birding

Great Blue Herons COUNT

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Community science, aka citizen science or participatory science, is an opportunity that allows laypeople like you and me to contribute meaningful data in a short amount of time that researchers can use to inform larger conservation efforts. And along the way, we get to learn more about a particular species, as well as those who share the same habitat.

For the past 25 years, I’ve had the pleasure of being involved in a variety of such local research projects, and one of my favorites is HERON Observation Network of Maine. For the last 16 years, friends and I have monitored first one and then several Great Blue Heron Rookeries (colonial nesting habitats).

With landowner permission, we visit the rookeries several times between May and July and our job is to count the number of nests, number of active nests, inactive nest, adults, adults incubating, young, and fledglings. It’s rather intense work to move binoculars or cameras from tree to tree and some trees have double or triple-decker nests, and some nests are tucked into the background, and young can be difficult to see if they are so tiny that they are tucked down into the nest, and it’s easy to get confused and then have to start all over again.

Ah, but I can’t think of a better place to be on a summer morning than in these wetlands where aquatic life explodes in color and sound and texture and even life and death.

Sometimes it looks like a female is merely rearranging sticks to create a stronger nesting site.

But then . . . much to our surprise and delight, a fuzzy head is spotted and we know we have babes to look for, and suddenly that makes the job more difficult.

Especially when one head turns into two and we have to add another line to the tally sheet while the adult cools off and seemingly shades the youngsters.

The adults, meanwhile, not only take turns tending to their young, but they also take turns heading off to fish for meals. And when one is secured, that adult flies back to the nest and takes a few minutes to semi-digest the food.

At this point, the young begin to squawk, and I’ve often wondered if their sounds encourage the regurgitation that follows.

Ever so slowly, we can watch the food item come up the big bird’s throat and then with mouth open wide, it coughs and tada . . .

The young ones are happy to dine on their own form of baby food.

Even as they grow, the feeding ritual continues. One parent will fly in and join the family, while prepping the meal delivery.

And the other will fly out the back door in search of more to fill those ever-begging mouths.

And the kids will squawk until the remaining parent provides.

As weeks turn to a month or more, the birds turn into tweens, growing to the point where one wonders how they can all still fit in the nest, despite the fact that Momma built it to be about three feet wide, using sticks that Daddy provided.

And those tweens, like so many of their human counterparts, start to preen between meals, fixing their feathers over and over again.

Preening is important for several reasons: to keep feathers clean, free of parasites, waterproofed, and properly aligned for optimal performance because that first flight is getting closer and closer.

Despite all their preening, however, the younger birds are still dependent upon their parents for meals on wings because they haven’t yet fully fledged and started their own hunting habits.

In the midst of taking count, life happens all around us and we rejoice in any other sightings that might distract, even if it means starting the count again. That’s why, at one of the larger rookeries, we have a few landmark trees so we know if we get confused we can locate said tree and count from there.

We also try to keep track of where each nest is located in the landscape, but if you were to read my notes, you might get totally lost. I do!

Other distractions include Red-winged Blackbirds, even if their meal of choice is one of our beloved dragonflies.

Spiders also make meals of dragonflies, but despite the fact that this female Eastern Pondhawk Dragonfly got snagged, she was still a picture of beauty.

And usually when we spot Wood Ducks such as this male, they fly at the first inkling of our invasion into their space. But when you are far enough back and tucked into the trees beside the wetland, sometimes you are offered a glimpse, and this was one of many in an old snag.

In the hike to and fro the wetland, there other offerings, like a Snapping Turtle on her way up a hill to lay eggs.

And while pausing to talk, a Tree Frog was spotted.

And we gave great thanks that it allowed us to invade its inner circle for a few moments. Look as those toes, the ginormous suction cups that they are.

Even a Little Wood Satyr added magic to the scene.

And under a tree we spotted a number of pellets full of bones. We don’t know the creator of the pellet, nor the food that was consumed, but someone had a favorite feeding tree.

And now the rookeries are empty and the tweens have turned to teens and must hunt for themselves. It’s a task that takes great focus, but those eyes are all seeing.

And the beak is quick to snag.

And though the meal may be small, its one of many to come and success is key.

I’ve tried to commemorate these morning’s with a few paintings, including this teen and its catch.

And an adult on the hunt.

The Tree Frog.

And one of the rookeries, this one being the most successful.

2025 numbers:

Rookery 1: zero nests as has been the case for about six years now and I suspect I’ll be told not to bother with that one next year, but then again, some other Great Blue Herons could decide it’s just the right place and build a new rookery. The last year that we saw nests and birds, a Bald Eagle was in the area and within a week there were no more Herons to count.

Rookery 2: 21 nests observed; 18 inactive; 3 active; 5 adults; 3 young upon the first visit in May.

21 nests observed; 21 inactive. Yes, all nests were empty two weeks later. We knew when we didn’t hear any squawking as we approached that things were not good, but we were totally surprised to not spy any Herons. What had happened during the two week interval we’ll never know. But we suspect maybe a Bald Eagle in this locale as well. Or maybe an owl? Last year, the rookery had declined drastically from the first visit to the second, but not to this extent.

Rookery 3: 1 inactive nest; 59 active. YES! 60 nests in all, an increase of 7 from last year. And of 2024’s 53 nests, only 46 had been active. So 59 was a huge number! Have you ever tried to count birds in a wetland, where the nests are at least a football field or more away from you? It is not easy. And takes about two hours plus the hike in and out to complete. Oh, and the count: the number of adults varied with each visit, becoming less and less as the weeks went on because they were out hunting for larger fish to feed their growing brood. The youngsters at our last count: 122, plus 7 fledglings. That’s a lot of mouths to feed. And think of size of those birds, some nests with 4 kids, plus the two adults. Talk about tight living quarters.

Shoulder and neck muscles tense. The brain gets befuddled. Mosquitoes buzz in our ears.

But at the end of the morning, I can’t think of any place I’d rather be than spotting these two sharing a moment and give great thanks for all the moments we get to witness because we take part in monitoring the rookeries and making the Great Blue Herons count.

Thanks also to my companions. I won’t name them because I don’t want anyone to bug them about locations, just like I won’t name the actual locations or their State ID numbers because these are special places that need to be left undisturbed.

In The Heat . . . of the moment

~ lmachayes

About dinner time yesterday, that is, dinner time for most people, as My Guy and I tend not to eat until about 7:30pm, as we sat on our patio, I suddenly saw action at a Bluebird house we’d nailed to a tree in the yard. After months of seemingly no action, a bird was flying to it and carrying sticks, and I realized that the male House Wren who has been singing from the trees had decided this just might be the place his loved one will want to set up housekeeping.

The action continued for about an hour last night, but then ceased.

And this morning . . . nothing that I could see.

And so deciding I wouldn’t have a chance to watch the fun of moving in today, I decided instead to head to a local wetland where the Painted Turtles taught me a lesson.

I love seeing turtles basking on logs and rocks in the water, but everywhere I looked today, they were not on any of these raised platforms. Instead, they floated. And it occurred to me that it was a brilliant strategy: stay near the surface of the water, but be a wee bit submerged, and therefore stay cool on the hottest of hot summer days thus far this season. Especially given that Painted Turtles have black carapaces or upper shells which are intended to absorb the heat . . . but extreme heat?

While I watched, I noticed that they all stayed in the same spot. How? By treading water, just like we do. Or so it seemed to me as I watched the feet move, but the head and shell remain still.

