Just as a couple of friends and I were finishing a walk this morning, we spotted a Monarch Butterfly. One gal commented that it seemed too early, but I mentioned people have been posting pictures of them for the last couple of weeks. For all of us, that was the first of this season.
Back at home, I decided to do one of my favorite summer activities and stalk the gardens. Mind you, my gardens are not at all organized; they are rather like me–messy yet a wee bit colorful. I call them cottage gardens, but even those are probably not as random as these.
That said, they attract and provide for all kinds, including the Robber Flies who hide and wait and wait and hide.
Until a meal, such as an Oriental Beetle, enters the scene. I unfortunately missed the drama of the catch, but love that the Robber Fly was so focused on its meal that it stayed extremely still upon the granite post as it dined. As for the beetle, I was grateful for the fly because such beetles are garden pests.
In case you aren’t familiar with an Oriental Beetle, it’s similar in size to a Japanese Beetle, but as you can see, is much more drab in color. Those antennae, however, are fabulous and make me think that beetles with such are carrying around a set of forks, the better to create a salad.
Above the Robber Fly, a Silver-Spotted Skipper flitted between the Gooseneck Loosestrife that has taken over the driveway garden, and Hostas that are now blooming, seeking nectar wherever it was available.
Skippers are in the butterfly family and have you ever thought about how hairy they can be. Actually, I’m pretty sure the entire natural world is hairy.
Speaking of hair, its certainly true for the Common Eastern Bumble Bee, who stuck his red tongue into the plant’s nectary.
I’ve seen only a couple of Honey Bees so far this summer, but the gardens are full of Bumble Bees, as is the field beyond, and that makes me so happy.
And if you are worried about these critters stinging–they can and will if annoyed. But I’ve learned to be calm and quiet and they let me get into their space. If they don’t want me there, they simple take to flight and circle me or charge at me, but I know that is a warning and I need to slowly move away and give them their space.
Two-spotted Bumble Bees are also abundant. Notice his beard. And the yellow bands on his abdomen.
Also enjoying the offerings was a Gold-marked Thread-waisted Wasp, the first sighting of this species for me this year. Though in hind sight, I do think I spotted one dragging a dead spider across the patio the other day and suspected it was on its way to a nest to feed some young.
In another garden, I encountered a new-to-me moth doing its own wonderful job of pollination on an Ox-eyed Daisy. This is a Grapeleaf Skeletonizer Moth. Yeegads. What a name for such a lovely creature who held its wings straight out and flat the entire time I watched it. We do have grape leaves along a stonewall near the garden. And it also likes a relative of grapes, Virginia Creeper, and that too colonizes the wall.
One preferring not to be seen, was this little Crab Spider. I love that it has created a hiding spot by “sewing” the daisy petals together. And now it waits. Actually, by now, I’m sure it has had several meals and treats since I spotted it several hours ago.
And I would be remiss if I didn’t give time to the female Blue Dasher. I’ve seen her guy in the field, but she liked hanging out on the old Digitalis stalk. It was quite gnatty today, given the humidity, and I was hoping she’d make a meal or two, but I’m not sure that happened.
Instead, she spent her time in the obelisk posture, standing on her “hands” and sticking her abdomen up toward the sun to prevent overheating.
All of those creatures I saw because about an hour after arriving home from my walk, I saw a flash of orange out the window and realized that we too had a Monarch. It alluded me at first, but then I spotted it.
I remember when our 30-something sons were young, the Monarchs covered flowering shrubs with their presence. And now, sadly, we celebrate one.
I can only hope that as the summer progresses, this butterfly finds a mate, canoodles, and produces many more. I can only hope.
But . . . because of the Monarch drawing me back outdoors, when I was by one garden and had my back to our woods, I heard a scratching noise that didn’t sound normal.
Fully expecting it to be a squirrel, I turned around to peek. And was totally surprised by what I saw.
Oh, how I love it when that happens. Go without expectations. And be fully surprised.
As it crawled backwards down the tree, my heart sang.
One of my favorite critters was descending.
I did wonder, however, which way he would go once he reached the ground.
I had nothing to fear, for he headed toward another of the stonewalls that encompass our land.
He wasn’t aware of me, for the quills on this Porcupine’s back were not raised. Apparently I didn’t smell all that sweaty after all, for their sight and hearing are not great, but they do have a sense of odors, hard to believe given how much the scat that surrounds their dens stinks.
As he waddled over the stonewall and onto the trail I’ve created in the woods, I gave thanks for the butterfly.
I am so thankful that I was born with a desire to learn and somehow landed in at a most pleasant neighborhood school. Of course, the classrooms vary depending upon the season. These past two days, and actually these past few weeks, I’ve been majoring in field and yard lessons.
Oh, don’t get me wrong–that doesn’t mean field and yard work, though I did help mow the lawn today.
Let’s begin, however, with the class in the field, which is really more of a meadow given how wet it can be and some of the species who call it home attest to that, including this Marsh Fern.
At first glimpse, I thought it was a Lady Fern, but there was something different about the leaflets–they seemed to present as three-dimensional.
When I turned the blade over, I saw why. On fertile leaflets, such as these, the subleaflets curl around the kidney-shaped indusia which cover the sori, or spore cases.
There are lots of other ferns out there including Interrupted and Sensitive, but Marsh is one I don’t often see, so to have it on display in the school hallway is exciting to me.
Meadowsweet, or Spirea, is another plant that doesn’t mind wet feet, also indicating that this class leans toward being a wet meadow.
And today, I met a new-to-me insect species with a funny name.
Tumbling Ragdoll, aka Mordella marginata, is a Tumbling Flower Beetle. I love the name, and am reminded that as a child I loved my Raggedy Andy doll made by an “aunt” who wasn’t actually related to our family; my sister received Raggedy Ann. Years later, my sister also later created Andy and Ann for me, so I have a complete set, plus one from “Aunt” Betsy.
Anyway, from Tom Murray’s Insects of New England & New York, I discover that these beetles are so named because “When threatened their escape method is to jump and tumble about wildly.”
For science lab, I will attempt a mere scare in the future to see if that is true; but today approached with care so as not to disturb them.
When I got up from my chair to sharpen my pencil, I spotted what my friend Amanda calls a B-52 Bomber Bumblebee. It was large and fast. But that didn’t disturb the Banded Longhorn Beetles at the top of the Meadowsweet.
They were mid-canoodle, and nothing was going to pause their intense interest in each other.
Upon another Meadowsweet, it was as if the whole community had shown up to pollinate the flowers, and miraculously, they all got along. At least while I watched. I love that the teacher had lined up this subtle lesson–about putting aside differences to work for the common good.
She reiterated it more than once.
Over by the window, there was another new-to-me species to meet. By their tiny, yet robust bodies, and long snouts that seemed to grow right out of their heads, I knew they were Weevils. If I got the answer correct on the homework, these are Rugged Flower Weevils, aka Odontocorynus salebrosus.
Ragged. Rugged. Interesting choices for today.
In the midst of it all, some old friends stopped by to visit, including a slew of male and female Calico Pennant Skimmer Dragonflies and this sole female Common Whitetail Skimmer.
I asked the teacher what is so common about this dragonfly that instead seems quite exotic with black splotches on the wings and a two-toned abdomen. I also inquired about the name Whitetail. She said she’d get back to me. Later, in the classroom next door, I saw a single male Common Whitetail, and its abdomen is much whiter (a light blue actually), so I know why that part of the name, but the female certainly wasn’t taken into account when naming occurred several hundred years ago.
And much to my surprise and delight, a male Spangled Skimmer stalked the halls, another indicator in my mind, that this is more of a meadow than a field.
Look at those white stigmas on the wings. It’s the only Skimmer I know of with such markings, thus making it easy to ID on the spot.
After recess, I crossed back over the wall to the classroom in the yard. Judolia cordifera is one of the Flower Longhorn Beetles, and those long horns were so obvious.
But that face. If I have nightmares tonight, I hope my mom will understand why. And my teacher won’t mind when I take a nap during class tomorrow.
Sweat Bees were also busy pollinating, especially the composite flowers, but its the Crab Spider who presented today’s challenge as the teacher wondered if I saw it. Camouflaged as it was, its duty is to mimic the daisy petals. For the moment the Sweat Bee survived, but the spider often wins in the end.
During lunch, this Gray Catbird landed about ten feet from the table where I sat with my classmates. As a person who dabbles in art, and loved Painting 101 with Miss Jessie, the many shades of gray stood out to me. But I was reminded that a Catbird is more than just a gray bird. First, there’s the small black cap, dark tail, and the rufous-rusty patch under the tail. Sometimes its hard to see the patch, but from my spot at the cafeteria table, I had a spot-on view.
