooming in New Hampshire.
Climate change.
All that said, saying goodbye to all that the field has offered this summer and early fall is not easy. I’m going to miss the spiders and butterflies I had the honor of greeting each day. Oh, I know there’s so much more to come as the days grow shorter and temperatures drop and my favorite season arrives. I live where I do because of the change of seasons.
Still, it’s a long farewell as we transition from one season to the next and for that I’m grateful.
Sometimes I need to slow my brain down to figure things out. And other times . . . I need to slow my brain down to figure things out.
That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do lately. Figure things out. Green things. Evergreen things. That means they add color to the forest floor year round.
Pour a glass of water or a cup of tea and join me as I take a closer look.
At first glance, these green growths appear to be miniature trees. But what I wanted to know was this: is the smaller “tree” on the left directly related to the larger “tree” on the right?
There was only one way to find out and though you aren’t looking at the same two in this photo, the question was recently answered when I began to dig into the ground and a friend lifted up the root system. If you look closely at this photo, the two species we were studying looked less similar than the two in the previous picture.
But indeed they were connected . . . with underground horizontal stems called rhizomes.
Meet Dendrolycopodium obsucurum, aka Flat-Branched Clubmoss or Princess Pine. Some of you know this well as your parents used to create Christmas decorations with it. I caution you–don’t be like your parents. Well, in this case anyway.
Clubmosses are vascular plants like our trees and flowers (but not mosses), thus they conduct water and food through their xylem and phloem. Their reproductive strategy is primitive. See that yellow “candle” or club? That is the strobilus (strobili, plural form) with structures called sporangia (sporangium). Some clubmosses have this structure and others have sporangia formed on the plant’s leaves. More on sporangia later, which means you’ll have to continue reading.
As I get to know these green things better, I’m trying to figure out their idiosyncrasies. And just when I think I know, I get zapped. But . . . the species above is closely related or a variant of the first species I shared. And sometimes they look super similar. The Flat-topped has smaller leaves on the lower part of its branches, but without a loupe, I can’t always spot that. And even with a loupe, my mind gets boggled. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing. One thing that has helped me is that species, Dendrolycopodium hickeyi, or Hickey’s Tree Clubmoss, prefers drier soil. But really, they could be twins. And truth be known, they do hybridize.
Right now, I’m thinking that Hickey’s leaves, as shown above, are consistently the same length and thicker in presentation as the branches are more rounded than those of the Flat-branched.
On our land, it grows abundantly along Central Maine Power’s Right-Of-Way and like Flat-branched has underground rhizomes. In fact, this afternoon I had a vision of a bedspread from my youth that I turned into roads and drove little rubber cars and trucks along when I played “Town.” I could easily have driven my little cars from one “tree” to the next and followed the rhizomes as if they were invisible roads.
Cool sights reveal themselves when I do slow down like this and I thought that CMP had killed the Sundews that grow under the powerlines when they sprayed herbicides along the route several years ago. I’d given up on being the guardian of such special plants, and was delighted to discover their dried up flowering structures today and locate the wee carnivorous leaves below. Yahoo! High five for Sundews!
Where Flat-branched and Hickey’s have underground rhizomes, this particular member of the club features horizontal stems that are above ground runners.
And while the previous two were tree-like in structure, this one reminded me of a cactus.
Furthermore, I got all excited because I thought I’d discovered a species considered threatened in Maine. I talked myself into it being Huperzia selago or Fir-Moss. It looked so much like the black and white sketch in my field guide.
Until I realized the Fir-Moss has a sporangia-bearing region in the upper stem. And my species has strobili located at the tips of long slender stalks. And there is no mention of those transparent hairs in the description of the Fir-Moss (after all, it’s not Fur-Moss), but Running Ground-Pine or Staghorn Clubmoss does have this feature. Thus, this is Lycopodium clavatum.
Back at home, it was time to set up the mini-lab and take a closer look. I try not to collect too much; in Ferns & Allies of the North Woods, Joe Walewski suggests we “consider the 1-in-10 rule: collect no more than one for every ten you see.”
The microscope has opened a fascinating world to me–as if it weren’t already fascinating enough. And see the pattern of cell structures–an art form all its own.
And then there was the strobili that covered the sporangia. That word sounds like dessert and this look at the structure made me think it could be some decadent butterscotch offering.
I cut a cross-section and was surprised to see the hollow center.
All those minute spores. Actually, I accidentally nudged a few as I walked in the woods this weekend, and had the honor of watching the “dust cloud” of spores being released.
One family member that doesn’t live in our woods, but is located close by is this, Diphosiastrum digitatum or Fan Creeping-Cedar, so named for its resemblance to cedars.
This specimen had followed me home a few weeks ago, and when I pulled it out of my now warped field guide, for so damp were the pieces that I stuck in there, it had dried into a flattened form of its former self.
I stuck a piece under the microscope and again was floored by the thickness and cell structure.
And then I had a surprise. A hitchhiker! Do you see the long legs?
Here’s another look. I don’t know who this was, but I do know that it was minute in size and it appeared to be a shed skin after the insect had molted.
Suddenly I was eager to find more. And so I checked out a piece of the Flat-branched . . . and wasn’t disappointed.
Here it is again. The second critter that is. Or was. And now I can’t wait until next spring and summer to find out what tiny creatures use these structures as places to molt. And maybe feed. The mouth structure, if that’s what it is on this one, appears to be almost fan-like and kind of reminds me of that on a slug.
The home lab grew into an art room as the hours passed.
Recently my sister gifted me a sketch book and it begged to be opened. After running my fingers over the cover first, of course.
I have the perfect bookmark to mark the pages, created for me this past year by one of our first playmates.
Getting to know a species better through close observation and by sketching is one of my favorite pastimes. And I’m so glad I slowed my brain down, especially when it came to hickeyi on the left and obscurum on the right. The differences seem so obvious with these two examples, but step out the door and I suspect you may be thrown off course as well.
When is a moss not a moss? When it’s a Clubmoss, which is actually an ally or relative of ferns. And horsetails. All are non-flowering vascular plants.
Before you depart, dear reader, please remember that these are ancient plants that take a long time to germinate as most need a symbiotic fungi to provide nutrition to the gametophyte stage (think gamete, eggs, and sperm). They may lie dormant underground for up to seven years and then take up to fifteen years to develop reproductive structures. In the great coal swamps of the Carboniferous period, they reached heights of possibly 100 feet, something I have a difficult time comprehending when I look at their small forms in our woods. Their growth is slow and they deserve our respect.
And now I can’t wait to meet some others and get to know them as well. I spotted One-Cone Ground-Pine or Lycopodium lagopus on a hike the other day and kick myself for not taking its photograph. All in their own time. I’ve made a start and hope you will do the same.
In a way, this is A Lost Art Found continued. It’s the rest of the story, at least to this date.
Once I got hooked on painting, I couldn’t stop. What I’ve discovered is that it’s a lot like writing. You choose a topic, which for me so far has been from a photograph I’ve taken as I’m afraid to purchase an easel and try plein air; complete an outline or at least jot down notes to get an idea of where you are going with the topic in the form of a values sketch; choose how to frame the story whether upon watercolor paper or canvas, and the media being watercolors, acrylics, or gouache; begin a first draft of sketching a wee bit on the mat of choice and apply a light colored wash; paint the basic shapes to get the story on paper which may be more representational than factual; and then tweak, tweak, tweak, which sometimes takes me eighteen drafts to get to a publishable product, and even then, I know more changes can be made.
But here’s the thing. I’m brand new to this art form. And thanks to Jessie, my teacher/mentor, I’ve learned a lot and still have more to learn. Then what’s the thing? The thing is that in every painting I’ve completed so far, there’s plenty I can critique, but at least one thing that I like and so that’s what I want to focus on. The rest I can learn . . . down the road.
After our spring session of classes ended, I decided to keep going on my own.
The view from the summit of Blueberry Mountain, Evans Notch, New Hampshire, looking toward Shell Pond below and the mountains beyond. My fav: the shape of the pond.
Frenchmen’s Hole in Newry, Maine. My fav: the color of the water, darker in the depths and lighter as if flowed over rocks to the next fall.
Sunrise, Lubec, Maine. My fav: the rope in the foreground. And the sky.
Carsley Brook, Lake Environmental Association’s Highland Research Forest, Bridgton, Maine. My fav: the trees leaning across the brook.