In all my years of turtle watching, I have never witnessed this before. Or . . . if I did, failed to take note.

Because I was by water, there were plenty of dragonflies as they defended their territories and ate some bugs on the fly and occasionally paused so I could admire and thank them. There were no Mosquitoes to speak of and only a few pesky Deer Flies.

This Four-spotted Skimmer and I spent quite a bit of time together because he was so beautiful and I could have looked at him forever, plus I loved watching him perch, then flight off to chase another dragonfly out of the area, and perch again, over and over.

But there were a few other things to observe. Well, more than a few, but only a couple that I’ll note.

Have you ever noticed how on a hot summer day the smell of fallen pine needles is intensified by the heat? I just love that smell. And where there are Swamp Roses, there is also an aromatic fragrance, and it seemed I wasn’t the only one paying attention.

Seeking nectar is the job of bees and wasps and flowerflies and other. Seeking a sugary substance is the job of ants. On Speckled Alders.

Ants “farm” or “milk” or basically tickle Woolly Alder Aphids that feed upon the shrubs’ sap and get the honeydew the tinier insects secrete.

That cotton candy look on the aphids is actually a waxy material they produce from their abdomens, perhaps meant to detract visitors. Or protect them from the weather. 

The relationship between the ants and the aphids is actually a form of mutualism as the ants protect the aphids from predators, while the aphids provide the ants with a food source. Hmmm. Maybe more of us need to pay attention to this way of living together.

At last I pulled myself away from the wetland, saying goodbye to all and thanking the Painted Turtles for today’s lesson.

Back at home, I heard the Wren before I spotted it and sure enough, it was back on the job of setting up living quarters. Male House Wrens fill cavities with a tangle of sticks and then he tries to persuade his betrothed to build a nest, which she does toward the back of the cavity.

He kept gathering sticks from the ground and returning to the box, though getting them through the hole wasn’t always an easy task. I wanted to encourage him to also try the slot at the top of the box, but my encouraging act would have had the opposite effect, and so I kept my distance.

It was rather like watching a gymnastics show, for such an acrobat was he. And like the turtles treading water, I’d never actually seen a House Wren build a nest before–my knowledge all gained from literature.

Smaller sticks worked well, but those larger ones were much more entertaining from my point of view.

And then there was a really complicated one. Such a challenge.

But a little wiggle here and waggle there and voila. The stick was in the hole. So was the bird.

Until the next one. And then more contemplation.

But all things are doable when you persevere, so of course, another lesson learned today.

I’ve read that House Wrens fill several cavities and then let the woman decide. Smart birds. The jury is out in our neighborhood because my neighbor and I know that either he or another Wren keeps visiting a different birdhouse that the Bluebirds have also considered for their digs.

Heading back in, I suddenly heard a Cardinal, and suspected it was the male because I haven’t seen the female in at least a week. Through the glass in the back door, there he was, feeding a chick! We have a baby!

And then I realized he was feeding two babies, and my, were they ever insistent.

I must say, the chicks look much more like their mother than their father. But he did a great job of tending to their needs, ever the nurturing one.

Today has been really hot, and I know you are all aware of that, but in the heat I managed to be present in so many moments and give great thanks for that.

Zodiac One: Maiden Voyage

~ lmachayes

The message arrived the day before: Leigh, I am ready for the morning. The truck is loaded. I suggest wellies unless you don’t mind wet feet. I plan on being there for 6:00am. All you need is your camera.

And so I set the alarm for 4:30am, spent an hour reading and sipping coffee in the peace of a quiet kitchen, and then headed out the door with my camera on my shoulder.

As the sun rose, it became apparent that the smoke from the Canada wildfires was going to cast a haze upon this June day.

And indeed it did. But, at 6:00 in the morning, with the temperature at 48˚, lake fog, or in this case, pond fog, danced across the surface of the water like fairies performing a swirling ballet. Actually, the fog occurs when cool, moist air meets relatively warmer water, causing the water to evaporate and condense, thus creating mist that burns off as soon as the sun rises.

With Pleasant Mountain’s Southwest Peak in the background, I knew my place in the world.

The captain of the boat wondered if I’d ever been on the pond before. I have. Once. This past winter when Laurie LaMountain, of Lake Living magazine, and I spent a day tramping through the snow and across the pond and sometimes getting fake lost, but finally finding our way back to her house seven miles later.

I had not, however, ever seen it in the spring or summer. Well, except from the teepee on the Southwest Ridge of the mountain.

Once upon the water, we first heard, then saw a pair of Common Loons swimming and diving for breakfast. Bass are plentiful in this body of water, and we saw plenty of them as well.

There was a third loon that the other two greeted, but within a half hour it took to the air and flew south.

I found that curious because in the wee hours of the previous morning I heard one fly over our house, announcing its presence with a Loon tune, and wondered if it was a teenager looking for a place to find a mate or at least hang out where the resident pair(s) wouldn’t mind. Maybe this third Loon was doing the same and the others suggested it move on. Or maybe they were its parents and again, they looked forward to be empty nesters for another week or so.

After spying the Loons, our tour took us near Pickerel Weeds and suddenly our eyes clued in on the beginning of other life forms.

By now it was 6:20am and obvious that the Damselfly Naiads had already chosen this day to climb up the stalks maybe as early as 4:00am to begin their new life as terrestrial fliers. I’ve seen this occur later in the morning, but did not expect that they emerged so early when the air was still a bit chilly.

I probably should not have been surprised, for a few weeks ago I saw them emerging in another place on an equally chilly day.

Of course, where Damselflies are, so often are there Dragonflies, and this Darner spread its wings in our presence, so shiny and cloudy as was to be expected until they dry out.

With its wings spread, thorax and abdominal colors would begin to transform providing a clue to its name, but I suspected it was a Common Green Darner. We didn’t have time to watch that color change and so we silently moved on, for such is the ability with an electric motor.

Among the vegetation behind the Pickerel Weeds there were many orb spider webs and among the webs, looking as if they, too, had been performing a dance, were little Whiteflies taking their final bows.

Posed above and ready to fly off at any moment were Kingbirds with their handsome tuxedo appearance, looking like they were ready to attend a formal dinner.

And perhaps they were.

For everywhere on the northwestern side of the pond, more Dragonflies had emerged, and after a few minutes it became obvious that they were all of the same family: Calico Pennant Skimmers.

In fact, they were also all the same gender, the yellow hearts on the abdomen and coloration on the thorax and wings all leading me to think they were females.

The Calico Pennant in the name comes from the design on the wings, which once opened and dried is really stunning.

Although, I say that they were all females, it could be that all begin life with this hue and it only changes to red for males and bright yellow for females as the individuals mature.

In one spot, we found at least five, plus a bunch of Damselfly exuviae also upon the stems and leaves.

Do you see all five, two being almost a mirror image? Why “almost”?

Loons and Kingbirds weren’t the only ones on the morning hunt. This handsome male Red-winged Blackbird seemingly had a family to feed and wanted to make sure we didn’t approach. Thank goodness for telephoto lenses.

In the midst of the shrubs below, his Mrs. was on the hunt and had a full mouth. If you look carefully, you may notice some Dragonfly exuviae below her, their shed skins left behind once they took flight–the insects, that is.

We wondered if the Mrs. was taking advantage of this morning’s Dragonfly offerings and capturing those that were just emerging, an easy meal for herself, but probably also for some wee chicks she may have tucked away in a nest nearby. Their meal would have to wait until we moved on, and so we quickly did.