And just before class let out, our school mascot flew in. Or rather, the child of our school mascot. Being so young, it was only an arm’s length away from me, but being the mascot, it seemed not to mind my presence.
Then again, maybe it did for the immature Red-breasted Nuthatch looke around, perhaps for back-up. I know it has several siblings, but the others weren’t feeling so brave as to stand so close to me.
At the end of the day, before the last bell rang, I realized that I was the student teacher–always learning something new and finding joy in sharing those learnings.
Today’s lessons were brought to you from the Field and Yard Classrooms. Stay tuned for more lessons.
Being an overcast morning, it was rather dark as we hiked up a mountain through a hemlock forest, but that was fine for we began our journey on a trail new to us and it was on the cool side and best of all, not buggy.
And then, we reached the ridge and found ourselves on another trail we had hiked only once before in early spring. Suddenly we could see the sky. It was what was at our feet, however, that mattered most to My Guy.
His beloved blueberries were ripening. And tasted like sunshine despite the clouds above.
For Lowbush Blueberries, they were quite plump and oh, so plentiful. But we hadn’t come prepared to pick. And so we decided we’d move on. That is, until My Guy looked at his watch and realized it was noon, and wondered if we might want to find a spot in that vicinity to eat our sandwiches.
It was then that we both knew our lunch bag would become his blueberry bag.
Did I mind, he asked. Not at all. It meant I could wander and wonder and take in all that surrounded us.
And so he found lunch rock, chosen supposedly for the view in front of us, which included the Saco River, but also for the treats by his feet–an appetizer for sure.
After we finished our sandwiches, he took the bag and let the picking begin. I took my camera and let the sightseeing begin.
Pixie Cups and British Soldiers and so many more lichens grew among the mosses by my feet and I could have spent hours taking inventory.
I also found a sample of aged Red Fox scat that thrilled my soul. Back at home, my neighbor and I have watched our resident foxes pass through our yards and woods frequently, but being able to identify others who had previously traveled the route we chose today made me happy. My Guy was rather nonchalant about it, but I really wanted to add this specimen to my collection. He, however, had beat me to the bag and didn’t think adding scat to blueberries was such a keen idea. Oh bother.
There were White Pine pinecones to admire as well. It takes these cones two years to mature, thus reminding me that this will be a mast year, which the Squirrels and other Rodents will appreciate as they develop caches in their pantries.
I also watched Turkey Vultures ride the thermals, their wings raised in that telltale V as they teetered about in the sky.
And then My Guy called me over for he had made a friend. A small grasshopper hung out on his leg for a few minutes while he continued to pick berries.
But it was the call of another bird, that drew me away again, back to the edge of the ledges.
When we’d first started today’s hike, I heard the chick-burr call note of the Scarlet Tanager, but never expected to spot it a couple of miles later.
And tada, there is was, posing and calling in front of me.
As much as I wanted to call My Guy over to see, I didn’t want the bird to fly, so I took a hundred photos. Well, maybe not quite that many, but you know what I mean.
That beak–what a chomper. And that scarlet body. Those jet-black wings and tail. It was as if he was dressed to impress. I was impressed.
And only wish he’d brought his bride out to say hello. But . . . perhaps she was somewhere on a nest. Or tending their young, though we didn’t hear any sounds that would indicate there were hungry mouths to feed.
Still, he was sooooo handsome.
When the bird finally disappeared from my sight, I showed My Guy what he had missed. He was also in awe.
He picked for a little bit longer and I continued to wander, but the rain we knew to expect and had seen in a distance finally found us, so we eventually headed back into the woods to finish our hike, but first I stopped to admire a St. John’s Wort bejeweled with raindrops.
When we got back to the truck, it had stopped raining. I suggested that we had two choices for a late dessert–the brownies we had packed or a stop at Sweetie Pies Ice Cream. He agreed that the latter sounded ideal.
At the end of the day, he had his blueberries.
I had my time with the Scarlet Tanager. (Plus the fox scat that he pooh-poohed.)
And we both had ice cream to celebrate our unexpected finds.
Pineapple Orange for him. Death by Chocolate for me.
Between our six acre plot of land and our neighbors’ field, which is probably about three or four acres, I feel like we live in a special place. Oh, I know I’m not alone and so many others have their own special places. What I’m most grateful for, however, is the ability to enjoy it by wandering and wondering on an almost daily basis and getting to know it intimately. That said, there are always surprises and perhaps that’s what makes it extra special in my eyes.
One day recently, after spotting no activity for about two months at the Bluebird Box My Guy had nailed to a tree along one of the stonewalls, I noticed activity. In the form of a House Wren.
For hours, sticks were picked up and brought to the box, the better to build a platform for the nest cup to rest upon. Sometimes they were too big. At least to my untrained mind.
But a little finagling this way and that; I admired such perseverance. And knowledge.
Tada, in that stick did go to join the others. With many more to come.
For two days, the Wren worked in the same manner. And then. Nothing. Being a Male Wren, it was just being a Male Wren . . . filling a possible site here and probably in other boxes near the field, as well as in tree cavities and she chose a different piece of real estate to set up housekeeping.
To say I’m disappointed is an understatement, but it’s the Wren Way. And I’m only a guest here.
I love being a guest here because I see all sorts of Natives make themselves known, including this youngster who followed in the footsteps of its parents, crossing the yard at an angle. Fortunately, the backdoor often serves as a screen so I can photograph many of the species with whom we share this land and not disturb them.
That same “screen” helped me capture a shot of an immature Red-bellied Woodpecker, who has the slightest hint of his parents’ crimson red upon his head. He stops by at least once a day, but is always in motion. And never stays long.
The Cardinals also bring their young to visit on a regular occasion, and sometimes the young’uns even come on their own. Watching them reminds me that many wild parents are amazing caregivers. Beavers and White-tailed Deer and Moose and Coyotes are among those who stay together as a family unit for a year or more. But not all are the same, like the frogs and salamanders who lay eggs and then leave the vernal pool.
What I have to wonder is how does this all work–why do some stay with their young and others abandon them?
Speaking of young’uns a wee bit more, as I headed up to the field, I met a recently fledged Robin, its breast all speckled. Though the Robins are constant backyard visitors, it wasn’t till I wandered about the yard that I found their nest.
And now I regret that I didn’t realize its position earlier, for I would have enjoyed keeping an eye on it.
As I said, the field belongs to our neighbors and I’m eternally grateful that they mow a path meant for them and their dogs, but I’m allowed to trespass by climbing over one of our stonewalls . . . and I do. Daily. Sometimes several times a day.
It’s a place that serves as one of my classrooms and I’m always amazed at who I meet there, including this Frosted Whiteface Skimmer Dragonfly. The yellow and black thorax and base of the abdomen, indicate this is a female. And though you can’t see her white face, she has yellow spots on the thorax segments 4 to 7, with 7 being very small.
The most abundant butterfly of the season so far is the Tiger Swallowtail, and this one took advantage of the flowering Dogwoods at the top of the field.
Everywhere, there were Calico Pennants, one of my favorites (one out of a million), this being the female with her yellow markings.
While My Guy practices Yoga several times a week, the dragonflies do so even more frequently, especially if its super hot, like today’s temp of 91˚ that felt like 96˚, or so the weather app told me.
The Calico’s handstand is actually an obelisk posture, with the abdomen pointing toward the sun in a manner meant to minimize the surface area exposed to solar radiation. Again, I am in awe.
Calico’s male, bedecked in red, chose the same stance.
Back over the wall and into our yard, Oriental Beetles are making their presence known. What captures my attention is the texture of wings and thorax, and the hairy and spiky legs, and the funky antennae that look like handmade forks.
Apparently some mistake them for this, the Japanese Beetle, but though there are similarities in the wings and antennae, in my brain that’s it. These are not insects high on anyone’s list of favorites, but look at that iridescent green thorax and the hairy, dotted design on its abdomen.
I also spent time circling my newest pollinator garden and among the frequent visitors are the Fritillary Butterflies.
I do, however, worry about some other visitors who keep dining on the flowers rather than pollinating them.
In the wee hours of the morning and all night long, Deer stop by to nibble. There are at least two does and two fawns, and so far the garden has enough to offer them, and the pollinators, and me. But I do worry.
Especially since via the Game Camera I discovered that a neighbor I thought had moved on is still around, and the end of the garden may be in the mouth of the Woodchuck. I hope not, but we’ll see what happens.