Lady’s Slippers from any of our counts as a gift for My Guy, who I’ve learned only likes to count them when they are in bloom. Since that season, he can’t be bothered to note the leaves or occasional seed pods and is praying it snows soon so I won’t continue to point them out. My fav: the shape of the flowers.
The fire tower at the summit of Pleasant Mountain. My fav: a sense of perspective with the mountains.
All of these were watercolor paintings. And then . . .
I purchased some gouache and painted Hemlock Covered Bridge. My fav: the bridge and the reflection, but also the lesson that this was a bit like completing a paint by number as I broke it up into different sections.
Fall reflection cropped from a river scene. My fav: All of it. It was like painting a jigsaw puzzle. And i loved creating the wavy lines.
Winter along Heald Pond Road, Lovell, Maine. The interesting thing is that this barn was taken down a few weeks after I painted this scene. My fav: the barn boards and the snow. And my learning–painting the lower background before adding the foreground trees.
Our barn at Christmas. My fav: The reflection in the window.
Interior of Hemlock Covered Bridge in Fryeburg, Maine. My fav: sense of perspective.
Sunlit part of spider web inside Hemlock Covered Bridge on mat canvas. My fav: texture of the boards and light between boards.
Bob Dunning Memorial Bridge, Pondicherry Park, Bridgton, Maine. My fav: the different beams that provide support as each represents a different species of native wood.
Approaching Bob Dunning Memorial Bridge on a snowy day when no one else had yet entered Pondicherry Park in Bridgton, Maine. My fav: the bend in the bridge.
Beaver at Albany Mountain trail, Bethel, Maine. My fav: the beaver’s face.
Denning Black Bear. Location a well-kept secret. My fav: the eyes.
Painted Turtle, Moose Pond, Maine. On mat canvas. My fav: colors of the water.
In August, Jessie offered a second class and we had to stuff our art critics in a box in the upper corner of the paper and leave them locked inside and then jot down what we wanted to work on for this session. She also had us take a look at Van Gogh’s style of outlining and bringing focus together.
And then, from a photo of our own, we tried to emulate the famous artist. This was a rough draft that I never finished. My fav: I love the colors and simplicity of it.
A second attempt at emulating Van Gogh. My fav: the trees in the background.
Third try. The sky was different. My fav: getting better at perspective.
In between classes I continued to paint. One of my absolute favs: Bandit! The porcupine I met in the yard last year. My fav: His face.
A Moose My Guy and I met in the beaver pond on Albany Mountain Trail, Bethel, Maine. My fav: His face.
What’s left of the Hayes Homestead, My Guy’s great-grandparents’ farm in Nova Scotia. My fav: shingles.
An amazing moment when I visited the vernal pool out back as the sun lowered and discovered that in the stillness of the water, a rainbow was created by the pollen, and while the tree shadows draped across the pond, they also were visible in their usual vertical presentation on the water. My fav: colors of the sunlight on the pollen.
Back to class and learning more about values. I have to admit that I don’t always heed this advice and do a values sketch before painting.
Photo of Ovens Cave, Nova Scotia.
Cropping the photo in sketches.
One final sketch before painting.
First attempt in gouache. My fav: colors of the rocks.
Jessie taught us a neat trick to check values by using a filter on our phones.
Trying to be more abstract with the same scene. My fav: the color of the water.
Values photo of the same.
The third time we met we talked about basic shapes and had to quickly paint trees. It was supposed to be six trees, but our class only got through four. I guess we weren’t so quick after all. My fav: the willow. But also thinking about different shapes. And how to fill them in quickly.
Hairy Coo My Guy and I met in Scotland. My fav: the ear tag!
Values sketch of photo she offered in class, and getting the basic shapes on paper.
And then we could only use certain colors to paint the scene, filling in the shapes first before adding detail. This was mind opening for me. My fav: making blobs look like trees.
The same scene using different complementary colors on the wheel. I struggled with the values in this one. My fav: the trees still look like trees.
This one has been the most difficult for my family to understand. An intersection of granite ledges and tree roots on Bald Pate Mountain, Bridgton, Maine, on a canvas mat. My fav: the tree roots.
Ledges on descent of Rumford Whitecap Mountain, Rumford, Maine. My fav: the trees with the mountain backdrop.
Bickford Slides, Blueberry Mountain, Evans Notch, Maine. And the discovery that I had accidentally purchased a small tube of shimmery white watercolor paint. My fav: water flowing over the mossy rocks.
Shadows across Hemlock Bridge Road, Fryeburg, Maine. My fav: those very shadows. And the rocks that line the road.
Back to gouache to capture the reflection of a falling down cabin on a small pond in New Hampshire. My fav: the trees and hints of the blue sky.
The final assignment took us two classes. This is the scene I chose to paint. Sucker Brook at Greater Lovell Land Trust’s Wilson Wing Moose Pond Bog Reserve, Lovell, Maine.
Planning with sketches, markers, and paint and figuring out what might work best. And simplifying the scene.
Jessie gave me a piece of Hot Press Finish paper upon which to work, and I have to admit that it was a joy to paint on this. I started with the sky color as the wash and then worked on the snow next, then the water, and finally the trees. My fav: sunlight reflected on the snow in the background.
After I shared that painting with a friend, she commented, “Can’t you do something other than snow until there is snow?” So, I painted a fall scene at the summit of Bald Pate. The mountain tops are not quite this color yet, but will be in a couple of weeks. My fav: contrast of colors.
My last painting to date on a larger canvas sheet was a Pileated Woodpecker that frequents our woods. I discovered, like the Hot Press paper, I really like the canvas except that it takes a while for the paint to dry. My fav: the bird’s head and the pine tree bark on the right.
That’s all I have to offer at the moment. And if you stuck with me this far, I’m impressed. Thank you!
I keep thinking about this creative journey and can’t wait to see where it takes me next. If you are interested, you can follow my artistic path by clicking on wmw art gallery every once in a while.
I have no expectations and only so much time to take a walk along a nearby trail.
Hiding below a wooden rail, An arachnid known as a Brown Harvestman rests. Though spider-like, it's not, for its body is single segmented.
Curious to see what else the posts may offer I meet a slow-moving Yellow Bear caterpillar, It's rusty-brown hairs warning me not to touch.
A few feet away, Whimsical with its brilliant red caps, known as the apothecia or fruiting bodies, a British Soldier lichen protrudes with a pop of color.
As I continue, one Harvestman becomes two, or three, resting below, and the long legs of these Daddies is all I can see.
And then by complete surprise, Hunchbacked in its former nymphal form, with legs so stout and lobster-like claws, I find a shed exuvia and my heart skips a beat.
Like the Harvestmen, where there is one, there's another, and I can only imagine their watermelon tourmaline bodies slowly emerging.
It's when I spot a crawling creature colored with vivid camouflage and golden-veined wings, I realize I've missed one of my favorite views of metamorphosis.
But still I am there to watch as the adult form reaches out, one muscular foot at at time, as it walks first sideways and then skyward.
I know from experience its tented wings will soon spread, but worry it will meet the web beside it, and rejoice when it instead finally flies into the forest.
On this late summer day I find another, and can only hope these Dog-day Cicadas have time to sing their raspy love songs that will continue the circle of life as they know it.
A few more steps and I must backtrack, for something large garners my attention, its mottled pattern resembling the post upon which this Carolina Sphinx moth rests.
A rustle and wing beats cause me to turn my gaze upward, and I spot a Broad-winged Hawk landing, and surveying the territory for a consumable meal.
Intently, it looks down, and all around with ten times the focus of my sight, those predator eyes fixed as they are, it must turn its head to see.
As I move the telescopic lens I begin to wonder if it thinks its a creature and I must admit that I duck when it flies off . . . first toward me before swerving.
All of these sights I spy in the course of forty-five minutes and maybe three quarters of a mile along the Mountain Division Trail.
On this day, I develop a love affair with the fence posts and all who gather there. Can you imagine if I'd gone any farther?
Disclaimer: there may be some not so pleasant photos in this post. I apologize. BUT, what you will see is a fact of life.
Do I have your attention now?
Our afternoon began so innocently as we hiked along a well-traveled trail at Hawk Mountain in Waterford, Maine, where Goldenrods and Asters shown the way.