But not without pausing for a moment to admire the newly opened Blue Flag Iris among the Royal Ferns. Though the ferns have their own crowns of fertile stalks, the irises looked like exquisite tiaras fit for queens.

Finally heading back toward the boat launch, we saw explosions of Red Maple seeds dangling like chandeliers that perhaps the Queen Irises had ordered.

And another Red Maple that gave us pause for it deserved being noticed since it had obviously fallen years ago, but lifted its branches upward and was still in rather good health, its roots at least partially intact. Perseverance.

And then we noticed the tip of it. Across the pond we’d spotted a small beaver lodge in an adjacent wetland, and wondered about the Beaver’s own peserverance–it looked as if the tip of the tree had been harvested this past winter from the ice, and looking at other parts of the tree behind the tip, there’d been some harvesting previous years. We didn’t get close enough, but suspect the Beaver may have felled the tree, and its been a source of building material and food ever since.

Two hours later, Captain Bruce landed the Zodiak at the boat launch, and I gave great thanks for the invitation to explore Beaver Pond in the quiet of the morning.

The Black Flies were plentiful as they buzzed in our ears, but they weren’t biting so that was good.

We also saw several turtles swimming, including one huge Snapper that swam under the boat and neither of us captured in a photograph, and possibly a Water Snake.

Zodiac One: a maiden voyage for me. Here’s to many more! Thank you, Bruce.

Collecting Birds

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

OK, I admit it. I’m a collector. Of things. But they are all special things. And many of them handcrafted. And most of them with a story to tell.

So, yes, I collect birds. No, not dead or dying birds. And certainly not living birds. Just . . . birds. My collection is actually quite small, and until today I hadn’t given it much thought, but it began a hundred years ago when I was a senior in college and my roommate and I hosted a student from Great Britain in our dorm room for a week.

I honestly cannot remember her name or too much about her. But I do remember that at the end of her stay she gave us each a bird.

And I remember she told us they were of the Tit species, which didn’t mean a whole lot at the time, but now that I see and hear Titmice on a regular basis, I have a better appreciation. This little bird has graced my desk for decades and the young woman’s name keeps flitting in and out of my mind, so maybe I’ll recall it by the time I finish writing. I now realize I haven’t thought about her in years, despite my fondness for the gift she bestowed upon me.

Another gift was the carving of a Chickadee, and I received this one about 35 years ago from a sweet little man named Carl and I only wish he’d lived long enough to know how much I still appreciate it.

Likewise with this Loon, crafted for us by my Godfather Russell because he knew My Guy and I love our encounters with these birds who symbolize Maine. And he loved to paint, among many other talents.

I also cherish these two ornaments that never made it to a Christmas tree because they pose instead from a vase of twigs in my study. The one on the left was created by Dr. Fred, a founder of the Maine Master Naturalist Program, and the Hummingbird was gifted to me by my friend Marita after she spent some time bicycling around Cuba last year.

And then there is the Token Owl. Token, because if one is leading an Owl Prowl and there is no guarantee of spotting an Owl, it always pays to pull such a stuffie out of one’s pack so that everyone can leave saying, “I saw an Owl.” Sometimes you just need to make things happen.

All of this leads me to what I realized today is becoming quite a collection: my paintings of birds.

Pileated Woodpecker in our back forty, which is actually only five more acres beyond the house. One of his favorite trees, however, is at the edge of our yard before the woods, where we’ve left several super tall dead snags and he uses them to mark his territory early in the morning, and later in the day as he taps away. Every day.

Tom Turkey strutting his stuff across the yard in hopes of wooing a hen. I can only assume he did though I never caught them in the act, but so large is the Turkey population round these parts.

A Common Loon in front of the dock at camp. I admit that like dragonflies, I can never take too many photographs of loons.

Great Blue Heron scoring a wee fish for a snack.

And another searching for another meal.

And still seeking more, its eyes always intent as it stalks its prey.

A Barred Owl near the vernal pool, thankfully when there was still ice on it about a month ago, but he’s in the area, so anything can happen.

Ah, but how I love to meet these critters, who unless they are calling, remain incredibly still and blend in with the scenery and I’m sure I pass by more than I actually spot.

Mr. Cardinal, and I’ve been waiting for him to pass sunflower seeds on to his Mrs. because I’ve seen him do it in the past and it’s such a lovely gesture.

The Mrs. waiting for a gift from her betrothed. To my knowledge, she’s still waiting. One of these days he’ll surprise both of us.

Mr. Bluebird, who also visits daily, as does his Mrs., and from the direction of their travel, I believe they are setting up housekeeping in a house my neighbor erected just for them.

One of the zillion Juncos my friend Kate sent up from Connecticut. They arrived the day she told me they were on their way. That was a few weeks ago. In a snowstorm the other day, we had quite a large flock, but I think most are continuing their journey north as now I only see a few at a time.

My first attempt at painting a Robin following instructions in a book.

And then trying to tweak the painting and turn it into an American Robin. I fooled SEEK, a free app developed by iNaturalist. It came right up with A. R.

SEEK also knew this to be a male Red-Winged Blackbird. What it didn’t know is that it was one I saw calling a few weeks ago when there didn’t seem to be any females around.

And finally, my new friend, who has actually been in the neighborhood for a long time, but we only recently spent a few minutes together the other morning: Sharp-shinned Hawk.

As I look out the window right now, besides this Goldfinch, the Bluebirds are both here, plus Robins, Juncos, Chickadees, Tree Sparrows, White-Breasted Nuthatches, and Mourning Doves. And actually, there are more Juncos than I expected.

That is the extent of my bird collection–at least for the moment. Thanks for stopping by to take a look.

The student from Britain: Jillian. It just came to me.

The Wild Out My Window

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

I know I should take in the bird feeders. After all, it is April 8. And a friend found bear tracks in her yard about seven or eight miles away on April 1st–and it was for real, though I did question if she was trying to fool me.

But I haven’t done so yet and the past two days have offered insights and outsights as I’ve stood at the back door periodically, ever ready to snap a photo.

Picture taking began early on the 7th–at about 6:15am, when the lighting was a bit dark and my camera encouraged me to use the flash, but I chose not to because I knew it would offer a reflection of light on glass and I’d never get a photograph of the critter of my intent.

Much to my surprise, a Sharp-shinned Hawk helped me greet the day. The bird perched about twenty feet from the back door, right in the midst of my feeding station–well, the feeding station I’d set up for birds, though my plan has always been for me to provide the food in the form of seeds and suet, not in the form of other birds.

We spent a few minutes together, Sharpie and me, and not a single bird flew in–thankfully.

The feeders were actually quite low on seed, but knowing the Hawk was around, I decided to wait to refill them and instead took off for a hike with My Guy, where we spotted Beaked Hazelnut in flower.

Back at home, I immediately filled the feeders and spread seed on the ground, and it seemed like within seconds, we had visitors.

The female Mourning Dove was a bit of a hog–filling her crop non-stop.

Her male counterpart didn’t seem to care about eating and he marched about going this way and that.

And then I noticed him begin to fluff out his feathers and all I could think of is a Tom Turkey and I suspected I knew what he had on his bird brain.

He’d fluff, then calm down and strut past her, but she didn’t seem to care as she stayed low and kept on gathering more seeds for later consumption.

Then he’d fluff up again.

And preen to make sure he was looking his best. I was impressed.

She didn’t care.