That said, there’s another new neighbor in the ‘hood. Remember the male Wren who worked so hard to fill the birdhouse with sticks? And then I didn’t see him at this spot again. A few days later I spotted a male Bluebird checking it out. And tada . . . a female is sitting on eggs, I do believe.
My little world. It may be small, but really, it’s huge. This is only a smattering of what happens here daily and nightly and I feel so honored to be granted the opportunity to keep an eye on it all. It so enhances my life to spend time wandering and wondering upon these acres.
I hope you have a little world to explore and get to know intimately.
A friend recently mentioned a local road that I might want to walk down and determine if it was a good place to lead a walk for parishioners of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church and anyone else who joins us. As I drove in and the road changed from pavement to dirt, a rush of memories flooded my brain. And a smile embraced my heart.
About a half mile in, I parked my truck and decided I’d rather continue on foot to get to know the lay of the land better.
A flash of orange to my left and soon I was hunting for this Ichnuemon Wasp. It kept flying to the underside of fern fronds and upon reading up on it later, I learned that it was possibly an Enicospilus purgatus, a nocturnal species that likes night lights and gathers around them like moths. Maybe that’s why it was hiding from the daylight by landing on the underside of the leaflets.
Also hanging upside down was a Common Snipe Fly, aka the down-looker fly, which makes sense again given its location. They are known to prey on other insects, and I could only hope that Mosquitoes were on the menu for they were certainly all over me. Thankfully, only my face and fingers were exposed.
Within moments I arrived at the Mosquito hatchery and knew that there would be no relief, so I journeyed on because I’d come with a vision, but suddenly realized I was getting closer and closer to a memory of yore.
There were Racket-tailed Emeralds and other dragonflies on the move, but they hardly seemed to make a dent in the pesky population. But those great big green eyes. Oh my.
And when I went in for a close-up of a Whorled Loosestrife flower, I discovered a spider working on its web.
And gave great thanks, because certainly some Skeeters will get caught in there, and if you’ve ever looked around the natural world, you’ve realized that there are spiders and webs everywhere and the world is connected by silk.
And then I spotted one of my favorite spring ephemerals, Indian Cucumber Root, and celebrated the number of blossoms with their crazy large stamens nodding below and others slowly turning upward upon having been pollinated, and becoming green fruits in the shape of tiny balls. The root is a tasty little white tuber and it’s always fun to introduce it to people, though it shouldn’t be foraged since it isn’t an abundant plant most of the time.
The biggest surprise of all was the flowers of Poke Milkweed just beginning to open in the form of five-parted crowns. They seemed befit for a queen and I was feeling like royalty as I struck gold along this route.
You see, this story really began in 1985 when I was teaching high school and junior high English in New Hampshire. My summer job that year, after working at a donut shop and consuming way too much product the previous few summers, was as director of a tween program for Laconia YMCA’s summer day camp. I still remember some of the names of the cast of characters, including Starr and Rowdy and Melissa and Jess. There were ten of them who joined me daily for activities and each week we headed off in a 13-passenger van named Mabel for an adventure, including some overnight trips.
One of our adventures was a camping trip on the Saco River. At the Y, the executive director placed a canoe in the pool and we taught the kids how to do the J-stroke. They seemed to master it. Packing lists were made, food purchased, canoes rented, plans made with Saco River Canoe and Kayak in Fryeburg, Maine, and voila, the day dawned for our big trip north. Accompanying us was a 16-year-old lifeguard named George.
One special thing I remember about our road trips was that no matter where we went each week, it was always a new place for this crew as many had never traveled far from home. That, in itself, made the experience worth it.
On this particular mid-July day we departed from the Y at 9:15am, stopped in Fryeburg for a fire permit and some last minute groceries and then I dropped the kids and George off at Swan Fall’s Dam where they loaded their gear into canoes, while I followed Fred Westerberg of Saco River C&K to the site of our first night. The plan was to leave our food and tents in the van, and spend the day paddling to it, thus giving the kids time to practice their new skills without too much extra in the boats. The site, which is no longer accessible, was near Hemlock Bridge. Fred brought me back to Swan Falls where the canoes were ready and so were the kids.
Our journey began at about 12:30pm. Suddenly, the kids didn’t know how to paddle, despite all of our practice for days on end. At least three went in circles during the first hour. But, the river was beautiful and we stopped frequently to let everyone catch up and swim.
At about 4:30, we found the stream Mabel was parked beside and let the kids swim for a bit before paddling toward the campsite because Fred had told me our destination for the night was boggy and they wouldn’t want to swim near it.
With our campsite finally set up, dinner consumed and dishes cleaned, we went for a walk and then returned to enjoy the fire before settling into the tents for the night.
In the middle of the night one of the girls yelled out, “HELP! SOMEBODY! HELP ME!
Fearing the worst, I dashed to her tent and asked, “Melissa, did you have a nightmare? “
“The zipper on my sleeping bag just got stuck,” she replied quietly.
Wednesday morning we got up early, packed our gear in the canoes and headed downstream toward the main course of the river. Across from the mouth of our stream, was a sandy beach where we made pancakes for breakfast.
I’ve since learned that the stream we had camped alongside is really the Old Course. “The ‘New Saco’ also known as Canal River, or these days, simply the Saco, was dug as a diversion in 1817 to reduce area flooding and to shorten the distance to markets in southern Maine. This 6-mile canal cut 15 miles off the length of the ‘Old Course.'” ~AMC’s Saco River Map & Guide.
At last we were off and paddlig until lunchtime. At times we felt like we were traveling through a jungle and civilization was non-existent. Following lunch, we took a long swim break and then continued on, the kids having become proficient paddlers.
So proficient that a few got ahead of George and me and didn’t heed our warning to pause when they heard the water flowing over Walker’s Rips.
Two canoes went over the Rips without any problems.
A third got stuck on the rocks. The girls panicked when water began flowing in one side of their boat and out the other. George pulled his canoe over to help. I did the same. The girl in George’s canoe got out to go to the riverbank, where other canoeists also lent a hand. She slipped on a rock and got caught between the canoe and a larger rock.
My canoe mate and I quickly portaged. Meanwhile as George and the couple helped get the two girls and their gear out of the stuck canoe, and proceeded to get the boat off the rocks, several things went overboard. Thank goodness for Hefty trash bags.
I told the kids who were on a sand bar to pick everything up from the water and I swam out to get the now freed canoe.
At last we were all on the beach below the Rips, and I began checking for injuries. I had cut my toe just before I swam for the canoe, but I didn’t have time to deal with it and so I put on my sneakers to avoid further injuries. The girl who had gotten stuck between the canoe and rock complained of bruised ribs–painful I was sure. Another had hit her back on a canoe and a bruise was starting to develop. All were shaken.
The Caretaker at the AMC campsite by Walker’s Rips had contacted Fryeburg Rescue and Fred Westerberg. And ambulance and our van Mabel arrived within minutes of each other.
I followed the ambulance to Memorial Hospital in North Conway where the girls were checked over and the doctor kindly suggested that what they needed was supper followed by an ice cream. And maybe some Tylenol.
During all of this, I’d been in touch with the Executive Director of the Y and we decided it would be best if I drove the kids back to Laconia where we’d spend the night in the Rec Room and I’d have them call their parents in the morning.
Somehow during the night, I developed a nose bleed. And then I realized that my toe was throbbing.
The next morning, the kids packed up, we ate breakfast, and then their parents arrived to pick them up and hear the tale of our adventure, which got more embellished with each retelling. The good news was that they continued to let me take their kids, but we stuck to hiking and camping for future trips.
All of that said, it brings me back to why I wanted to remember this by writing it down (mind you, I have a couple of letters I’d started to family, that helped me fill in some of the details of my memories. But . . . when I walked down that road twice this past week, I realized that this was the road we’d driven out on and I suddenly knew the route we’d taken to get to the hospital.
You see, about thirteen months later I moved to the area and though I recognized the road where we’d pulled onto Route 5, I never gave much thought to how we got there. And we’ve gone down the river a bunch of times in canoes and kayaks and even once in an inflated boat and never had a problem.
What surprised me was to realize that the camping area is no longer open, but right in front of this sign was where the ambulance awaited the girls.
And the now seemingly abandoned Caretaker’s cabin had been open and campers and canoeists were all around the area. Now it was like visiting a ghost town.
I stood on what had once been the support for a covered bridge (Thanks to my friend Moose for piecing together a brief history of the bridge built circa 1866, which carried traffic across the river to Walker’s Island. It deteriorated and collapsed) and looked down at the Rips, which were under more water than they were on the July day of our visit.