I knew I was in the right place the moment I saw a Black and Yellow Spider for I have spent the last two months enjoying their presence in our neighbors’ field and though they are beginning to decline in number as summer heads toward fall, a few are still on the hunt and packaging meals such as you see here.
Also like home, the presence of butterflies. Granted, we were only twenty minutes from home, so spotting Monarchs nectaring wasn’t a surprise. It was a delight, really.
And an American Painted Lady, her two eyespots on the hind wing as opposed to four smaller spots on the same wing of a Painted Lady, pasued on some bramble branches.
A Red Admiral also decorated the scene, even if it did appear to have a bit of attitude given its stance.
And then . . . and then I saw the body of a dead porcupine. It didn’t smell. But the Common Green Bottle Flies (in the Blow Fly family) that made their fly buzzing sounds around it indicated it had been dead for a bit. Some of you know that I love a such a wildlife mystery–and the opportunity to try to figure out what happened. BUT, the story doesn’t always piece together as neatly as I’d like.
First, there appeared to be three wounds on the animal’s back. Large openings. As if from a very hungry predator. And a brave one? Fishers are the porcupine’s main predator and they are known to attack the others face and belly, where the hair is soft as compared to the 30,000 barbed quills on its back. And a fisher and others would then visit the carcass repeatedly to dine. That hadn’t happened in this case. Instead, the animal died on its stomach. And other mammals didn’t take a repast from the offering. Did a domestic dog do the duty? If so, it must have had a head full of quills.
As for those metallic green flies, their maggots squirmed inside each large wound. By the hundreds. Maybe thousands. I wasn’t about to count. In his book, Insects of New England and New York, Tom Murray explains, “Blow flies are often associated with decaying organic matter, particularly carcasses and other sources of rotting meat and feces. In fact, they can figure prominently in forensic entomology, aiding in determining time of death.”
Murray adds, “This might sound like the dark ages, but cultures of sterile maggots of green bottle flies are sometimes used in hospitals to clean up deep wounds and infections that otherwise are difficult to treat. They only eat dead tissue, and secrete an antibiotic, preventing further infection. In nature, the normal food source is carrion.”
Maggots. A source of wonder! Who knew? Well, obviously doctors and scientists and Tom Murray!
There was one other thing to look at on the carcass, besides those three-toned quills and the soft curly hairs in the mix. The sole. Look how pebbly it is! The better for climbing trees, my friend. Think of non-slip socks with those little white treads. Porcupines don’t need to wear socks. Maybe they were the inspiration for such. Ahh, this site just got even better!
I still don’t know who the predator was but it took me back to what my neighbor and I discovered in her field yesterday. Two piles of feathers from the same bird.
The feathers appeared to have been plucked so I suspect a raptor did the deed, after all, they need to eat too. But what species died? We don’t know birds well enough to say. What was curious to us was that there was no blood. Nor any body parts. My neighbor’s dogs were onto a scent in the feathers, however, and we suspect that they had a better sense of either who the prey was or who needed a meal than we did.
Returning to today’s trail, I spotted Witch Hazel in bloom, the first of the season for me to spy. This flower always makes me happy with it’s yellow ribbons haphazardly displayed.
And then I sawa Maple Leaf Viburnum, its leaves already their magenta color and so many berries still intact.
And a Green Frog in a mucky puddle as we approached the summit.
The view is always amazing, enhanced by the brook and wetland below and our beloved Pleasant Mountain in the distance. You can even see the ski area at the right or northern end.
While we were out there I only captured a photo of one Turkey Vulture, but at least three road today’s thermals, gliding round and round.
And on the way down a small Garter Snake tried to hide from us. It was about the size of a pencil. And reminded me of another site in the field at home that I spotted this morning.
My first thought. Scat. Of course. Until I took a closer look. A spine?
And then I flipped it over and spotted scales. Probably a much larger Garter Snake. If I took a closer look at the scale pattern I could be certain of this ID. Maybe tomorrow. If I can locate it again.
From Hawk Mountain we made a mad dash to Mount Tire’m and again at the summit, a view toward Pleasant, just from a somewhat different angle.
We were in a bit of a rush, but My Guy didn’t mind that I wanted to explore the erratic boulders in the woods behind the summit. I think everyone who climbs that mountain ends up at this spot. Rock Castle? Bat Cave? Bear Den?
We decided on the latter given that we spied a bear through the trees.
And so, I did what I always do here and channeled my inner bear.
Now really, this wasn’t such a gruesome post after all, right? But wow. Porcupine with maggots, snakes, and a human bear. Oh my!
“This won’t take us long,” My Guy said moments after we launched our kayaks onto a small pond in New Hampshire.
“Oh, I think I can make it last a while,” I replied.
I knew there were Pitcher Plants to look for and I could see by the color of the trees on the far shore that there were wetlands to explore and there was the potential for so much more in this very quiet spot.
A friend who kayaks here often had told me where to park and some of the things to look for along the way. What was most impressive from the start is that there were flower pots on the dam and by the kiosk. Well tended, at that.
And a rather large Little Free Library, where one can take a book or share a book.
I unlatched the door and it even smelled like a library. What’s not to love?!
But, we’d ventured there to paddle.
Or better yet, to dawdle. To be like the Painted Turtle and enjoy the sunshine of a perfect September day.
And then one of my favorite things happened. A dragonfly in the clubtail family landed on my knee and I coaxed it onto my hand for a better look. It was perfectly content to be there. Which made me think of a darner on another day on another pond this past week that I rescued as it flailed in the water. The moment I picked that darner up, it tried to take a nip out of my finger and was frantic, even when I set it on the edge of the boat. I wanted to give it a chance to dry its wings. It wanted only to fly. And so it did with wings still wet and back into the water it landed, slipping under a lily pad. I rescued it again and this time it didn’t bite and it did sit for another minute or two upon the boat, but not long enough for me to get a good look at its colors and patterns for identification, or to snap a photo and then suddenly it flew and I can only hope survived.
My new friend, however, allowed me to move him from my hand to the boat, the better to take a look.
This one didn’t speak its name immediately, until I looked at its spiny back legs. As a Black-shouldered Spinyleg it is commonly known, and it’s in the clubtail family, but I’m not exactly convinced that the shoulders are actually ebony in hue. To me, they seem to be chocolate brown.
Another characteristic is the thorax pattern: two long ovals on either side with a yellowish I-shaped mark in between them.
It was the pattern on the abdomen that also helped me confirm ID, with the yellow stripes on each segment becoming triangular shaped on segments 8 and 9, while the final segment, #10, was almost completely coated with splash of yellow.
With each minute that passed I fell more and more in love as my new friend let me enter its personal space. Such big eyes–compound as they are. But then there are the ocelli, or three small black “eyes” located on top of the head–to us they look like three little bumps, but according to the field guides in my own library, they “may serve to measure light intensity.”
And all those body hairs. They work like sensors–detecting odors, temperature, humidity, and most likely wind direction.
If you have a loupe or magnifying lens, I encourage you to look at insects and plants–it’s a hairy world out there.
Let’s take a closer look at that face. It’s rather other-worldly in structure. Two dragonfly families feature eyes that don’t touch each other along any margin: Clubtails and Petaltails. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a Petaltail, so that already narrows it down for me when trying to figure out the species.
Beginning with the large compound eyes, we’ll work our way down. But first, can you imagine seeing the world through 30,000 lenses or facets? I’m happy to have moved on from progressive lenses (three lenses) that threw me off, especially when hiking or walking down stairs. 30,000?!!! A dragonfly certainly has no excuse for not seeing even the tiniest of insects on the move.
And notice how the eye is two toned, the darker being above.
Between the eyes is a plate called the occiput, which covers the upper part of the head. You might also notice, though I didn’t label them, that there are occipital horns.
Below that is the triangle of ocelli, or three tiny and simple eyes as compared to the two compound eyes. These may measure light intensity.
And then there are two antennas, perhaps for measuring wind speed. All of this and we haven’t reached the face yet.
Ah, the dragonfly face–beauty is definitely in the eye of the beholder.
Dragonfly faces consist of plates and the upper plate is the frons. In some species there are certain dark shapes or lines that help with ID. Not on this one, however.
Below the frons a crossline suture is a seam that separates the frons from the postclypeus, an upper plate that we might think of as the upper lip.
And below it, the anticlypeus, a lower plate located about where our tongue might be on a human face.