Like her, I turned my attention in a different direction as at least three Song Sparrows splashed in a large puddle and also sought seeds. I’ve yet to hear their songs, but they’ve been back in Maine for at least a couple of weeks.

And then a female Bluebird joined the scene and made me give thanks for our neighbor’s field and the houses she has installed for these beauties.

Her mister also kept flying in, actually more often than his Mrs., but he only occasionally sought sustenance. The rest of his time, he watched and waited, and waited and watched.

When I did turn my attention back to Mr. Mourning Dove, he was fluffing up again.

And then he approached his true love.

And tried to jump on her back, but she quickly hopped away. It took him a while, but finally, he headed north, walking across the yard to I know not where. And she stayed and gathered more seeds.

At one point all three species, the Tree Sparrow, female Mourning Dove, and male Bluebird all occupied the same space, but then he flew–as birds are known to do, especially when I want to photograph them.

More interested in suet was the male Downy Woodpecker. I kept expecting his lady to arrive, but she never did appear.

There was, however, a lot of Chickadee action, and I cannot say whether male or female, for to my uninformed eye, they all look the same.

White-breasted Nuthatches also came, seeking both suet and seeds in no particular order.

And for the first time this year, an Eastern Phoebe entered the scene. She’s tried to build a nest over our front door one year and on our back shed the next. I’m curious to see where she decides to locate her adobe this year.

The final bird for yesterday was the Squirrel Spoonshovel, so deserving of its common name for all it seems to do is shovel seeds into its mouth. Nonstop. All day long. This one and six of its nearest kin.

But eating bird food apparently works, and I couldn’t believe it when I saw it take flight.

This morning dawned with the Bluebirds and all their neighbors back in residence. And I could not help but think of the patience this male has as he perches for minutes on end.

That is . . . until it began to snow and he looked at the first flakes with disdain.

And then back at me as if it was all my fault. Really, I tried to explain, I can’t control everything, despite my fervent attempts.

The star of the show today, however, was another unexpected visitor, this in the form of an American Mink!

My photos are not crisp for so quickly did he bound, but I couldn’t believe my good fortune to have spotted him.

I’ve seen fewer squirrels today and wonder if he might know why. Although, as I typed that, I looked out the window and tada, there was one, and then a second.

They fought for a chance to sit in the bird feeder . . . of course! Because after all, they are Squirrel Spoonshovels, that rarest of bird species.

The wild out my window . . . is truly wild here in western Maine. And each of these is just a snapshot of time, for honestly, I don’t spend every moment standing by the backdoor.

But just imagine if I did . . .

Bogging With Bridie

~ lmachayes

We parked on the little dirt connector road between Route 160 and Lord Hill Road, close to Bog Road, because we knew the conditions would be such that driving into Brownfield Bog would be impossible. Besides, walking would offer more time to catch up on each other’s lives. Well, I’m afraid I did most of the talking, but at least my friend Bridie is up to speed on my life. Hers is so full of students and research and writing, that just having time to breathe in the fresh air of her childhood backyard was enough.

At the old shed, we paused to admire the work of her mom, Kathy McGreavy, a potter who created this tile map of Brownfield Bog in 2017 as her capstone project for the Maine Master Naturalist program. And we wondered how many of the same species we might see or encounter today.

One particular tile always elicits a shared memory, for I was with Bridie when we spotted an Eastern Ribbon Snake slither across the road and down into the water.

It was then that I learned that Ribbon Snakes are a species of special concern in Maine, and rather uncommon. Since then, I’ve seen at least one more in the bog and a few more in several other local spots, but each sighting is special, and always I return in my mind to that first time.

And why the wire across the tile art work? It seems woodpeckers like to peck at the tiles and Kathy had to repair a few a year or two ago.

We couldn’t go out on the bog today, as we had done previous winters. After all, we are on the cusp of spring, and didn’t trust the ice. But from the edge we admired Pleasant Mountain forming the backdrop–and always giving us an idea of where home is located.

Down a side road, which we were able to walk being not flooded (yet), we found our way to Pirate’s Cove along the Saco River and the water is high and mighty and muddy. For a few minutes we watched in silence. Well, we were silent, but the river wasn’t.

Returning to the main drag, we made our way back to the Old Course of the river and were greeted by the most delightful bird chorus, including the conk-le-rees of the Red-winged Blackbirds.

With their bright red shoulder patches bordered below in yellow, they were calling from high perches among the shrubs.

Puffing out while calling is indeed a breeding activity, and so the race is on. May the best males find a mate.

Our other bird sightings included this White-breasted Nuthatch, plus Hairy Woodpeckers, American Tree Sparrows, Canada Geese, and a thousand Wood Ducks. Or so it seemed. The fact that they moved every time we spotted them, even if two hundred yards away, might mean that there weren’t quite that many, but rather that we kept meeting the same ones in different locations.

We also saw signs of Pileated Woodpecker works. Not only do they excavate holes while in search of Carpenter Ants, they also shred and chisel and in these woods, that seems to be a favorite activity. We wondered why, but couldn’t come up with an answer.

We did, however, do what Bridie taught me to do a million years ago and searched for scat. Bingo! Though we saved this thought for another day, we did wonder if we dissected the scat, would we be able to tell about how many ants had been consumed?

And no adventure with Bridie would be complete without some tracking in the mix. Our snowpack is quickly dwindling and where three days ago at home, we still had a foot, now there are lots of bare spots and what snow is left might be only about four inches.

That said, we relished the finds we did make, including lots of Vole tunnels like these. And I reminded Bridie that she was the one who introduced me to the subnivean layer, that microhabitat between the ground and the bottom of the snowpack (think back to Thanksgiving 2024), which provides insulation and protection for many animals, like the Voles, who happen to be on everyone’s dinner menu.

Our other finds included Raccoon tracks,

Mink,

and Coyote,

plus a family of Coyotes on some sand at Goose Pasture.

And, of course, our adventure could not be complete without discovering several Coyote scats.

And just for good measure, we met one large Six-spotted Fishing Spider.

Okay, so it wasn’t really as big as the close-up made it look.

There were also beaver works in various places, though we suspected this was a wee bit old, but not older than a few months ago based on the color of the wood. The warmer temps made the sap flow a bit.

There are a bunch of well-mudded lodges in the bog, but we didn’t see any hoped for activity today.

We did, however, discover some scent mounds and know that claiming territory is an important assignment that will become more significant as the ice begins to melt and the two-year-olds leave the lodge to venture off on their own and claim a territory.

Next, we turned our focus to a few shrubs, including the Winterberry. While I still have some dried bright red berries as decorations in my house, most of the berries on branches have shriveled and we wondered why the birds hadn’t dined on them when they were ripe.

What we discovered, much to our delight, was that some had been procured by little brown things, presumably mice, and had been consumed in a bird’s nest. It’s illegal to take bird nests without a permit and this is one reason, they are recycled into homes for other critters.

What totally surprised us about the Winterberry, however, was that we found one shrub with the berries still bright red and plump, as if today was December 18th and not March 18th. Again, we wondered why.

We also found a few of last season’s cranberries hiding under their leaves. That reminded me of another day I’d spent searching for cranberries in the bog years ago–and though I told Bridie about it, I’ll save that two-day story for another day.

Leatherleaf also had offerings to provide, in the form of little flower buds along the woody stems.

At last we reached the old Oak at Goose Pasture and stood there for a bit taking in the sun and warmth and feeling like it was a bit of a beach day. But, our time together was coming to a close, and we knew this would be our turn-around point.