Standing above the bridge I spotted the rock where the canoe got hung up–it’s near the upper right-hand edge of the photo, where you might see a bit of ripple in the water.
For a closer look, the rock which will be forever known as The Rock.
Below the Rips was the sandbar on the left, which was our gathering site as we collected all our belongings and assessed the situation. This week it was barely visible, but because the water was lower that day of our adventure, it was a more substantial beach.
I don’t know why I never thought to visit this site sooner via road, but am thankful that it was suggested and that I made the journey back in time.
I even dragged My Guy in one day because he had not been down the road either, and we then found our way to Pleasant Pond, which I think I may have visited with the kids shortly before we hit the Rips. Literally. Oh, and he’s not saluting the pond, but rather swatting Mosquitoes.
As for my throbbing toe all those years ago, after the kids went home, the Executive Director and I headed to the ER in Laconia and I received a prescription for an antibiotic and had to soak it and am here to say I survived. I do chuckle to think I was the only one with an actual injury.
The Saga of Walker’s Rips is one that has stayed with me all these years. And that summer job–one of the best I ever had. I only hope that the kids have as fond a memory of our adventures as I do. I’ll never know as we lost touch when I moved away to the Portsmouth area a month later.
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.
As spring bid adieu and summer waved hello, I found myself wandering and wondering with others and alone and stopping in my tracks repeatedly, which is kinda what I do all the time I guess you could say, but suddenly this week there were a few special events that called for attention.
The first was Momma Snapping Turtle that I spotted beside a trail as I co-led a walk with Dawn Wood for Loon Echo Land Trust. Thanks to the magic of a camera lens, it may appear that we were close, but believe me, we all realized the sensitivity of the situation as this mother was digging in the dirt and laying eggs right before our eyes and we were transfixed–from a distance. There were fourteen of us and we tried to stand quietly and watch and ask questions and after about ten minutes decided it was time to come up with Plan B and reroute ourselves so that we wouldn’t stress her out.
In another place a day later, it was a Painted Turtle upon which I focused and gave thanks that it didn’t consider plopping back into the water as they often do when we so much as breathe. From the spot where I stood, I think this was also a female, given the shorter nails, but I couldn’t say for sure because tail length and plastron (bottom shell) orientation are also key to ID. The male has a longer tail and a more concave or indented plastron, while the female’s is more convex or flatter.
That said, when I spotted this one, I knew its gender immediately, for like the Momma Snapper, this Momma Painted was also in the process of laying eggs. She pulled her head into her shell the moment I spied her.
In the few moments we spent together, however, she ever so gradually extended her head.
But I felt like she was keeping a wary eye on me. And very much wanted me to move along.
And so I did.
And then it was the insects that begged for attention, this being a female Calico Pennant Skimmer Dragonfly. Her coloration is yellow, while his is red. One of the things I love about perching dragonflies such as the Skimmer family, is that within their territory, they return to the same perches over and over again–flying off to capture food or defend said location, but usually back to the same twig or flower or one close by, making it easy to spend some time with them.
The Clubtail family is the same, this being a Lancet. These dragonflies often land on our dock or our kayaks and spend some time with us.
I swear they are as curious about us as we are about them. But maybe again, they are checking out our predator abilities. I much prefer letting them be the predators as they munch on Mosquitoes and Deer Flies and make time in the woods or on the water so much more comfortable.
And then there are those who seek nectar and Meadow Hawkweeds are a valuable resource right now for Flower Flies and Bees and Wasps and Butterflies like this little Northern Crescent. Last summer I spent a lot of time with this species in my neighbor’s field and was thrilled to realize that as long as there was food available during the fall in the source of Goldenrods and Asters, they were present.
One of the most abundant butterflies this year has to be the Tiger Swallowtail. Canadian and Eastern, and probably hybrids in the mix, they are everywhere. Everywhere. Adding grace in their flutter-bys and color to the landscape. As well as serving as pollinators.
Dropping drastically back down in size, my attention was also drawn to the Long Dash Skipper Butterfly. According to the comprehensive field guide, Butterflies of Maine and the Canadian Maritime Provinces, by PhillipG. deMaynadier et al, “The Long Dash is named for the conspicuous stigma on the male forewing. Found on forewings of most other small, orange and brown skippers in our region, a stigma is a specialized patch of scales that emits pheromones used during courtship. In the Long Dash, the stigma is surrounded by black scales, making it appear larger than it really is.” Thus, this would be a male Long Dash Skipper upon one of its favorite flowers, Red Clover. But from the book, I’ve learned I should also look for it upon Cow Vetch, Common Milkweed, Spreading Dogbane, hawkweeds, Ox-eye Daisy, and knapweeds.
Keeping pace with me despite its much shorter legs, the Six-spotted Tiger Beetles, which I love for the iridescent green, practically ran ahead, reminding of Chalk-fronted Corporal Dragonflies who insist upon flying five feet in front, waiting till I almost catch up, and then flying another five feet ahead, over and over and over again. The only time I’ve seen the Six-spotted Tigers slow down is when they are canoodling. But even then, they are on the move.
Another insect, which is much slower, may have significant value in our landscape. If I’m correct with the ID, and I’m waiting for iNaturalist to confirm, this is Atanycolus cappaerti, a parasitic wasp. I can only hope that my ID is correct, because . . . according to Cornell University’s College of Agriculture and Life Sciences, A.cappaerti “attack [Emerald Ash Borer larvae] at rates high enough to be considered significant for biological control. While studies are still ongoing, the use of the native parasitoid A. cappaerti for augmentative biological control would be desirable from an environmental perspective as it is already established and has a niche in the ecosystem.” That’s in Michigan. But maybe in Maine as well? Please let it be so. This past winter we all noticed that EAB had spread significantly in our area.
Basking just down the trail from the wasp was a Northern Water Snake who didn’t seem to mind my presence, and I tried not to mind its either.
He was aware of me, and I say he because in the Northern Water Snake world, the male is smaller than the female, and this one wasn’t really all that big, but still . . . a wee bit intimidating. Of course, it did nothing to make me feel that way, so the intimidation was all in my mind. Instead, he let me take a few photos and pass by without a confrontation, as is always the case. I remember once stepping out of a canoe and practically landing on one, who stayed put. And another time, realizing that one was basking in Maleberry shrubs at the edge of a pond as a few of us paddled by within mere inches–or so it seemed.
As spring gave way to summer this past week, I think one of the things that stood out most to me was sighting the turtles laying eggs. Though they don’t hatch at exactly the same time, it will take about two to three months for the eggs to incubate. Of course, temperature has much to do with that. But my experience in the past is that about the autumnal equinox we may see baby turtles crawling out of small holes, if not sooner. And if predators don’t get to them first. There’s always that risk.
I do love winter, but summer fauna among all the flora–so much life happening right before our eyes–its like an explosion of color and form and pattern and texture and sound. And it’s only the beginning. I can’t wait to see what the rest of the season has in store for us.
For My Guy and me, there is one in particular that captures our attention beginning in mid-May.
And so I follow him . . . across Beaver dams,
beside the Atlantic Ocean,
up mountain trails,
even on the hottest day so far with Canada wildfire smoke casting a haze.
This year it was more trails than usual that were included in our ritual and along the way we spotted Wild Columbine in bloom, growing as it does among the rocks, and always pleasing our senses with its brilliant colors and artistic nodding presentation.
Fringed Polygala, and how I love the way those two words roll of my tongue, also showed off, making its common name of Gaywings so apparent. Doesn’t it look like a Bird of Paradise coming in for a landing upon its very own leaves?
Upon one of our journeys we found a few Red Trilliums still in bloom, though it seemed late in the season for them. But as My Guy teases, I did what I do and added this photo to the other trillion I have of this plant. They all need to be honored, don’t they?
Seemingly everywhere, Clintonia, aka Blue-Bead Lily bloomed, adding specks of sunshine to the path and lighting our way, even on the grayest or rainiest of days. Yes, we even hike on rainy days.
On sunnier days, the Tiger Swallowtails added their own yellow to the equation. Can you see the tiny pretarsi or insect feet of the butterfly as it held on why sucking the flower’s nectar?
This spring it seems the Tiger Swallowtails are everywhere we travel by foot or truck. What I love about this one is that it was taking a break upon the leaves and you might be able to see its proboscis or siphoning mouthpart coiled up because there was no nectar to seek in that moment.
Right now the Swallowtail butterflies are the largest we’ve seen flying, but during a hike the other day, we spotted one of the smaller ones, this being a Northern Azure feasting upon Black Chokeberry flowers at a summit.