Finally, the labrum, or lower lip, and below that the mandibles, not labeled.
Such complexity for an insect that spends months to a few years as an aquatic naiad, growing through several molts, and then crawls out of the water and slowly ecloses upon vegetation, pumping insect blood into its wings and body, before flying off to control the airways and the insects who bug us. And within two months of emerging from the water, it’s life cycle comes to an end.
And to think this one simply landed on my knee and now you have all this information to digest. Don’t worry, there will be a quiz at the end.
Suddenly, the dragonfly flew off. And my focus returned to the pond. If you’ve paddled here, then you know that we hadn’t gone far as we’d only reached the third of the crooked houses.
My Guy was ready to purchase one and fix it up. I just want to paint this scene when I have time for so beautiful was it despite its lack of TLC and the reflection was equally delightful as lines were interrupted by the water’s current.
At last we reached the opposite end of the pond from which we’d begun our journey and the colorful leaves of the Swamp Maples told me we were in a different sort of wetland.
The layers. From Pickerel Weed leaves to grasses and sedges, including Cotton Sedge, to the Swamp Maples, actually being Red Maples with very wet feet which are among the first to turn as fall approaches and days shorten, to a backdrop of deciduous and conifers.
Just the colors made me happy as I followed My Guy who followed a brook as far as we could until the growth was too thick and we could hear water flowing over what was probably a beaver dam ahead. And so we turned around, but first honored Mount Kearsarge North, the pyramid mountain in the distance.
I extended the telescopic lens on my camera farther than I should have, but I wanted to see the fire tower at the summit of Kearsarge. It was incentive enough for us to decide to hike there again soon.
As we continued our clockwise journey around the perimeter of the pond, I was on a hunt–for those Pitcher Plants I’d been promised. But what caught my eye in the meantime was the late afternoon sun glowing on bowl and doily spider webs. And a beaver lodge in the background.
It always amazes me to find so many of the same type of spider webs in any one area. The spiders who wove these are rather small, but their web is incredibly complex.
They weave a sheet web system consisting of an inverted dome or “bowl,” suspended above a horizontal sheet web, or “doily,” hence its common name. And then they wait for a meal to announce itself. Should the meal fall through the bowl, the doily serves as a safety net, thus the spider makes sure to not miss a bite.
Before turning my boat to follow the shoreline again and continue my PP quest, I realized that a Tamarack grew upon the lodge. And there were several others nearby. I love these trees because they aren’t every day sights. And because they are kinda like me–beings that can’t make up their minds. Thus, they are deciduous conifers, meaning they are cone bearers who shed their needles (leaves), unlike other cone bearers in our neck of the woods who are evergreen.
I had only turned a wee bit when two structures standing above other plants caught my attention and I knew my quest had come to an end. Pitcher Plant flowers.
And below them the pitchers (leaves) for which they were named. That ruby red rim. The tree-of-life venation. And downward facing hairs. “Here little insects. Come check me out. I have a special drink I made just for you.”
At the base of the Pitcher Plant grew Sphagnum Moss and Leatherleaf, and . . . Sundews! Round-leaved Sundews–another carnivorous plant like the Pitchers. It’s a plant eats insect world out there.
As we rounded a bend nearing the end of our journey, a flock of Canada Geese honked and cackled.
And suddenly lifted off. My Guy counted 30.
At last we approached the launch site, but truth be told it took us about twenty more minutes to go the short distance because there were so many more turtles to spot. Do you see the second one in this photo?
And one climbing atop another as is their habit since turtles are ecothermic and the sun’s rays help raise their body temperature. So if your brother is on top of the log, why not climb on top of him to get even closer to the sun?
I spotted twelve in all, and love that the one on the right upon this log waved–as if to wish us farewell, for really, it was time for us to leave.
So we did, but first we gave a quiet thanks to our friend, Pam K., for recommending this delightful pond and telling me about a few of its highlights.
And I did promise a quiz, so here ’tis. Can you name at least one part of this dragonfly’s face? And can you name the species? Don’t worry if you don’t get all of the parts–that’s why I write a blog–so I can go back and remind myself.
Basking in the sights. That’s what we did much the same way the turtles basked in the sun.
Oh, and that line that the journey wouldn’t take us long–ahem. It was at least a two and a half hour tour. After all, it’s a wonder-filled world out there.
For the last fifteen years I’ve had the honor of stepping into a wetland or two early in the morning on a regular basis for at least six weeks to check on the activity of heron rookeries. It’s a community science program called HERON that the State of Maine runs: “HERON” is short for the Heron Observation Network, a network of volunteers across Maine who monitor nesting areas, or colonies, of wading birds such as the Great Blue Heron. HERON is managed by the Maine Dept. of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife.”
Herons are colonial nesting birds, meaning they nest in groups. Their nesting community is known as a rookery.
If I could get away with it, I’d spend all day in this place where the wild things go about their daily duties as co-observers and I stay on the edge in hopes of not disturbing them.
I think what amazes me most is that they build their stick nests high up in trees and I always expect the wolf in The Three Little Pigs to huff and puff and blow their homes down. Or at least the wind to do such.
The most difficult day of the count may be the first. May be. First, the number of nests must be counted. Then the number of active nests, those with birds in them. Next, it’s the number of adults and then young, if visible. If the adults are incubating, for how long?
And that’s where it gets tricky. If eggs aren’t visible because one cannot get close to the nests, since they are anywhere from about 50 to 200 feet from land, and high up in dead snags, this is a challenge. Spotting adults on the nest, however, indicates there possibly are eggs within.
Nest building and rebuilding is a constant, and a clue that there’s hope for a new generation. Adding sticks with one’s mouth sounds difficult to us, but it is the way of life for a bird.
Spotting little bundles of fuzz brings smiles to observers’ faces–as if we have given birth or are at least the grandparents of these bouncing babies.
Two weeks later and they already have Great Blue Heron markings and crazy hairdos and the counting gets a wee bit easier. Of course, the youngsters hop up and down and so nests have to be reviewed several times to make sure the number is at least close to accurate. It’s not unusual for a nest to support three, four, or five youngsters.
If you’ve never been near a heron rookery in those early days, you haven’t experienced the pterodactyl fly ins as adults arrive with food or the intense and loud and constant squawking of the youngsters demanding to be fed.
Once the adult has landed, the birds still must beg, sometimes for ten or more minutes and I can’t help but wonder if the squawking encourages adult regurgitation.
If you look closely at this photo, you’ll notice the two on the left are in one nest waiting ever so patiently for an adult to return with a meal, while the nest in the back to the right hosts two beggars waiting for the food to slide up the adult’s throat and down into their mouths.
Those awkward tween years only last a few weeks in a bird’s life, for so rapidly must they grow given the short season of our northern clime. Hairdos are a good indication to separate adult from young.
Remember when I said that the first day was the most difficult day to count. Well, that is debatable, for as the weeks go on and the youngsters grow, it becomes difficult sometimes to distinguish parent from child. If the plume on the head is spotted, then it’s an adult, but sometimes the lighting or angle isn’t right.
That said, the count is completed about six weeks after the first visit for the birds begin to fledge and the nests won’t be used again . . . until next spring.
There are so many joys about spending time in the wetland, but a few include dew upon spider webs,
Frogs who ga-dunk, ga-dunk at our feet,
a young Robin calling for its parents,
and the spotting of four Wood Ducks on a snag.
Fast forward two months and this afternoon found me walking the roadway on either side of Hemlock Bridge, my eyes darting here and there taking in flora and fauna with each step.
I love the Paddeford construction of this bridge. Or maybe it’s just that I love that we live so close to a covered bridge. And recently, because I’m taking a painting course, I tried my hand at showing off some of its beauty.
Spider webs did not go unnoticed by me. I didn’t spot the creator, but trust that an orb weaver was hiding somewhere nearby.
As I walked along the old course of the Saco River, I spotted a few Painted Turtles basking in the sun, but also noted all the debris clinging to branches, a sign of the high water we had this past spring.
And then something else caught my eye. One of my teenagers was on a fishing expedition. And panting to cool down.
I got excited when it seemed he’d spotted a meal.
Apparently that didn’t pan out and he turned his attention in the other direction. As I watched, he tiptoed ever so gently for such a big bird, and I was certain he was on to something.
But then he stood there and panted some more.
Until there was a bit of a tussle and I realized he and a snake had a brief encounter. Both survived. And left each other alone.