That said, there were a couple of other gifts to share together, as today was the first day this year that the two of us saw Pussy Willows in bloom.

And, drum roll please, we heard them before we spotted them way over on the other side of the bog, but their distinctive call told us to look that way and sure enough there were two Sandhill Cranes.

Like the Wood Ducks they flew, but the two morphed into three as we watched them take to the air.

We’d been blessed. In so many ways.

And at the end of our time together, after traveling 6.2 miles, we needed to say our goodbyes.

The thing is, she wasn’t really with me, which I realized when I went to put my arm around her for our selfie shot. But, in my mind, she was and I had the best time Bogging with Bridie today, her birthday.

Happy Birthday, Bridie McGreavy!

Thursday By The Sea

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Salt air. It’s a necessity. As kids, my Dad used to remind us to cleanse the innermost recesses of our lungs with salt air while we walked or sailed along the Connecticut coast. And My Guy was used to doing the same as he grew up along the shores of Cape Cod. And so we are drawn. Periodically. To do the same. Together.

Our tramp today began along the Eastern Trail at Scarborough Marsh. For a ways, the trail was hard packed, and we reveled in donning micro-spikes rather than snowshoes. Until, that is, we found ourselves eventually post-holing and decided maybe it wasn’t the right choice after all.

But still. We walked beside Dunstan River where the hues of blue were so subtly varied and I gave thanks to my art teacher, Jessie Lozanski, for helping me to notice. Will I paint this scene? Maybe. One never knows what moves me to paint, until it just does.

It was the ducks, however, who were the real stars of the show, including the male Red-breasted Merganser showing off his typical wild hair day. Or perhaps it should be “wild feather” day.

Either a mate or an immature male joined the show. And actually, there were many others, all hanging out together.

Also in the mix, Common Goldeneye Ducks, with golden eyes indeed.

But, post-holing didn’t appeal to us and so we headed down the road to Pine Point Beach, where snow hugged the beach, but below the tide-line all was clear.

And so we took off, toward Old Orchard Beach.

It was here that the action was even better than the marsh (today, that is) and we paused as we watched a Ring-billed Gull tackle a meal.

The bird thrashed its food this way and that, as the morsel inside tried, I’m sure, to avoid being further consumed.

While sometimes dropping the shell helps, I’m not sure why the bird did this, unless he wanted to give his morsel a moment. A moment to do what? Regrow if it could? Burrow into the sand?

It’s not like it could actually get away at this point, being a Razor Clam. And since the shell was less than half its normal size, we knew the bird had dined well on this one.

Being amongst the gulls always gives me pause, for I need to slow down and think who they are. The fact that we grew up together, the gulls and I, doesn’t matter.

Here’s the lesson: Ring-billed–has a dark ring around its bill (bingo!). And yellow legs.

The one with whom it commonly shares the shoreline is the Herring Gull, with red on its bill, and pink legs to stand upon. And it has an orangey ring around its eye. Of course, I think this is all correct. Whenever I’m in a situation where I see them together, or even alone, I wish I had my birder friend Joe Scott in my pocket to clarify the differences.

What I do know is that this gull (I believe another Herring), had a bum foot and we watched as it bumbled along, putting some weight on its injury, but taking a rest between limps.

The other Herring of my attention, showed what that foot should have looked like–held at an angle when lifted off the ground, rather than dangling straight up and down.

A huge flock of Sanderlings were also in the mix, flitting and foraging where the tide had recently ebbed.

The black bill and legs help in IDing this species. But heck, just watching them race up and down the beach and play in the waves is good for the soul. Almost as good as the salt air.

My attention included more than the birds, for occasionally there were shells to celebrate, especially when they showed their age by serving as home to others including barnacles.

When I turned the Common Whelk over, I realized two things: it was empty. Bummer. But also, it had grown in whorls, much like White Pine pinecones, their scales swirling around the “cob” as they do.

And everywhere there were Quahog shells, most upturned and empty, methinks because the gulls had been dining. I didn’t dig this one up, but instead reveled in its colors and layers, which very much reminded me of Scarborough Marsh.

And no venture should go without tracking, though having the actual creator present in the very moment is rare, but such was the case with this snail.

One of my favorite things about this beach is that I always spot Sand Dollars upon it. Well, at least parts of them, this one being worth $.20 since a piece of the quarter was missing.

Another was worth $.47.

And finally a whole dollar! My Guy thought I’d collect them, but I have a few and felt that pictures would suffice for today.

The most unusual find of the day was this. And we spotted quite a few. I think its a sea ball, created with vegetation by wave action. I’ve seen pond balls full of hemlock and balsam fir needles, but had never noticed this sort of structure at the ocean before, having spent my entire life wandering the shoreline of New England. That said, maybe I just never noticed it before, but now that I have, the balls were everywhere.

At 2.5 miles from the start, we reached the Pier at Old Orchard Beach. In the summer, it’s abuzz with people and sound and aromas and activity.

Today, all was quiet. Delightfully quiet. Well, there were natural sounds, but those are meant to be.

Life stood absolutely still at the OOB’s Palace Playland beyond, with ice on the Pier’s piers speaking winter to the amusement park’s summer.

Even the clustered Barnacles stayed snug as icicles dripped.

We took one last look and then, as the tide changed, so did our direction.

Back under the piers did we pass as the waves increased and began to break, adding a little drama to the scene.

On the way back, I noticed and commented every time I spotted a Sand Dollar. My Guy was certain I’d spotted $35.46. I’m pretty sure it was closer to $6.74. Really though, it was priceless.

Thursday by the sea–a delightful day to walk along the Atlantic Coast in our beloved state of Maine as we did what Dad would have hoped and filled the innermost recesses of our lungs with salt air.

Giving Thanks for the Pileated Woodpecker

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

While most critters in the woods make their presence known only by signs left behind, there is at least one who is bold and loud and ever present in my neck of the woods. It often begins the day with a salute of drumming on a hollow snag to mark its territory just after the sun rises, and then I hear it or see it fly about our yard and woods and across the field beyond the stonewall throughout the day.

Every once in a while it honors me with a chance for a closer look. And so this afternoon, as I headed off into the woods to snip some twigs for an upcoming class that I’m teaching, I noticed some evidence that my friend had been present in the recent past.

It was the wood chips on the snow that served as his calling card. Well, his first card that is. By these, I knew he’d been chiseling the tree above, but always, when I spot this behavior I look for a second sign. And came up empty-handed. No scat.

While I was looking, however, I began to realize I could hear a familiar tap, tap, tapping from another tree.

And so I looked around, expecting to find one of his cousins, for the taps, though consistent, were not as loud as the drumming he uses to advertise his territory or announce his availability to a potential mate, but rather featured a softer rhythm.

Much to my delight, there he was, high up in a White Pine.

I was sure we wouldn’t get to spend too much time together, and so I wanted to focus on him as best I could. And that’s when I noticed the bark had been sloughed off the tree. My friend was hunting for bark beetles.

I decided to take my chances and move a few steps in order to get a clear picture, and still he stayed, though I thought our time might be over when he looked away from the tree.

Thankfully it wasn’t. Do you see all of the tunnels the beetles had carved where the bark had once been?

Oh, and how do I know it was a male? By the red mustache on his cheek. His lady does not have such a marking.

He turned back toward his work and I loved how it was obvious that his tail feathers formed the third leg of a tripod to provide support against the tree. When you have a head-banging job such as his, and only two legs, that third is important.