Jack, or rather Jill-in-the-Pulpit, for she needed the extra leaves to help her in her mission of producing seeds, greeted us in various places where the soil was moist including beside the cow path in our woods, where it totally surprised me despite the fact that we’ve lived in this house and wandered about for over thirty years.
As one week turned to the next, and the flowers that were in full bloom kept changing, suddenly Bunchberry was added to the list. Again, like Jill-in-the-Pulpit, Bunchberry needs two extra leaves in order to have more energy to produce flowers followed by the berried fruits that bunch together in a cluster of bright red. You may look at the veins on those leaves and immediately know the family to which this wee plant belongs–if you guessed Dogwood, you are correct.
One of the earliest bloomers of spring, has already formed into a fruit, in this case three sided. Meet the Wild Oat of Sessile-leaf Bellwort. It reminds me that in a snap of the fingers, the season passes by much too quickly.
It wasn’t just flowers that marked our journeys. About the same time that we began the latest ritual, dragonflies and damselflies slowly began to emerge, for which we always give great thanks as they gobble up some of the Mosquitoes and Black Flies that so annoy us. This American Emerald had only just made the transformation from aquatic form to terrestrial hours earlier based on the sheen still visible on its drying, but not quiet dried yet, wings.
Much more mature were these two, who had formed the marital wheel in order to canoodle. I knew they were Emerald Dragonflies, but wasn’t sure which species until I searched my guides back at home: Uhler’s Sundragon, a new species for me.
And in at least one spot, some smaller female dragonflies deposited eggs as they tapped the water’s surface with their abdomens. Think of it as Naiads to come, who will live in the water for 1 – 3 years, depending upon species, before climbing out and transforming miraculously into terrestrial fliers.
Being beside water in another place, and looking between tree branches, we spied a Common Merganser taking a bath.
We stood just far enough back, that it didn’t realize it had an audience as it splished and splashed.
And finally shook itself off, with water spraying everywhere, before it continued on its journey . . . and we did the same.
Basking Painted Turtles became a common sight as well, and this one had the cushiest place upon which to recline, all others being on fallen logs or rocks and boulders in the water.
One, however, that I assume was a female, though I didn’t want to disturb it and get any closer to check the length of its nails, I surmised had been laying eggs or was about to. Our time together was limited so I don’t have the entire story, but she was in a safe place, no matter what.
One of our most unusual sightings as we performed the ritual was spying a Bald Eagle steal a fish from the grip of an Osprey. If you look closely at the center of the photo, you might spot the thief on its get-away mission–it is flying above the picnic tables, about in the middle of the trees.
As it flew over our heads, the Eagle had the audacity to look back to see if the Osprey was hot on its tail. It was. We don’t know how this story ended either, but we assume the Osprey had to cast its fishing line again.
Another fun sighting occurred as we crossed under a powerline on the return trip of a seven mile hike around a river, over to a pond, up a hill behind the pond, and back down and out. Almost the color of the grass that sparsely grew along this section of the trail, a green snake slithered across just after My Guy had stepped that way.
I just love its forked tongue–sensing the trail in snake manner as it did.
The two tines at the tip of the tongue, seen here as it withdrew this sensory organ, help it to smell in stereo and thus find its way and find a meal.
All of these things we saw because of the ritual that we perform every year at this time. It’s one that we now realize involves some greed, but still we feel compelled to do it. We count Lady’s Slippers.
I always thought that orchids were something you received on Prom night and that they grew at the florist. I had no idea that they were actually wildflowers until about thirty years ago. According to Orchids of New England and New York by Tom Nelson & Eric Lamont, Lady’s Slippers are one of 65 species and variants found in our region.
And so they deserved to be counted.
But, oh, how they hide. Do you see the one in the photograph above?
How about now?
Knowing that they can be elusive causes My Guy to slow down for a change. It’s no longer the destination that counts, but rather the number of Pink (and their white variants) flowers that we can spot.
Some are tall, and others quite small. And some are sets of leaves with no flowers yet as in the foreground. We don’t count those.
Here’s the thing about Lady’s Slippers. It takes a long time for a minuscule seed to become a plant. The seeds, developed in capsules, are beyond numerous, but each one has no food source or endosperm. So . . . it must develop a relationship with a Rhizoctonia fungus in the soil to survive. From the fungus the plant gets nutrients for germination and growth. The fungus, in turn, receives nutrients from the orchid’s roots.
BUT . . . all of this takes time. And the presence of the fungus.
Years. First, after at least three years the plant produces a pair of two basal leaves that fold like accordions and remind me of the paper fans we used to make as kids.
One author says it’s another 5 – 10 years before the plant produces a flower; another states 10 – 17. Either way, by the time you spot one, it’s been working for a long time to become a thing of beauty. (And should not be picked or transplanted.)
We found one that stymied us for it appeared to have three basal leaves. I can only wonder if there was a second plant there and something happened to its other leaf.
In one spot, we found what we call a bouquet. Sometimes we see three or four grouped together, but in this case 14 plants in bloom.
And in another spot where we expected the same, nada. What happened. My Guy was disappointed because this is his favorite and he loves to show it off to anyone who happens to be hiking that way.
We have a theory, though we don’t have scientific knowledge to back it up. But here goes. Last summer, our count was quite high. The previous spring and summer it had rained. A. Lot.
Last year, we experienced a drought. This year fewer flowers in most places that we hiked in the last few weeks. Perhaps less of the fungus?
And sometimes the flowers are spotted growing in a bit of a line, making us think perhaps there is a rotting nurse log beneath the soil. As for soil and habitat, acidic seems to be the favorite and we often find them among Low-bush Blueberries and towering over Reindeer Lichen.
And then there’s pollination: Lady’s-slipper pollination is a curious thing. Bees are lured in by the guide lines to a slit in the front petal, the slipper-like pouch, or flower’s labellum. Once inside, the bee cannot exit the way it entered because the petal structure turns inward.
The exit is at the top of the slipper, but to reach it, the bee must move through a hairy interior and rub against the flower’s stigma, depositing any pollen it may have carried in and brushing against the pollen mass called the pollenia before flying out. It strikes me as being like a house of mirrors. And all I want to do is quickly find my way out.
Some bees get frustrated with the dilemma of discovering there is no nectar and the task of finding the exit and instead chew their way out, which seems to be what happened to this flower.
It looks like the bee frantically tried to escape this one.
I tried to honor them with a painting, but our best way is by counting each and every one. I’m going to share last year’s numbers and this years. Also, this year, we counted along a bunch of other trails than just the Big Three as My Guy refers to the first three for which I have been keeping records since 2000.
Wolfe’s Neck State Park: 2024: 475; 2025: 159
Albany Mountain: 2024: 364; 2025: 411
Sanborn River and Overset Mountain: 2024: 598; 2025: 526
Grand Total of the Big Three: 2024: 1,437; 2025: 1096
Plus these trails all from this year only:
Mount Tom: 25 (but we were there on May 18, and this was the kick-off event that got us going this year; more may have bloomed since then. Actually, after spotting the first one, My Guy wasn’t sure he wanted to count this year, but let me tell you, he still has the greed!)
Mount Tire’m: 31
Proctor Pond Reserve: 41
Kezar River Forest: 63
Narrow Gauge (only 1.5 mile section): 56
Sleigh Trail at Notch View Farm: 44
Home woods: 2
Grand total of all trails: May 18 – June 6: 1,358
Even with the extra trails, the count was down.
But still . . .
Where the Moccasins (Lady’s Slippers) Led Us–up and down many a path with so many wonder-filled moments and sighting along the way. Counting Lady’s Slippers is a ritual that we love to share together and with others.
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.
It finally stopped raining and with a wee bit of sun late this afternoon, the temperature broke 60˚ and I found myself exploring a local wetland where all kinds of interesting things happen daily. And yearly. In cycles. And sometimes I happen to be there.
One of my favorite events is the emergence of dragonflies and damselflies. It seems like we endure Black Flies for most of May, all the while looking forward to our champs, the Ondonata family, to step in or rather up out of the water and transform before our eyes and take on the world. This usually happens by Memorial Day.
And this year is no different. The dragons and damsels have been emerging for the past couple of weeks, but now is prime time. And they are just in time because the Black Flies and Mosquitoes have had a heyday with all this rainy, cold weather, and today . . . as it warmed up, so did they and I have red welts on my neck to prove that they are biting. It’s all good, I remind myself. It’s all good. They are bird food. And so are the dragonflies, who eat the Black Flies, et al, and if they become bird food, all the more energy sent the bird’s way.