And then the bird flew and I was bummed. I wanted to witness a meal being taken. But I have to have faith that it found success somewhere else upon the river. Just as I trust that the sun will rise tomorrow, and the day after that. This bird will not go hungry.
Instead, upon arriving home I pulled out a painting I completed a couple of weeks ago of a Great Blue Heron I watched snatch a fish last summer.
Just as the young heron’s accomplishments may take time, so do mine as a painter. But it sure is fun trying.
As for the count:
One rookery featured 19 active nests at the start, but only three toward the end, and I have to wonder if a predator found many a meal high up in those trees.
The other rookery featured 53 nests, with all but a few being active and lots of youngsters produced.
As locals know, My Guy owns a hardware store and I often say I am married to the store. It’s true because it is a constant in our lives and follows us on walks and hikes even on his days off. And though our oldest son has taken over the reins in the past two years, My Guy still cannot completely let go.
I’ve come to realize, however, that that is okay because it means I can tend my own shop. Of course, while he owns the land and the building, I need to rent space, but it’s well worth the priceless price.
Step through the open-air doorway, and you’ll find right now I’ve got proboscis-style straws on display. They are especially beneficial when sipping from Red Clover, a member of the legume family.
And for safe storage, the Peck’s Skipper likes to show how to curl the straw up when not in use.
If you are an introvert, like me and the Common Ringlet Butterfly, you might prefer to flit from flower to flower, but then hide in the vegetation after spending so much time demonstrating for the public how to use your straw.
Common Wood-Nymphs are equally inclined to hide, but still available on the shelf for you to choose, and you can decide if this stored straw appeals to you, or not.
White Admirals are especially plentiful right now, and want you to know that whether hanging upside down,
or right side up, their straws always work, so it might be a good one to think about purchasing.
Especially if you like to get some of your nutrients from scat. We can throw in some scat for you, if you’d like–at no extra charge!
Sometimes it’s the packaging that makes all the difference, so we’ve got several orange choices for you to consider, this being the Fritillary style. Make me an offer I can’t resist, and this straw is yours due to the fact that it has been used previously, as evidenced by the tattered wing.
If you prefer something a bit bigger and brighter, there’s the Viceroy, with that dark band crossing its wings.
Or the biggest of all, the Monarch, who lacks the black band that is part of the Viceroy packaging.
For the tykes in your life, we also have Pearl Crescents and Northern Crescents in stock. The former is slightly smaller than the latter for the youngest in your gang.
Those are all great, but I have two that I much prefer, the first being this Clouded Sulpher that comes in pastel colors only, which contrast with the darker-colored straw.
And the creme de la creme has to be the White M Hairstreak, a rare species that I was able to special source a few weeks ago, and every once in a blue moon (such as this August is), I can find another to offer you. That is the case right now, but hurry because I don’t know how long this butterfly will remain on the shelf.
Over in the natural pesticide control aisle, I’ve a few options for you to consider, such as this handsome male Twelve-spotted Skimmer. Unfortunately, I just discovered these are on backorder, so you’ll probably need to wait until June if this is the style you prefer.
The same is true of the Eastern Pondhawk–in fact, I was totally surprised that I was able to snag this species, but suspect it has something to do with the store’s location between two ponds, and so close to a wetland and swamp.
Right now, the most abundant pesticides I can offer are in the form of Meadowhawk dragonflies like this Autumn Meadowhawk, a small skimmer with tan colored legs.
If you prefer something larger . . .
you might like the darners that keep flying off the shelf. That said, there are plenty more where this guy came from, so if you can’t find one in the shop, give me a shout, and I’ll check the backroom.
Summer is not over yet, despite what everyone has been saying lately, and so if it’s pollinators you are looking for, I’m afraid I overstocked. Well, there’s nothing to be afraid of, actually. Being overstocked on these is a great thing. And you can mix and match if you’d like, perhaps choosing these European Paper Wasps,
a few Honey Bees,
and some Locust Borers, all lovers of Goldenrod as you can see. I’ve also got Great Black Wasps, with their iridescent blue wings, and Paper Wasps, and Bumblebees, and . . . and . . . and so many to fill your reusable bag.
In the Fly By Day aisle, there are a few special selections, the first being this Lacewing that could be featured in a “Where’s Waldo” picture, so well camouflaged it is.
And a Crane Fly that you can scare people with and pretend it’s a giant mosquito. The thing is . . . they don’t bite. In fact, during their short lifespans, they don’t typically eat. So . . . little maintenance if you decide to put this one in your cart.
I’d be lax if I didn’t mention the employees such as this teenaged Ambush Bug who is very good at hanging out on Goldenrod plants near Black and Yellow Garden Spider webs, without getting tangled in all the drama.
But, being teenagers, sometimes two decide to tango in the breakroom under the Goldenrod, and these two canoodlers just had to have a bite to eat while they were so engaged. I’m sure the Sweat Bee never saw this coming.
If you do decide to stop by the shop, the Black and Yellow Spiders are the chefs and they’re happy to provide you with a Dog-Day Cicada meal all wrapped up and ready to eat on the road. They have other items on the menu as well.
That said, this coming weekend, I do believe that the hardware store will have some items on the grill. So stop by and sample whatever delectable they prepare.
Food is actually a part of all our lives (haha, as it should be) and our youngest son is fortunate to work at a company in Manhattan that has a personal chef who prepares breakfast and lunch each day, mostly with locally-sourced food such as what is available at my store.
If you do come to the my shop, know that you’ll probably have to wait in line behind the Eastern Phoebes, who perch at roof-height and swoop in and out . . . often helping themselves and then zooming to the self-serve checkout line.
The guard doe keeps an eye on everyone passing through the door, so I don’t have to worry.
Occasionally, all four of us take a break from our respective jobs and come together to share a locally-sourced meal of our own–a la Fly Away Farm. Oh, and the kid (young man!) in glasses is holding his Lacy Blue pup who is sure that everyone who visits the hardware store comes just to greet and pet her.
As My Guy and I went for a long walk today, and hiked a mountain yesterday, we tried not to talk shop, but it occurred to me that while my eyes glaze over when he starts telling tales about hardware happenings, so do his when I point out the wonders of the natural world.
And so, I try not to tell him how to run his business (“try not to” being the operative phrase), and he lets me operate my own shop in my own way–even if it is all in my imagination.
I suppose you could say that while I’m married to a hardware store, he’s married to a . . . I’ll let you finish the line.
Where you spin A complex circular web The size of a large platter Complete with a hub And non-sticky spokes Upon which you walk, While sticky cross lines Ensnare your daily meals, I revere you.
I study the webs You and all of your sisters create, But observe holes In some areas Where large insects May have escaped, Your web so constructed That they don't break The entire structure During their struggle To freedom. And other sections That remind me Of the Cat's Cradle String Game We used to play as kids.
Most nights, As if on cue, You consume The entire silk dish, Snacking on tidbits Caught in the wheel And then build A fresh web To start A new day.
Really though, It's the bigger insects You prefer, And much like E.B. White's famed Charlotte, You inscribe A daily message Down the center Of your creation.
It's upon this Zig-zaggy stabilimentum, An ultraviolet runway Of multiple threads Perhaps intended to provide you stability, Or as a prey attractor, Or a warning to birds Not to fly through, That you hang in suspension Waiting for the Dinner bell to ring.
What I realize While stalking The neighbor's field, Is that when a large insect, Such as a grasshopper, Dragonfly, Or caterpillar Gets caught in your web, It takes you Two or three days Or more, First injecting and paralyzing with venom, Then enwrapping with silk, Before crushing the body And liquifying the victim With digestive juices So it forms A neat little package Resembling a cocoon. And storing it For later consumption.
Despite eight eyes, I'm told you have Poor vision, But make up for this lack With hairy legs That detect the arrival Of a meal Perhaps signaling Sound and smell, And certainly vibrations. I'm afforded a look At your pedipalps, Those two short, Hairy appendages, Sticking out from your head, That also work Like sensory organs.
You may appear Big and scary, Your egg-shaped abdomen Covered with asymmetrical marks Upon the carapace, Much like a turtle's shell, And you may be A carnivore, But I celebrate you Because I know You are beneficial In a garden or field Such as this, Since you control The insect population, Including some pests. You also pollinate plants, Recycle dead animals (Well, they may be dead Because you killed them, But still . . .), And serve as a food source for others.