Eventually I pulled myself away and continued on my quest to locate certain tree species and snip just enough twig samples for each pair of students. Along the way, however, there were other things to notice like this recently deposited Bobcat scat offering a classic look at its hair-filled contents and sectioned presentation.

There are a million tracks in the woods right now since everything has been on the move following the last snowstorm, and the Foxes and Coyotes and Bobcats have been in dating mode, so it was no surprise to find Bobcat prints on top of other prints left behind.

Besides all the mammal tracks, I found lots of evidence of Ruffed Grouse walking about as well. They always remind me of my friend ArGee, whom I met in 2018, and wrote about several times, including this post Nothing to Grouse About. I may never get to have the experience of spending some quality time with a Grouse again, but seeing the tracks of one so clearly defined always makes me smile.

Another who has become a constant companion this winter is the Winter Crane Fly. Like all Crane Flies, he’s not a mosquito, though he looks like an oversized one. Crane Flies have no mouth parts, therefore, they can’t seek your blood. It’s only job is to find a mate and breed.

They are called Crane Flies because of their long legs and beaks that long ago were thought to resemble a Sandhill or Whooping Crane.

So why fly in winter? Perhaps because your predators are few. And your chances of mating without being eaten better.

Sticking with the Crane Fly theme, in my recent post Mammal Tracking: It’s all about paying attention, I shared a photo of this fly, a Snow Fly.

Snow Flies have six legs, but if you look carefully, you’ll notice this one only had five. As for that missing leg, Snow Flies self-amputate so that ice doesn’t enter body. It’s a fighting chance to survive the frigid winter and this photo was taking on a very cold day. An incredible adaptation.

Fast forward to today, which felt almost like summer (in the 30˚s), and I spotted another, this one with all six legs still intact.

And those two yellowish bumps on its thorax? Halteres, or small club-shaped organs, that help provide information for wing-steering muscles of True Flies (Diptera). From The Snow Fly Project, I’ve learned that “Snow flies are distinctive in their appearance, with long, spindly legs. They lack wings but do possess halteres. It has been suggested that their lack of wings might have evolved due to exposure to cold temperatures and wind (Hackman, 1964; Byers, 1983; Novak et al., 2007).”

Eventually it was time to return to our woods where I noticed more works by my friend.

Below this tree, there was even more debris and by the number of holes, it was obvious that this was a much more bountiful tree than the first one that stopped me in my tracks. That is, if you are seeking insects.

And so, I had to bend down and take a closer look. It’s like a treasure hunt at the base of a tree and let’s me know if the bird was successful in dining or not.

And I was well rewarded. All kinds of scat packages sat upon the wood chips and I knew that while the woodpecker found plenty of Carpenter Ants in the tree trunk, it had also recently dined on Bittersweet berries. As for the berries, well, um, Bittersweet does grow locally.

There was even some scat dripping off the tree! My heart be still.

As for Mr. Pileated, he’d moved on for the moment, but just before we’d parted ways earlier, he offered me a quick opportunity to spot his tongue between the upper and lower beak. Pileated Woodpeckers have sticky tongues, which they probe into the tunnels the delicious (to a woodpecker, that is) ants and other insects have created.

On this day, like so many others, I want to express my appreciation for the Pileated Woodpecker’s part in this world, for creating nesting sites that others, such as small songbirds, may use, and how he helps the trees in the forest by contributing to their decomposition, for as much as some think that these woodpeckers and their kin are killing the trees, the trees are already dying due to insect infestations, and the birds’ work will eventually help the trees fall to the ground, add nutrients to replace what they had used, and provide a nursery upon which other trees may grown.

Thank you, Pileated Woodpecker, and Bobcat, and Winter Crane Fly and Snow Fly. So many to honor.

CBC: Everything Counts

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

December 27, 2024. 8:15am. 5˚. Blue sky. No wind.

The perfect day to count birds for Maine Audubon’s Annual Christmas Bird Count.

Focus area: Sweden Circle, Maine.

Super focus area: Pondicherry Park and Highland Research Forest, both located in Bridgton, Maine.

Partner in counting: Dawn Wood.

The Christmas lights on Bob Dunning Memorial Bridge in Pondicherry Park rather said it all for so coated were they with ice crystals when we arrived this brisk morning. Fortunately, though, we knew it was going to be as cold as it was and had dressed appropriately.

And really, there is nothing more beautiful than the world beside water on such a morning for everything was coated like the candle and the world was transformed into a glistening display.

Just a few days prior, when I’d walked in the park, I had noted that Stevens Brook was almost completely frozen and feared we wouldn’t even see ducks on today’s count. But . . . wind a couple of days ago had done its own deed and opened things up.

And much to our delight, we spotted duck tracks along the edge at about the same time that we heard a few Mallards quack in their Mallardy way that sounds much like a laugh.

And then we spotted more ducks and had to walk around a building to get a closer look. And count. And count again. And eventually decided on 100 as a number to represent the ducks as best we could for there were so many and they were in constant motion and some flew in in the midst of our efforts.

Half of birding is listening and it was the “Peter, Peter,” call that told us to look for the Tufted Titmouse.

We also spotted two Hairy Wookpeckers playing a game, or so it seemed, as one would fly to a branch, the other would follow, and then the first would move again and on it went with them trying to mimic the branches between their flying sprints.

And talk about moving, we saw five Golden-crowned Kinglets, who performed their own acrobatic moves for us, which made them difficult to photograph for they were never still. That’s the thing about photographing birds–“And then it flew,” we’ve often been heard to say once we spot one.

As we moved along the trails, another site garnered our attention: wing prints. Dawn measured the wing span–36 inches. A bit too short for a Barred Owl, but it was still our best guess. And there was plenty of food available either atop the snow or just below in the form of mice and voles. We’ll never know who actually left these impressions or if a meal was part of the deal, but that’s okay because sometimes mysteries can’t be solved and that’s what keeps us going.

We did wonder if we could add such a sighting to our bird count, but since we couldn’t name the species, thought better of it.

In another area, we noted no birds, but plenty of fox tracks and even faintly sniffed the skunky scent of Red Fox. It seemed very curious about some holes so we went in for a closer look.

The best we saw–ice needles indicating one of two things: a critter surviving and breathing in the holes; or moisture below rising and freezing. We decided to stick to the first story and knew that we were one hundred percent correct because when no one else is around, we can think what we wish.

Another set of prints tricked us for a few minutes. Our first thought when we spotted the sashay look of the track was a Porcupine. Especially since we had just been talking about one that resides somewhere in my woods. But the prints within the track didn’t strike me as porky. And then we realized it wasn’t really a trough, but rather had a ridge in the middle. And it was skinnier than a porky trough would be.

What else could it be? And had we seen this sort of track before? And then it hit us: A Ruffed Grouse! Another bird sighting without the sight of the bird. Again, it didn’t count, but it was a great lesson as we ease into this year’s tracking season.

Before we left the park, we were in an area where I often see and hear lots of bird activity and today there was absolutely none. And then a Bald Eagle flew out of a tree. I wasn’t quick enough to focus the camera, but we both will hold that shot in our minds’ eyes.

After completing our survey of Pondicherry Park, we drove north to Highland Research Forest, and not far into the property began to spot Snowshoe Hare tracks. These are the snow lobsters of the North Woods for so do the set of four feet look when arranged perfectly, which doesn’t happen with each hop. But, if you look at the set of four prints in the bottom-most impression, you’ll see the two smaller front feet that landed on an angle thus forming the lobster’s tail, with the hind feet swinging around and landing in front of them to form the claws.