Cloudy wings and clinging to its shed skin indicated that this dragonfly had just made that magical transformation from its aquatic life to terrestrial existence. And I was there to protect it. For a while anyway. Until the Black Flies sent me scurrying onto the next great find.
That next being a damselfly, also with cloudy wings indicating it had also just emerged. Though I don’t know who the first dragonfly was that I met today because it didn’t yet have enough colors and pattern to make that determination, I did learn that this damsel is called Aurora! I don’t recall ever greeting it before, but based on the the lack of shoulder stripes, black patch with wavy edges on the thorax, and yellow sides led to this ID once I consulted Damselflies of the Northeast by Ed Lam.
Now it’s one I don’t think I’ll forget. AND, I love that it is named for my ten-year-old naturalist friend, Aurora. Or she for it. Or neither, but they both share the name of an electrical phenomenon.
As I looked about, I spotted several other newly emerged dragons and damsels, all with their signature cloudy wings, but then I spied this one.
Yes, it’s wings are cloudy, but this Lancet Clubtail has an issue going on, for its wings are folded, rather like the main character in my fairy tale, The Giant’s Shower, for Falda’s wings are also folded.
That didn’t stop Sir Lancet from climbing up a fallen branch with gusto. But I did wonder about his fate.
That said, I moved on because I had some Painted Turtles I wanted to meet, figuring that they’d be basking after several days of temps in the 40˚s. Being ectotherms, they rely on external heat to regulate their body temperature. Sun is their friend.
Being in a wetland, the bird song was plentiful, but though the Merlin app included a chorus of plenty including Redstarts and Towhees and Common Yellowthroat and more, the only one who posed was a Song Sparrow.
I walked about a mile away from my starting point, but really was eager to return because I knew there was more to see and learn in that spot.
Almost back, I met a Dreamy Duskywing Butterfly, a species I’ve met in this place before but not sure we’ve encountered each other anywhere else. I love the tapestry of its dusky wings.
A moment later, an old friend flew in–Hudsonian Whiteface–this being a male, for the female’s markings are yellow. These are early spring skimmers, and I have to remind myself not to confuse them with Calico Pennant skimmers who have similar, yet different abdominal markings, he being red and she yellow. Also, the Calicos, being pennants, have a stained glass basal wing pattern that the Hudsonian’s don’t exhibit.
Back at base camp, or rather, my starting point, I checked on Sir Lancet. He’d crawled up the branch to a rather perfect hiding spot at the Y, at least to my eyes. And look into his eyes I did. Including the three simples eyes, singularly called ocellus, which are arranged between the two large compound eyes. Each ocellus offers a single lens with which to view the world, while the compound eyes offer multiple lenses. Amazing. I can’t even begin to imagine such sight.
But what I also noticed about my folded-wing friend was the green “blood” that seemed to be stuck within those wings. Dragons and damsels and other insects that emerge from an exuviae break through their old skin, their wings coming out first with the head, and then pulling the abdomen out slowly and pumping their insect blood first into the wings until they reach full length before drawing said blood back into the body and allowing the abdomen to extend to full length and slowly take on the hues of its adult self.
I’ve seen this in others with folded wings though, where the insect blood seems to have become blocked and is still visible in the transparent wings and maybe that’s why they are deformed? But what causes this?
I don’t have an answer, but try to remind myself that eventually this dragonfly will become units of energy for a bird or another insect and that’s its way of giving.
Meanwhile, though it was getting late and the temperature was starting to drop again, two immatures caught my attention–a Mayfly subimago or dun and another Lancet. Both had cloudy wings announcing their age.
And both were fairly safe in each other’s company, for the Mayfly has no mouthparts, not that it could eat anything as large as a dragonfly at this point, and the Lancet wasn’t quite ready to eat yet for it had some more work to do in order to become a flying predator.
Slowly Lancet’s wings became more transparent and though dinner prep was on my mind and I knew I needed to head home, I waited until it spread its wings and then without a backward turn or wave goodbye, took off. Despite that, I wished it my usual, “Fare thee well.”
And as I walked back to the truck, a young Lancet met me. I was totally surprised to find it land with wings folded over its back. Had we just met only steps away by the water? How cool would that be if it were true.
And then my all-time favorite appeared, a Stream Cruiser with its Oreo Cookie coloring. I was asked the other day what my favorite bird is and I came up with at least five different species, but the Stream Cruiser will always be my favorite dragonfly.
And dragonflies and damselflies on Memorial Day weekend–another favorite for we all know that the Black Flies will now be on the decline.
Memorial Day weekend not only means a return of the Dragons and Damsels who slay those other pesky bugs, but also a time for us to remember those who died serving our country, like my Mom’s brother, age 19, who died in World War II. Thank you Uncle B. We never met, obviously, but Mom brought you alive in my mind for you were her best friend and I know you are with me and trust you would approve my curiosity and adventures and reverence for the natural world .
On my way down the cowpath to retrieve our game camera, I heard among other bird songs, the “Teacha, Teacha, Teacha” of the Ovenbirds. But it wasn’t until I was headed back home a little while later that I actually spied them, which for me is a rare treat–maybe because I don’t spend enough time trying.
In the past, however, it’s always seemed like the minute I get anywhere near them, they stop singing and I can’t find them.
Today, that was different. And I did get to watch. BUT . . . there’s always a BUT in my posts, or so it seems. Anyway, but . . . then I spotted something else.
A beautiful pink Lady’s Slipper. And the leaves of four others–that I hope in future years will bloom.
With fingers frozen because it was raining and the temp was only in the 40˚s on this May day, I headed back to the house, pleased with my finds.
All the while, however, I kept wondering if there are other orchids on our land and so after lunch I donned my rain gear again and headed back into the woods.
First, I stumbled upon this fern, which grows in a vase-shaped form. There’s plenty of it along our stonewalls and at the edge of the field beyond, but while hiking with My Guy yesterday, I pointed some out and called it Interrupted and he wondered why such a name.
Because, I explained, ferns have sterile fronds for photosynthesis and fertile fronds for reproduction and in this case its fertile fronds have interruptions of spore cases in the middle of the blade upon which they grow, while most ferns carry their spores on separate stems or on the undersides of leaflets.
After the spore clusters ripen and drop away, the mid-section of the frond will be “interrupted,” leaving bare space between the leaflets, further reminding us of its name.
And where there is Interrupted Fern, there is often another member of its family, the Osmundas that is, this being a Cinnamon Fern. One of the differences is that the fertile frond is more like a wand that rises from the center.
There are no leaflets on these fertile fronds, and again, the sporangia are like tiny beads that will turn a warm cinnamon brown when the spores mature. And then, it really will look as if the frond is covered in cinnamon.
While the Interrupted will grow in forests and wetlands, the Cinnamon prefer wetlands, which tells you something about our land. Another that also grows here, though I forgot to photograph it, is their second cousin, the Royal Fern.
If an Interrupted Fern doesn’t have fertile fronds, it looks very much like a Cinnamon, but one of the key characteristics to tell them apart is that Cinnamons have hairy (wooly) armpits like this one above where you can see the wool on the underside where the leaflet meets the rachis or main stem. And Interrupteds don’t.
Being a bit of a wetland, I shouldn’t have been surprised by my next find, but I was. Jill-in-the-Pulpit! You may think it’s Jack, but like some other plants, including the Canada Mayflower that grows beside these, in order to flower the plant needs the additional energy stores of a second leaf (with three leaflets).
Once I spotted one, I began to notice they were everywhere in one spot on and near the cowpath, but the curious thing–the leaves had been devoured on some. By whom?
And do the leaves also contain Calcium oxalate, which this plant like some others stores in the roots and can cause blisters and other medical problems if consumed? Is that only in humans? So many questions.
That said, my quest now was to seek not only any other Lady’s Slippers, but also Jack-or-Jill in the Pulpits. All told on the latter, I did spot about twenty, but didn’t take time to differentiate how many of each gender.
At last, I reached the powerline that crosses our property and it was there that some feathers decorating a pine sapling surprised me.
A closer look and I found a slew of feathers, all plucked. By one of our predatory birds–we do have Sharp-shinned and Broad-winged Hawks in the neighborhood. Or by another?
We also have a neighborhood Red Fox who passes through our yard and over the stonewall or up the cowpath on a regular basis. Plus Coyotes and Bobcats.
Mr. Fox needs to eat too. And in this case, he marked his territory–right at the end of the ten-second clip.
The question remains–who made a meal of the Turkey?
Again, I do not know, but as I searched for evidence or more remains, look what I found–another Lady’s Slipper hiding among some Low-bush Blueberries.
And so back to my original quest did I return.