Oh great orb weaver, Argiope aurantia, Or more commonly, Black and Yellow Garden Spider, Thank you for affording me Numerous views Of you and your sisters So that I might gain A better understanding Of your daily habits.
Sometimes it’s the big things that pull me out the back door and other times it’s the small things. But this past week, it was an in-between thing that did the trick. And kept me returning for more and more.
Feeding on the Phlox outside the kitchen window was a Hummingbird Clearwing Moth. I’d seen it on several occasions, but the minute I stepped outside it flew off. Until this day when it let me snap numerous photos as I watched it seek nectar from the same flowers our local Hummingbirds love to visit.
And once I was out there, I knew it was time to climb over the stonewall and visit the neighbor’s field to see what it had to offer, given that so many goldenrods are in full bloom.
Upon a Steeplebush, a Netwing Beetle looked like it was holding court. I love the featheriness of its antennae standing tall above those beady eyes.
On a nearby Meadowsweet, another in the Spirea family like the Steeplebush, a Two-striped Grasshopper was certain that I couldn’t see it. I could. And I could hear grasshoppers and cicadas and crickets and birds, a field orchestra in full rehearsal form.
And as has been the action of so many Gold-marked Thread-waisted Wasps, these two were canoodling. I suspect we are surrounded by so many because they are so good at reproducing. Not a bad thing.
Also on frequent display and frequently in flight were the Pearl Crescent Butterflies.
And they too canoodled, though a bit discreetly. If you look at the underwing, do you see the pearly-white crescent? Thus the common name.
I had hoped to find a date for this male Calico Pennant Skimmer Dragonfly, her coloring would be all in yellow where his is red, but I’m afraid for the moment he’s still single. Maybe one day soon a gal will show up. I know I’ll keep looking.
Along the dragonfly line of field residents, this immature Blue Dasher Skimmer also posed for me. Again, on a Steeplebush, which gives height and vision for those who seek prey.
But some, like this Lancet Clubtail, prefer lower vegetation, and I suspect that’s where most of its meals were found.
My heart skipped a beat when I saw this large orange butterfly and I thought, “First Monarch of the season for me.” Until it wasn’t. This being a Viceroy, so identified by the lines or transverse bands on upper and lower wings. Monarchs don’t have that additional band.
My heart skipped another beat when I spotted this female Jagged Ambush Bug hanging out among the Goldenrod flowers. My, what powerful looking front legs she has. The better to grasp a meal. Can you spot a potential meal in her sight? I saw it, but she never showed any interest while I was watching. Darn. I hoped for a little action.
Believe it or not, the Jagged Ambush Bug can tack down an insect as large as a Bald-faced Hornet, such as this one. I haven’t witnessed it yet, but there’s still plenty of summer left.
Paper Wasps were also making the rounds. And really, the flowerheads fluttered constantly with all the frenzied activity happening upon them.
Even a Great Golden Digger Wasp partook in some of the nectaring collection.
But . . . there was something else I wanted to see. And I suspected that if I really looked, I might have success.
Bingo. It was the white packages at the outer edge of the web that led me to the creator. Charlotte.
I had a feeling Charlotte would be writing messages somewhere in the field.
And indeed she was. Years ago, when I didn’t dare walk into the field because of ticks, I wrote a children’s story about kids coming upon these large Black and Yellow Garden Spiders as they ran through Goldenrod flowers. Of course, that was about 28 years ago and I was starring out the window at the same field I can now walk in.
And because I can now do so, I found Charlotte 2 . . .
And Charlotte 3 who was preparing a meal for later. It looked to be a grasshopper of choice. If I spotted three, can you imagine how many more spiders there are out there?
In my story, if I recall correctly, the young boy character was afraid to run through the field and the young girl tried to give him some facts about Black and Yellow Garden Spiders because she wanted to become an entomologist. I should pull it out of the filing cabinet and reread it, but it’s not one for publication. It was just fun to write.
The reason I can go into the field now is thanks to my neighbors, Karen and Bill. He has mowed a circular trail so she can walk her dogs, and I love it because I can walk my thoughts. It’s a place where I can meet old friends and learn from them, and make new acquaintances.
And right now it’s a place where I can celebrate my new sight thanks to the medical team that performed cataract surgery on both of my eyes over the past two week. Until all of this happened, I had no idea how much I’ve been missing (think road signs and car blinkers for starters–never mind all the little things in nature that I love to spy).
I’m forever grateful for this new field of vision, the nurses and techs and Dr. France of Eyecare Medical Group physically for me, and my neighbors who carved this path as a way to save all those critters, who like me, call this place home. Of course, many of the critters are also a source of pollination for their vegetable gardens.
But I’ve saved the best for last. For I spotted one more critter in the field, and when I got home, it was on the Hydrangea.
This is a White M Hairstreak Butterfly. Do you see the M marking just below the orange on its hindwing? This is a RARE sighting! To be sure of ID, I grabbed Butterflies of Maine and the Canadian Maritime Provinces by Phillip G. deMaynadier, John Klymko, Ronald G. Butler, W. Herbert Wilson, Jr, and John V. Calhoun from the shelf in our study. And there it was: “Status and distribution in Maine: Probably a rare colonist.” Of the five authors, I’ve worked with Ron Butler in the past, so I reached out to him.
After I finally attached the photo (he had to remind me that I had neglected to do that), Ron sent this response:
“Hi Leigh,
Definitely! And the furthest inland record to date. Do you post your observations to iNaturalist? If not, can you send me the date and lat-long (or location on a map – I can get the lat-long) for this record?
Thanks – Ron”
According to the comments section in their book, “The White M Hairstreak is an expected and welcome addition to our region’s fauna, with the first adult observation in Falmouth by Doug Hitchcox on 24 July 2018, followed by two more records in 2018 from Rockport (Brian Willson) and Eliot (Bryan Pfeiffer and Josh Lincoln). A female was also recorded from Eliot on 5 August 2020 (John Calhoun), making this the first known repeat occurrence at a Maine locality.
I am in great company. Of course, I’m already anticipating the next edition of the book–haha.
I thank you again, Karen and Bill, for giving me the opportunity to explore the field and to my medical team for making sure my vision is crisp and clear.
This week may have changed my mind about grocery shopping. I’ve always felt like it was a bit of a drag. We spend way too much money as we tromp up and down the aisles, and really, if I could just get away with living on popcorn, life would be grand. Brown popcorn for meat, green and orange for fruits and veggies, yellow for cheese, and of course, butter . . . you get the picture.
Plus there’s the fact that we live in a tourist town in the western part of a tourist state. So summertime at the grocery store means a full parking lot, lots of people not sure of their way around, nary a smile exchanged, and certainly very little gossip shared in the middle of the aisle with townspeople we haven’t caught up with in a while.
But, today changed all of that.
For today, I realized that visiting the grocery store is a bit like entering a secret garden with a keen eye.
It’s a place where I might not always choose the same offerings as others, but that’s okay, because in this place we can each find what appeals to us and hover like a hummer.
I discovered a Nectar Smoothie Bar had been added. So many love the new addition and visited it repeatedly on the fly.
Another good thing is that most who entered, like the Tachinid Fly, brought their own straws so there was no waste.
Even the Great Golden Digger Wasp got into the frenzied sip on the move once the store manager announced a taste testing.
I’m pretty sure the word went out to all Northern Crescent Butterflies to stop by for they really did pack the place.
Pearl Crescent Butterflies also cruised the aisles.
And sometimes they were in the same place at the same time, neighbors greeting neighbors after all.
Every Gold-marked Thread-waisted Wasp seemed to want a quick energy drink.
And then there were those like the female Widow Skimmer Dragonfly who came to watch. By the coloring of her wings, I think a better common name for her would have been Sunglass Skimmer. Certainly, she might have had an easier chance of meeting a date in aisle five, rather than just hanging out along the edge of the store.
Unfortunately, there were a few uncouth customers such as this Robber Fly, who snagged a meal without paying.
The Robber Fly wasn’t the only one. A spider hiding under a bouquet managed to lure an American Lady Butterfly and then he did what spiders do and stunned her. The EMTs where called in and though they could get her out of the web, they couldn’t save her. So, her body is being donated to science and will be added to a bug collection of a young boy I recently met.