And where there are Snowshoe Hare tracks, there is scat.

Malt Ball-sized scat full of plant fiber, as it should be.

And when one is looking and listening intently, one sees all kinds of things. Yesterday, while hiking along a trail near our home with My Guy, we began to count Long-jawed Orb Weaver Spiders walking on the snow, proving not all spiders are dormant in the winter. That made sense for yesterday afternoon as the temperature was above freezing, but today’s temp was colder and though it eventually reached 32˚ by the time we finished, it was still in the 20˚s when we began to spot this behavior.

I assume the spiders are able to lower their bodies’ freezing point by producing a cryoprotectant, a glycerol anti-freeze compound that prevents them from freezing. An amazing adaptation.

Going in for a closer look, check out those hairy legs! And the long pedipalps used in reproduction; they are also tactile and function like insect antennae.

It’s funny how once you notice one thing, your attention is attracted to another, and such was the case that as we hunted for spiders, we spotted a caterpillar, that didn’t seem to be alive and can only trust that it was blown off a twig.

Like the park, Highland Research Forest is located beside a wetland and a lake, with lots of waterways in between. And like the park, the frost offered artwork, each crystal unique.

Since we were there to scan the wetland for birds but came up empty handed, we were forced to observe the newest beaver lodge in town. We didn’t walk out to it, because of course, tracking was not our official business of the day, but we suspect based on the mud and resent log additions, that it continues to be inhabited.

We really were birding. Honest. It’s just that this property usually has less activity of the avian sort than the other and today was no different. And then we realized that a year ago we said we’d start here in the morning and may be be honored with more sightings, but in the planning stages forgot, so have promised ourselves that next year we will begin our birding adventure at Highland Research Forest and then go to Pondicherry.

But tracks. Oh my. We saw tracks. Which brought up another discussion. Two years ago Dawn assisted me in leading a Senior College tracking expedition on this property. I chose it because I knew it to offer many tracks of a variety of mammal flavors. And that year, we walked a loop trail and finally found signs when we were about two tenths of a mile from the starting point: a Deer rub on a tree; and one or two sets of Snowshoe Hare tracks.

Today, however, while bird activity was almost non-existent, the mammal activity was overwhelming. Including these Fisher prints. (Note to the wise: Fishers are in the weasel family and not the cat family, so they are Fishers and not Fisher Cats.)

And on a high spot near the trail in the midst of the Fisher track: another sign post. Fisher urine. Apparently he was marking his territory with a mere dribble here and another dribble there.

Reaching Carsley Brook, we paused on a bridge, again in hopes of hearing a few peeps. There was an occasional Black-capped Chickadee and a White-breasted Nuthatch, but few others making their presence known.

That said, there were other presents to honor, again two other members of the weasel family: an Ermine and a Mink. The giveaways, track width and foot orientation on a diagonal.

Moving away from the brook, we again found bird sign in the form of . . . Turkey prints. But again, though birdy they were, they couldn’t count toward the bird count.

Pausing as we did frequently to make sure we didn’t miss anything in the bird department, we spotted others flying from twigs. Well, maybe not flying yet. But certainly dangling. As is their habit in the winter. The first was the cocoon of a Promethea Moth, which will fly in the future.

And a few feet farther along the trail, that of a Polyphemus Moth.

Both are attached to the twigs with an incredible reinforcement of silk, and reminded me of how my friend Marita recently reinforced the “idiot strings” on my mittens so they can dangle from my wrists when I take them off to jot down notes or take a photograph.

We also found another spider to admire.

And a kazillion mouse tracks showing their keen interest in risky night-time missions.

Just before we finished, and while we were searching the trees for a Woodpecker, an anomaly caught my attention and I realized I was starring at a Barred Owl. Unfortunately, it flew off before I had a chance to focus the camera on it, but like the Bald Eagle earlier in the day, it was a thrill.

Oh, and did I mention the Great Horned Owl that we spotted this morning as it kept watch in the exact spot we saw the Eagle? It’s amazing the Bald Eagle didn’t take it out, but this bird seems to lay claim to the area for it sits in the same spot day after day.

At the end of our Christmas Bird Count today, these were our findings:

Distance covered: 5.8 miles

Time of travel by foot: 6 hours

Mallards: 100

Downy Woodpeckers: 5

Hairy Woodpeckers: 3

Pileated Woodpecker: 1

Blue Jay: 5

American Crow: 10

Black-capped Chickadee: 17

Tufted Titmouse: 3

Red-breasted Nuthatch: 1

White-breasted Nuthatch: 9

Golden-crowned Kinglet: 5

Dark-eyed Junco: 2

Bald Eagle: 1

Barred Owl: 1

Long-jawed Orb Weaver Spiders (12/27/24): 14; (12/26/24 with My Guy): 94

Caterpillar: 1

Moth Cocoons: 2

Tracks: a zillion including Ruffed Grouse and Turkey.

Surely the bird tracks count for something as everything counts.

Ah March!

~ lmachayes ~ 12 Comments

The hype for a predicted snowstorm today kept providing various amounts, rising one hour, falling the next, over the last couple of days. And so I made my own prediction: 1 inch – 12 inches possible.

What I didn’t predict was the number or variety of species that would choose our yard to dine. The snow started to fall during the wee hours of the morning and the birds began visiting before 7am, including this Goldfinch and many of its kin.

I was probably most thrilled to have a male and female Bluebird return. It’s been a couple of months since my neighbor and I have spotted them. Here’s hoping they soon use the nest boxes she has made available.

A male Downy Woodpecker found the suet, frozen as it was.

His female counterpart did a curious thing–she walked across the bottom of the feeder before righting herself to dine where he had been a few minutes prior. I’ve yet to figure out why she chose that approach.

There were territorial wars on the ground, at the feeders, and in the air.

Nothing major came of it, yet . . . but oh what drama.

And an exchange of roles as a Song Sparrow pretended to be a squirrel and dine on the corn . . .

while a Gray Squirrel pretended to be a bird and dine at the feeder.

Both the female and male Cardinals were frequent visitors, and she looked especially dashing today.

As did a Tufted Titmouse and the yard was filled with songs of “Peter, Peter, Peter,” as has been the case lately.

Toward the end of the day Purple Finches showed up and spent lots of time hanging out between one of the feeders and a Quaking Aspen tree.

And a couple of times the Mourning Doves paused on a branch. She winked. At least I think it’s a she and a he because the other day one chased the other and they are always together.

Then they both looked at me as if I’d caught them in a secret moment. Did I?

I love that snow and rain bring in more birds than usual and today was no different.

What was different was that we finally got a real snowstorm on this 23rd day of March. An hour ago the total was over a foot, exceeding my prediction, and it’s still snowing.

Ah March in Maine.

Update: March 24, 7:30am. Twenty-one inches of fluffy snow! Ah March!

Worth the Wait Mondate

~ lmachayes

It took us a while to get out the door today, but perhaps that was because we knew we weren’t traveling far and we’d have plenty of daylight in which to explore.

Today’s destination: Sebago Lake State Park, a locale whose existence we take for granted and seldom make time to actually visit. But when we do . . . ah. We hiked over five miles today, with a few false starts, but never really getting lost.