And smack dab beside that orchid, another plant that I love, but didn’t realize we hosted–Indian Cucumber Root, with a root that is edible and delicious. And a flower or in this case, flowers, that will delight my soul in a week or less. And yes, this too, is a plant that needs an extra layer of leaves in order to produce a flower. So do we call this a female plant and all plants that only have one level or tier of leaves males?
I don’t know. But I had circled around, zigzagging actually, through the five acres of woods that we own beside our one-acre house lot, and landed back at the first Lady’s Slipper, delightfully decorated with the rain of the day.
Across the way, right where I’d first spotted him, an Ovenbird paused and called. I tried to capture both in a shot, but they are scurry-ers, if that’s a word for scurry they both did as if they were in a hurry and perhaps a wee bit confused. Maybe they were trying to distract me from finding their nest?
I didn’t look for it, but have an idea at least of its whereabouts. And I can only hope that any offspring they produce are well protected cause this is a wild place.
With fingers once again numb, I finally headed home, but first I stopped to check on these Jack-in-the-Pulpits that were the only ones I thought we had, growing as they do by a split-granite bench we made. I remember seeing Jack standing tall in the pulpit one spring as I headed out to the vernal pool, and upon my return someone had nibbled him. Whodunnit?
That said, I decided to place the game camera by all the other Jacks and Jills that I’d found earlier today and I’m curious to see if anymore get nibbled.
All of this because the Ovenbird called. It felt like Thanksgiving. Complete with a Turkey dinner. (Sorry, but I had to say that.)
And to think I thought I knew our land. There’s always something to learn. Or some things!
You know when you start something and you have no idea of what the future will hold and yet, you forge ahead cuze that’s what you naturally do? Well, that’s been the experience fellow Master Naturalist Dawn and I have had since I retired in October 2023.
At the time, I knew I would deeply miss outings with the Greater Lovell Land Trust docents, a group of dedicated volunteers who love to learn and then share that knowledge with the public. But, I’d made a promise to step away so the new person could have some space.
I’m a teacher at heart, however, and needed to continue down that path. So, prior to retiring I had approached Loon Echo Land Trust and asked if I could lead some winter walks for them, sharing the art of tracking and other winter wonders with their participants. That idea was well received and I invited Dawn to help. We began in November 2023 and when March 2024 arrived, and we should have been winding down, I realized we were having so much fun that the program needed to continue and so it did until last July. And then we took a brief hiatus.
The hiatus ended in September 2024, and on our first outing among our finds were a few Brown Hooded Owlet larvae, with their striking colors and pattern.
On that same journey, we reached a wetland where Black Ash grow, and encouraged participants to poke their thumb nails into the bark. I love it when people are willing to try and in this case, they realized the bark is corky. Especially after it has rained.
October found us being wowed by rose hips. Because–look at those spikes. We thought maybe a slime mold, but instead discovered it’s the gland-tipped hairs on the hips of Ground Rose. Otherworldy indeed.
And speaking of otherworldly, the larval form of Lady Beetles also caught our attention, this one having been predated. So spiky as well, and especially when you think of what an adult Lady Beetle looks like–it doesn’t seem to match up. But . . . that’s how the natural world works.
In November, we were only a wee bit surprised to still be greeting Meadowhawk Dragonflies. Notice the tattered hind wing–this one had met with some difficulties we could only imagine.
On another November expedition, while exploring an area where Beavers were quite active and had been busy mudding/insulating the outside of a lodge, plus gathering their winter food supply, we asked participants to become the critters and cut down their own trees. But . . . they had to hold the tree trunk as upright as possible and turn it, because certainly they couldn’t walk around it like a Beaver can.
Timber!
With a bit of snow in December (actually on Thanksgiving Day we had a lot of snow, but then the amount dwindled daily), we started tracking in earnest, spending the start of each walk with a brief explanation of how mammals move and clues to the prints they leave behind.
Measuring took on new meaning as stride (length from the front of one foot to the front of the next in a track) and straddle (length between the outside of one track and the outside of the next in the pattern, for example, put your feet together and measure from the outside of the left foot to the outside of the right and you have determined your trail width or straddle, which is key for some mammal print ID) were taken into consideration.
On a cold winter day in January, you would have thought that we’d bring hot cocoa. We had the cups. And we had the thermos. BUT . . . inside the thermos we had what we call mammal blood (red gelatin), and the group split into pairs and went off to find just the right spot to protect their “mammal’s blood” so we could check its temperature about twenty minutes or more later. It actually turned out to be later because we got caught up with tracking an actual critter in the meantime.
When we did check, it was the pair with the highest temperature that won bragging rights. They had found a suitable protected spot for their critter to survive.
We were still tracking in February, and were excited to follow a Porcupine to its den, and then backtrack to its feeding trees, where Eastern Hemlock branches minus buds and some needles, decorated the ground.
And though we had to dig to find, Porcupine scat in its typical comma shape, did happen.
In March, it was the large red buds of Basswood that garnered our attention. And after posting photos of these, an arborist friend commented that the buds look like a mouse wearing a helmet and I’ll never unsee that going forward. Thank you, Eli!
As the temperature began to rise with the March sun, we also spotted deer beds such as this one and knew to look for deer hair! The red arrows point to some as it was time for them to shed their winter coat and with their body heat melting the snow, some stuck to the edges.
In April, on our way to a vernal pool, one of the many curious naturalists among us found an Oak Apple Gall, that would have been bright green when first formed last spring/summer.
Though it had snowed the day before, we did find Fairy Shrimp in the pool, and rejoiced as always because finding just one of this species makes the pool significant by Maine standards.
As I mentioned in a previous post, there are four species, each with a different count, that help determine if the pool is significant, but any pool that dries up in the summer and then fills up again in the fall is considered ephemeral or vernal.
When the calendar turned to May, we turned our attention to dipping in rivers and streams, curious to see what macro-invertebrates we might meet in those spaces. Out came the D-nets, which we don’t use in vernal pools, because we don’t want to disturb the egg masses of Wood Frogs and Salamanders.
It’s always fun to meet the different species, including a variety of Mayflies in their larval form, with gills along their abdomens and three tails. Long tails quite often. And all that come out of the water, including Mosquito and Black Fly larvae, must go back in.
All of this brings me to this morning, when our group was quite small because some had apparently cancelled for various reasons and others were no-shows. That said, we had the best time, as we always do. But today felt extra special. You see, we had a plan to walk down an old trail, but since we were waiting for the no-shows, we thought we’d give them some time to locate us if we first visited a pond located about a hundred feet from the parking area and in the opposite direction of our intentions.
It was while squatting there that we realized miracles were taking place. But . . . we still wanted to share the trail with the participants, so we promised we’d return to the edge before it was time to depart. (As for the no-shows–we’re bummed they missed out.)
One of the participants who is a fungi enthusiast, and has eagle eyes, somehow spotted these mushrooms. None of us knew what they were, but iNaturalist’s SEEK app identified them as Devil’s Urns.
When I arrived home, I looked them up my Audubon Field Guide, and bingo: “Large, leathery brown, urn-shaped cup; Season: March-May; Habitat: Clustered on fallen deciduous wood, especially oak; Comments: This is one of the first mushrooms to appear in the spring in the East.”
Well done, Julie.
Woolly Alder Aphids were also visible, and once we saw one clump, we began to notice several. As we described how ants “farm” or seemingly tickle them to get them to secrete honeydew, one participant saw an ant and another saw drops of said liquid. Can you see it?
Well done, Marie.
And remember the little girl who found last year’s Oak Apple Gall on the way to the vernal pool in April? Well, another among us today found this year’s galls on newly emerged Oak leaves. It got us all thinking about leaves and insects and how mature insects lay or inject eggs into buds when they first form in late summer and so the moment the leaves begin to unfurl the following spring, larval forms jump into action and leaf miners and rollers and gall makers and everyone else have a heyday.
Well done, Heidi.
Marie, Julie, and Heidi also took an up-close look at last year’s Speckled Alder cones and we noted that the male catkins have already fallen to the ground for this year, their pollination duty now completed.
Lady’s Slippers, and Wild Sarsaparilla, and Star Flowers, and Canada Mayflowers, and Rhodora, and Dewberry, and Bastard Toadflax, and even Poison Ivy were admired and noted.
But, we all had a mission that we wanted to fulfill, so with about a half hour left, we retraced our steps rather quickly.
And into the plants at the pond’s edge we peered. Do you see it? A dragonfly naiad (nymph or larval form) upon a broken branch, with the adult form starting to split through the exoskeleton at the point between the wing pads. How could this be? Yes, we’ve seen dragonflies for the last week or two, but it was cold this morning. Raw. Breezy. Seemingly inhospitable for these summer fliers.