I chuckled at the bedraggled look of this Bumblebee, who didn’t realize the misters would come on in the produce section.
Though there are plenty of Japanese Beetles who seem to shop constantly, so far, I only meet one Oriental Beetle, and I do have to say I was rather taken by its fan-shaped antennae.
As is usual, there’s always a slow slug in the way, especially at the check-out. Why is that?
Not all shoppers stood out, such as this Green Lacewing who appeared to be hiding. Perhaps to avoid the misters that had pummeled the Bumblebee.
It does seem there’s always a celebrity or two in our midst during these summer days. Sometimes, it’s someone like Stephen King or Lois Lowry. But today it was Katydid. And she was listening–through the “ear” or tympanum located just below the “knee” of her front leg.
Do you see the tympanum on her right side? Do you think she heard that there was a spill in aisle 4?
The Black Swallowtail Butterfly certainly heard and in she fluttered to sip up the nectar before it spoiled.
Oh boy. The Gold-marked Thread-waisted Wasps seemed to find each other in aisle 7 and for all I know they may still be canoodling behind the bakery.
So you see, grocery shopping isn’t all errands and drudgery. Note to self: Think of it instead like a visit to the candy store. Stop and sample along the way. Smell the Phlox. And remember, the store is committed to providing customers like you and me outstanding value for quality products at every day low prices. Right?!
I hope you’ll visit my neighborhood grocer often and enjoy the experience.
I absolutely love it when the unexpected occurs and nature takes me by surprise and provides me with jaw-dropping opportunities. So here’s the thing. What is unexpected to me is an every day or every year occurrence in the natural world. It’s just that on that one day I happened to be in, as the saying goes, “the right place at the right time.”
And so it was that during June I paddled between two islands and slight movement caught my eye. Mind you, I was a telescopic camera lens away from the action and so what may appear close, wasn’t. I’d unexpectedly happened upon two loons. Okay, so the truth be told, My Guy was the first to witness them. He pointed in their direction and then the two of us sat in our kayaks and watched.
This was a first for both of us. To observe as one loon pulled nesting material from the pond . . .
and dipped to gather more . . .
and carefully “handed” or rather beaked it over to the other . . .
who, in turn, received it . . .
and added it to the nest.
And so the nest building continued, but we’d seen enough and knew we needed to paddle away and leave them to their business.
A couple of weeks later, as My Guy explored the pond’s perimeter, I took a few moments to check on the nest and much to my delight, found a loon sitting on it. Notice its open mouth? I say “its” because I don’t know if this is the male or female and do know that they take turns incubating the eggs.
Notice how the loon’s mouth is open. Much like a dog pants to cool down, so do loons. According to National Audubon, “When it’s hot, some species will resort to gular fluttering. The bird will open its mouth and “flutter” its neck muscles, promoting heat loss (think of it as the avian version of panting).”
I’ve seen the same behavior in other birds, including Great Blue Herons.
It’s been an extremely hot summer, even here in the north country. In fact, the water temperature of our local ponds and lakes is way too high. It should be in the 70˚s, but instead is in the 80˚s and not at all refreshing for us, so I can only imagine the adverse effects it is having on flora and fauna.
The day after a pond association meeting this past weekend, My Guy and I hit the water again. While I was drifting for a while, numerous insects sought my boat as a landing spot. And then, this Scarlet Bluet landed, plastering a meal to the side of the boat.
It was a mighty big and juicy looking meal for this little damselfly to consume. He (his female counterpart is yellowish where he is so scarlety orange) dined for at least twenty minutes as I watched, and then I think it was more than he could handle, and off he flew, leaving the remains for me. I was starting to get hungry, but . . . not that hungry.
Once he departed, I made my way back toward the loon nest. As I suspected, it was empty. Usually, the local loon chicks hatch around the fourth of July (never a good mix with fireworks–think about noise, oh, and added pollution to the pond water).
BUT . . . then I took a closer look and this time I did get close because it was empty. Here’s the thing. About two weeks ago we had a major storm that didn’t last long, but deposited a lot of water. That seems to be the pattern of late. And I’d learned at the association meeting that the dam which controls the water level for this particular pond hasn’t been opened as much as usual and some people have water either directly under their docks or just over them. Ours is a floating dock, so it’s not an issue for us.
All that said, I spotted water behind the nest. And something in the water behind the nest.
A loon egg. That could probably mean that during that storm a couple of weeks ago, the nest was swamped, the adult abandoned it, and the egg floated off. It was a sad realization. I had to remind myself that nature happens.
In this case, it happened twice, for as I looked about, I saw a second egg off to the right of the nest.
Two loon parents who worked side by side to create a home.
Two loon chicks who never had the opportunity of life.
A dam that is controlled by a local government, and has a new dam tenderer, but it is also controlled by another entity father downstream, in the form of a hydroelectric power plant.
I shouldn’t blame them. I know that things don’t always work out the way we think they should. But still.
Man versus Nature; Nature versus Nature. Why can’t we all work together?
I was afraid this would be the summer that wasn’t. In the gardens, that is. Oh, and I use the word “garden” loosely, as mine are more a hodgepodge of flowers and ferns and herbs. But they are meant to be a safe haven as well, for birds and bees and even voles. And yes, woodchucks and porcupines.
Anyway, for a few weeks, as I walked about our property, it seemed there was hardly an insect visiting any of the early flowers–except maybe the Black Flies and Mosquitoes, and even they weren’t abundant this year. Gnats. Now that’s another story.
And then the other day I noticed an Ant scurrying across the Foxgloves where two Long-horned Flower Beetles were in full embrace.
Not only did I have insects to watch, but canoodlers at that. With what looked like a dozen legs in the mix. Ahem. Cuze there were, each insect sporting three pairs on the thorax.
These two had nothing to hide and so I watched until eventually they split up and went their separate ways. I only wish I knew where she laid her eggs.
On the edge of another homespun garden, I spotted a Common Candy-striped Spider with a meal sac all packed up, the meal being a bee that seemed like it was probably much larger than the spider. But the spider didn’t care. Meanwhile there was another bee seeking nectar and I worried about its future.
And then Candy-striped started toward the live bee and I worried even more.
As you get a closer look at C-s, you may question the name. I did. My research turned up the fact that this egg-shaped arachnid can have an abdomen of varying colors from white to cream to green, and maybe even red. As for the stripes, there are those with broad or v-shaped stripes, but also my friend, who sports rows of dark spots.
The second bee flew off before being snagged, but if you look closely, you’ll see that C-s’s web is a tangle of threads and it had probably pulled down the flower petals to create a good hiding spot from which to snag its dinner.
As for that meal, it needed to be wrapped again . . .
and again, in an act to immobilize the prey and store it for a later meal. Kinda like a doggy-bag, of sorts.
Back in the first garden, I found a Crab Spider hanging out on a daisy.
And then watched as it turned and pounced, yes literally pounced, on a tiny Gnat-sized fly. Rather than wrapping this tiny source of protein, the spider grabbed and bit it in ambush style.
In my own garden-visitation style, I circled and circled and moved on to another and then returned to circle some more. For several days on end.
And with each circle, there was so much more to discover, like this Firefly visiting the same daisy where the same Crab Spider waited.
I must interrupt the garden saga here to say that every night of late, we have enjoyed the Firefly Show, an event that has been missing or greatly diminished in the past, but now has ramped up almost to the point of my childhood memories. Almost.
I could say that as I watched the insect and spider played a game, but it was hardly a game at all. Notice how the spider tapped the Firefly.
A brief retreat with the spider appearing to stay still (a skilled hunting technique), while the Firefly continued to probe.
And then the Firefly advanced. I wasn’t sure I could watch what would happen next for I knew how quickly the spider could pounce. Yet, I did. Watch that is.
And I’m so glad I did, for what I observed was the spider retreating. Was the Firefly too big for the spider? Or was there another reason to avoid capturing what I thought looked like a fine and chunky meal? Whatever the reason, I was happy to see that the Firefly didn’t meet its demise.
The last I saw of these two before the Firefly flew–the spider went back into hiding and the Firefly moved to the opposite side. I knew relief in my human form, but had no idea again of the answer to why.
Meanwhile, back at C-s’s hamper, I couldn’t find C-s, but did find the remains of another meal consumed. It continued to amaze me how C-s didn’t care about the size of its prey, while the Crab Spider seemed to have a preference for smaller meals.