It was a blustery but beautiful day and conditions switched from snow to ice to puddles to ice under water to bare ground. And somehow, at exactly noon we reached the summit of the Lookout Trail, where a picnic table painted brown from my guy’s hardware store awaited. Looks like maintenance will need to return to the store for some touchups this spring.

After lunch, we found our way down to the water, which in this neck of the woods looks like the ocean. That said, the Atlantic Ocean is only about thirty minutes away. Sebago Lake State Park, at 1,400 acres, opened in 1938. The lake itself, at 45-square miles, is Maine’s second largest. It’s a place with diverse natural communities, which makes it a jewel.

All of that is fine and well, but my favorite habitat of all we saved until the end. Horseshoe Bog on the park’s west side always has something to offer. It’s called Horseshoe Bog because of its shape. The question was: what would today’s offerings be?

It soon became evident when we began to notice lodges.

And chew sticks floating in a raft-like manner in a wee bit of open water. Because beavers don’t hibernate, they cache or stockpile sticks underwater so they can nibble on them once the pond freezes over in winter.

As pure herbivores, beavers subsist solely on woody and aquatic vegetation.

As we continued along the path, we paused frequently to admire their previous works, some of which hadn’t been successful in terms of felling the trees. Yet.

Others seemed like attempts to perhaps consider on some future date.

And still others made us feel as if we were walking through an art gallery for so unique were their forms.

Though a beaver will chew on any tree, its preferred species include alder, aspen, birch, maple, poplar and willow. 

I’m always in awe when I think about how beavers obtain their food by toppling large trees with no other tools than those specially adapted incisors and powerful lower jaw muscles. Even after years of chewing wood, their teeth don’t become too warn and never stop growing. The four incisors (two top; two bottom) are self-sharpening due to hard orange enamel on the front and a softer dentin on the back. That means the softer backside wears faster, creating a chisel-like cutting surface. And chisel they do.

Moving rather slowly, for I’d asked my guy to change his pace when we began to circle the bog, we counted five lodges, and figured that at least two of them were active. The two bookmarking this photo we weren’t sure about.

Suddenly we spotted some action in the water and my guy caught a glimpse of a critter that swam under the ice and out of our sight. All I saw were the ripples on the water. But . . . that meant that we stopped. For a while. And in flew a small flock of Pine Siskins.

And so they garnered my attention for a few moments.

When I wasn’t searching for more beaver action, that is.

At last we reached another lodge and both of us chose trees on either side of it to hide beside and remain quiet. I have to say that I’m so impressed with how still my guy can be . . . thank goodness for that earlier half-second sighting because he was as eager as I was to spy more activity.

Unfortunately, it was in that moment that my guy finally walked toward me that the beaver did show. He missed the sighting, but for me, it was well worth the wait on this first Mondate of spring.

A Buck for Two Hearts Mondate

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Our journey today found us along the coast of Maine once again despite the small craft warning. It’s just wind, we figured, though we did make sure to bring along extra layers, hats, and gloves.

Biddeford Pool was our overall destination, but really the tide was out and wind so strong by the pool, that we decided to check out a few other locations in the area.

We actually drove by the pathway to the next location twice before a small sign caught our attention. To reach Maine Audubon’s East Point Sanctuary one must follow the narrow path.

Being a bird sanctuary, we weren’t surprised to be greeted by one–but really, an American Robin? We chuckled at the offering.

And then moved on to admire the view–the rocky coast of Maine.

And upon the rocks, bursts of sunshine in the form of lichen.

And in the water, waves crashing over the rocks.

Likely, it was waves of a similar or even more forceful nature that dislodged a couple of lobster pots and dropped them upon the pathway. At least, we wanted to believe their presence was of a natural cause.

The sanctuary is located at the mouth of the Saco River, and we realized we’d never actually viewed it from this vantage point before.

Nor were we familiar with Wood Island lighthouse, which was built in 1806 and manned until 1986 to guide mariners into Winter Harbor and the Saco River.

Nearby, a bell cast in England in 1872 that tolled for at the lighthouse for many years as part of the navigation system, was on display in a park.

But our eyes cued in to what was more in our range and we began to notice the birds on the rocks, in the water and air.

And suddenly, like magic, for perhaps that’s what binoculars do, my guy became a birder-in-the-making. Oh, don’t tell him because I know he’ll deny it. But he did notice subtle details of the diving ducks.

The Common Eiders were the most abundant in our view.

The breeding males stood out with their white and black featheration. (Is that a word?) It was the sloping forehead and beak of this diving duck that caught my guy’s notice.

For me, it was the greenish sides of the neck that I found most intriguing.

And then there was the she–rather drab in contrast to her he, but also featuring that sloping forehead and some black barring among the brown feathers.

In today’s wind, her feathers were aflutter, but I’m sure her he found the sight all the more alluring.

Swimming beside or among the Eiders were several White-winged Scoters, whose name stymied us for the white on the wings was barely visible as they swam. Note also the comma-shaped patch by its eye, known as a Viking horn.

It wasn’t quite as easy to move about for those who took to the air and most often it seemed like the gulls flew backwards in the wind.

Occasionally, they landed on the rocks below us so we could take a closer look.

The majority that we spied today were Herring Gulls, their suits of white and gray adorned by those black and white wingtips. (I really wanted this to be a Yellow-legged Gull, but what I want and reality don’t always match.)

At last we reached the turn-around point where we stood for a bit and admired the view.

And then we followed the pathway back along the edge–of the land and the sea.

It was as we headed out that we saw a wooly bear caterpillar and knew winter must be near. Based on the Farmer’s Almanac: “According to folklore, if the caterpillar’s orange band is narrow, the winter will be snowy; conversely, a wide band means a mild winter. And fuzzier-than-normal woolly bear caterpillars are said to mean that winter will be very cold.”

Wait, it’s spring. Here’s the scoop: The larva emerged from the egg last fall and overwintered in its caterpillar form, when it literally froze solid. To do that, first its heart stopped beating and then its guts, blood and entire body froze by producing a cryoprotectant in its tissues. And yes, despite today’s cold wind, it is spring and this one had thawed.

As we left, the Robins were there to say goodbye and we did wonder if the Wooly Bear would be on the menu.

In the meantime, however, a worm met its unexpected demise.

We had one more place to explore before heading northwest–to Fortune Rocks Beach, which was just down the road from the sanctuary and on the other side of the road from Biddeford Pool.

Maybe we should have noted the lack of people as a foreshadowing of the wind’s strength.

And certainly, the backspray of each wave should have spoken to us.

But . . . we ignored all the clues and tramped on. As usual, I followed my guy’s tracks. Can you interpret them? What’s that little loop-de-loop all about in the midst?

The further we walked, the more intense the wind became and eventually we felt as if we were walking in a sandstorm on a desert–a rather frozen desert.

And so we headed toward the shore in hopes that the retention walls and houses would block the brisker than brisk gusts. Truth be told, they nearly knocked us off our feet.

The beauty of walking closer to the shore–a few pieces of seaglass like this one that found its way into my pocket.

And then I found a fifty cent piece–tails up.

Right after that, I spied a heart-shaped stone, and that also ended up you know where.

And then . . . and then, my guy found a fifty cent piece, his heads up.

And he found a heart as well, which I also snatched.

So, a few birds, a caterpillar and a worm, lots of wind, Biddeford Pool, sand and waves on the fly, Fortune Rocks, and $.50 + $.50 = $1.00. I’ll give you a buck for a couple of hearts on this Mondate.

Happy April Fools Day!