On day 3 or 4, I found the Crab Spider in its usual spot as a Flower Fly with a strong proboscis sipped nectar.
And on a flower about two inches away, an exquisite Spotted Thyris Moth, and a few Gnat-like flies feasted. I kept waiting for them to visit the Crab, but perhaps they sensed its presence. I’ll never know, but while I watched, they stayed on this flowerhead.
On another, a bee gathered not just the nectar that so many of the insects seemed to seek, but filled the sacs on its legs with pollen as well. Lots of pollen. It actually looked like two pollen sacs per leg to me.
In the midst of it all, other insects flittered and fluttered over the flowerheads, sometimes pausing to seek nectar like most of the others. This Fritillary Butterfly is one of many that took advantage of the gardens as well as the clover growing in the yard.
Sweet William seemed to be a favorite landing spot.
As I’ve said, I walked back and forth for all these days between gardens, which have many more flowers than I’m sharing, but it was these few that seemed to host the most visitors, including this Pearl Crescent Butterfly. Take a look at the underside of the hindwing. About halfway down, close to the edge, do you see the crescent-shaped pearl?
On another, a Bee Fly with its own incredible wing pattern. And those eyes. And hairy body. Oh my!
Late this afternoon, something big and dark flew in and it took me a moment to realize what I was witnessing.
Fritillaries canoodling atop Sweet William. As this story began, it ends. Canoodlers in action.
These two, however, got smart, and found a room where I couldn’t observe their every move, for up into a Northern Red Oak did they fly.
I was so afraid that this would be the summer that wasn’t in the pollinator gardens, but it’s turned out to be the summer that IS! And I can’t wait to discover more. So expect more. You never know what you might discover at wondermyway.com.
Places new to us and those so much more familiar rounded out the week as My Guy and I made time to explore. Our first journey found us driving over an hour and a half south and only getting fake lost as we searched for routes and a place to eat lunch. Mike’s Diner won, a hearty ham and cheese sandwich for him, and grilled cheese with tomato for me. Comfort food.
And then we headed along a few sandy trails in a land known for its Pitch Pine-Heath and Pitch Pine-Scrub Oak Barrens. It was vast. And flat. And offered so many shades of . . . green.
The Pitch Pines, with their bundles of three needles each (think: three strikes you are out–pitch, baseball, I didn’t make this mnemonic up, but use it all the time) were happily producing prickly cones, which take two years to mature.
This is a fire-dependent ecosystem, meaning the health of this place depends upon consistent fires. The Pitch Pine and other species that thrive here have developed adaptations to survive. The pine’s serotinous cones and thick armor-like bark are its adaptive features. The cone is covered in a thick resin that must be melted in order for it to open and release seeds. The Pitch Pine’s thick bark protects the tree from those fires.
And so in this place, periodic controlled fires occur in order to maintain its rarity.
Scrub Oak or Bear Oak is the other dominant tree species in the shrub layer of this space. There are lower shrubs like blueberry and huckleberry, and grasses, and ferns, all completing the picture.
The soil–sandy and acidic.
We left that place and drove a few miles to an abutting property to follow a longer trail system through a similar habitat. I think we were both quite taken by the vastness of the grassland.
As in the first, this is a place where fires are intentionally set to keep the species that have adapted to this space here, and not allow other species to take over. I think it’s rather like mowing a field. If you don’t mow for several years, as I’ve been watching on a hillside field closer to home (no, not the field that abuts our yard), White Pines have taken foot and are taking over the space. In fact, the same obviously happened in our woodlot, which was once a plowed plot, and now, 60 – 80 years later, it’s a forest of White Pine and Hemlock trees, but mainly the former.
Like the previous spot, this is a grassland and a heathland, with similar trees in the landscape. Blueberries make My Guy smile, always, and they grow abundantly here because of the soil conditions, but also because they have underground rhizomes with lateral stems that allow them to resprout after a fire.
Much to my delight, I spotted a Wood Lily in bloom, with its tiers of whorled leaves along the sturdy stem below. It is present here in Maine, especially in places like this, but even in woodlands. That said, my encounters with it are infrequent and therefore memorable. And as I type I’m picturing it at the summit of Pleasant Mountain and along the Heritage Trail on Amos Mountain in Lovell.
We enjoyed our time in those first two locations, and have so much more to learn about them, but returning to the home stage, even with rain in the forecast, was much more to our likening. And so we did.
It was here that we spotted Blue Flag Iris in bloom, with its showy runway and lack of a beard like the Irises that grow in our home gardens. I know I have a difficult time walking past without stopping to honor these flowers each time I see them. Blue Flag doesn’t mind having wet feet, which is good since it was growing in a wetland.
The sight of this next beauty will give you even more of an idea about where we’d ventured. It’s an area where Pitcher Plants grow in abundance and right now show off their parasol-like flowers.
The carnivorous Pitcher Plant obtains nitrogen and phosphorus by “eating” insects. Its oddly shaped leaves form a pitcher partly filled with rainwater and digestive enzymes. The spout is a hairy landing platform for insects attracted by its red venation and nectar glands. Imagine this: An insect crawls to the edge of the leaf, aka pitcher, slips on the downward-sloping hairs and plunges into the liquid below, where it drowns and enzymes and bacteria break it down. Any chances for escape are zapped by those stiff hairs. As it decomposes, it is digested by the liquid.
Do you see some insect body parts floating atop the water within the pitcher? And an ant trying to travel across the hairs rather than down. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to watch its ultimate fate. Next time, for sure.
I want to jump back to the nodding flower of this carnivorous plant for a second. I tiptoed gingerly on the spongy carpet of sphagnum moss to take a closer look.
At two to three inches wide, it appears on the top of a thick, leafless stalk that can grow to two feet tall.
A flower consists of five sepals surrounded by three bracts, numerous anthers and an umbrella-like five-pointed style, over which five long yellow or red petals dangle. The whole inflorescence (flower) is held upside-down, so that the umbrella-like style underneath catches the pollen dropped by the anthers. Stigmas are located at the tips of the umbrella-like style.
This is also the land of native orchids, such as this Rose Pogonia, which to some resembles a snake’s head poking out of the heath or a fern with a snake’s name (Adder’s Tongue Fern). A bearded snake, if there is such a thing. The labellum or lip of the flower is bearded and some petals point outward and to the side. Despite all of that, it’s a delicate and intricate flower.
While the Rose Pogonia seemed to be waning, Tuberous Grass-Pink was putting on quite a display. The labellum or lip is not bearded, though it does have a yellow crest atop it, and petals and sepals point in all directions.
Farther along the trail, Tall Meadow Rue showed it had gotten an early start on the July 4th celebration with silent fireworks making a huge bang. (If only all fireworks could be like this. Quiet and beautiful.)
Swamp Candles were lit up as well, adding more color to the landscape.
As you can see, it was beginning to rain when we reached a display of Swamp Roses, and I loved how the droplets stood in a row on the folded edge of the uppermost petal.
And I don’t know why I should be surprised each time I meet these little gems because we’ve met so many times over the years, but it’s always as sweet as the first introduction. Please make the acquaintance of Water Forget-Me-Nots.
It was not just flora that made our trek so delightful, but also a few others who greeted us, or rather we greeted them, like the Red-backed Salamanders that I often find in a certain spot under some old Hemlock bark.
And the ever present chittering and chattering Red Squirrel.
That all brings me round to where we explored. The first trip included Kennebunk Plains and Wells Barrens Preserve. We did enjoy those, but it was our hometown tramp encircling Holt Pond that probably made us the happiest because though we know this space well, there’s always something different to see, and I’ve only shared a wee bit with you.
That said, if you go to Holt Pond Preserve, please know that from the parking lot off of Grist Mill Road to the Quaking Bog, the boardwalks are clear and highly visible. The rest of the board walk system, however is not, and we had to fight our way through vegetation and under downed trees. Once we reached the Southern Shore Trail, it was free sailing again. (Default: we maintain that section of the trail system).
And the bridge over this creek washed out last spring, but right now there is a stepping stone or two to help you leap across.
Yes, those swirls in the water are from raindrops and not insects (in fact, the bugs weren’t too bad), for by the time we got close to Chaplin’s Mill Road, the rain was falling steadily. But, we were prepared. And once again, we didn’t melt.
Plains, Barrens, and Bogs, Oh My! Just another reason to love Maine.
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