Apparently not, for once we looked around, we began to notice them everywhere. The dark naiad climbing up the rock was in search of the perfect spot. And if you look below the rock, you’ll see two naiads, one that is grayer in color, because its adult form had already eclosed or emerged; and the other browner one with the adult starting to pull out of the aquatic skin.
Here’s a closer look at the ones under the rock. Notice the eye placement. That is key to Identification according to family. In this case, with the eyes spaced far apart, it could be either a Petaltail or a Clubtail.
As I said, they were everywhere, and we felt it our duty to watch over them. To protect them from being predated, which is actually kinda funny, given that they are predators. But predators of the best kind because they feast upon Mosquitoes and Black Flies and Deer Flies, and others, of course, but it’s for those first three that we appreciate them.
Can you see how the adult is pulling out of the skin?
And do you see thin white strings extending from the exuviae to the back of the dragonfly? Those were the spiracles or underwater breathing tubes, which are no longer needed by the adult.
A few minutes later it is further out–can you see that? Once it gets its abdomen all the way out, it typically holds onto its shed skin and then pumps its insect blood into its wings so that they expand, before drawing that blood back into its body, allowing its coloration to eventually take true form.
Look for the white strings again.
Do you see them now? Completely unnecessary and therefore left behind.
When the wings are at full length, they are held over the back and cloudy in color until it’s time to spread them and let them dry before first flight.
The eyes on this newly emerged dragonfly, along with its abdomen markings and cerci or claspers at the tip of the abdomen, tell us its in the Emerald family, and I suspect a Common Baskettail.
As we watched, we noticed some had wings that were stuck together, and this one with a curved abdomen. It was curious that it had left its exuviae before its wings emerged and so I wondered if they would unfurl.
A few delighted us because we got to watch them spread their wings apart–translucent and shiny as they dried.
By the eye placement and beginnings of the markings, my identification stab is for Lancet Clubtail–one of the friendliest dragonflies who likes to land on us when kayaking. Or even on the dock.
As you can imagine, we had to pull ourselves away. The walk was supposed to end at noon, but it was 12:40pm when we finally finished–and honestly, I think we could have stayed a few more hours if we had food and other necessities.
All of our Wednesday Wanders for Loon Echo Land Trust are incredible because each one offers its own moments of awe.
Being honored, however, to share the emergence of dragonflies from their aquatic forms to terrestrial–and helping the ladies to understand that it takes hours for this process, and being surprised that so many had chosen what we considered to be a chilly spring day . . . it was beyond wonder-filled. As every Wednesday Wander is. But today, today was over the top.
We honestly weren’t sure anyone would sign up. Or show up.
Vernal Pools and Macroinverebrates Leigh Macmillen Hayes and Dawn Wood Friday, April, 25, May 2, 9, and 16th, 9:30 – 11:30 am April 25: The Hidden Life of Vernal Pools Discover the wonders of vernal pools—seasonal wetlands vital to forest ecosystems. Learn how wood frogs, salamanders, and fairy shrimp rely on them for breeding and why protecting these fragile habitats matters. Join us indoors at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church for this engaging workshop. May 2: A Day at the Vernal Pool Meet at Loon Echo Land Trust’s Raymond Community Forest, Conesca Road, Raymond. Walk ¼ mile to the vernal pool, where we’ll provide tools to explore its temporary residents and their unique ecosystem. May 9: Meet the Macros Ever wonder who lives in local streams? Join us to discover the tiny creatures that call them home! Dive into the world of macro-invertebrates—those fascinating “big bugs” without backbones—and learn how macros tell us about the health of the environment. This hands-on workshop will take place indoors at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church. May 16: Macro-invertebrates Up Close Explore the role of macro-invertebrates in stream health and the ecosystem. Join us for hands-on dipping and rock turning to assess water quality at Northwest River and Douglass Brook, Tiger Hill Community Forest, Sebago. Maine Master Naturalists Leigh Macmillen Hayes and Dawn Wood of Bridgton will lead these experiential classes. Both have a sense of wonder about the natural world and spend hours exploring only a few feet from a trailhead.
And then they did. Almost 30 of them. The first class, as you can see, was an indoor introduction to vernal pools where we shared our photographs, ID books, and models, and told stories about our experiences in these ephemeral habitats. Their questions were numerous and they shared stories as well, making it an even richer experience.
And then we ended with a musical treat since we knew that there was at least one conductor in the audience. As you click on the arrow to listen to the Springtime Chorus, remember that Wood Frog calls sound like “Wruck, wruck.” Spring Peepers: “Peep, peep, peep.” Green Frogs: “Ga-dunk, ga-dunk.” And Bullfrogs: “Jug-a-rum, jug-a-rum.”
Thank you, Jan, for leading this, and thank you to everyone for participating so willingly.
The following Friday we awoke to rain and again we were sure no one would show up. BUT . . . that did not stop them and we slowly snaked through the forest on our way to the vernal pool.
Of course, we all suffer from that most wonderful of syndromes: Nature Distraction Disorder (NDD), and the summer grape that grows along the Grapes Expectations Trail at Raymond Community Forest was the first thing to draw our attention.
Trailing Arbutus with its sweet little flowers also caused us to pause.
At last we reached the pool and because the sky was overcast and some raindrops and mist fell, we couldn’t see into the pool very well, especially to admire the egg masses deposited by Wood Frogs and Spotted Salamanders. But . . . we could dip.
And within a few minutes the prize of the day was discovered and everyone came to take a peek at what Dawn had found.
Soon one Fairy Shrimp (just enough to make the pool significant by Maine standards) was followed by multiple more. This particular one happens to be a female with a full brood sac at the top of her abdomen.
I’ve said this before, but it’s worth mentioning again and again:
40 Wood Frog egg masses make a pool significant; OR 20 Spotted Salamander egg masses; OR 10 Blue Spotted or Jefferson Salamander egg masses; OR a single, yes one, Fairy Shrimp.
Fairy Shrimp are cool because in order for eggs to be viable, the pool must dry out. And they can survive being dry for multiple years. And in any given year, not all eggs will hatch, thus saving some in the bank for another year or ten.
Our other finds that day include Phantom Midges–with inner workings visible through the translucent body.
And Predaceous Diving Beetle larva, plus . . .
the shed skin of a PDB, with a split where the wings of the adult emerged first and then the rest of the body squeezed out through that slit that the arrow indicates.
This is the adult, with an air bubble on its back end; and if you look closely, you may see a few Mosquito Wrigglers twisting and turning in the photo as well.
We always remind everyone that all larval forms must go back into the pool or stream or whatever waterbody, because in the whole scheme of things, everything is important.
I laugh when I look at this photo because as a youngster, my brother always noted that my mouth was always open in pictures–apparently he thought I talked too much.
But obviously, on this Friday I was waxing poetic about something.
Before we left the pool that day, the students had a surprise for us. The previous week I had pulled out a party noisemaker and reminded those who had attended our winter class on insects that it served as a great tool to illustrate how a butterfly or moth proboscis (mouth part) curls up in flight, but upon a flower, they extend it to reach the nectar. Turn the noisemaker over, however, and suddenly you have a frog tongue–as they snap it out to capture an insect.
And tada, unbeknownst to us, everyone was suddenly a frog. Heck, if we were going to make them perform in the frog chorus, then they might as well be frogs. It was awesome. And yes, they did perform in the chorus once again, after which we left the pool and headed home.
Week three found us back at the church, where we began with a slide show about Benthic Macro-invertebrates.
Benthic: Living at the bottom of a body of water (stream, river, pond)
Macro: Large enough to be seen with the naked eye
Invertebrate: Animal without a backbone
Macro-invertebrate: Large, water dwelling animal able to be seen with the naked eye.
Prior to the class, Dawn and I spent an hour or so trudging to and fro a local wetland to retrieve containers of water so that after the initial presentation, the students could take a look–up close and personal, in the comfort of a building. (Never fear: all critters were safely released in the same spot where we captured them with our D-nets)
They started starring into the water and began to notice movement. And then, using spoons and small containers and lids, all recycled, they were able to glimpse the wonders of the water.
One of the favorite finds was the larval form of a damselfly, with three paddle-shaped tails that serve as gills.
The critters love to hide under the leaves and muck that we’d pulled up so sometimes it took a few moments to wait for the water to settle before spotting something moving.
But they did. And with the use of loupes on lanyards that we borrowed from Loon Echo Land Trust, they found Mayflies and Damselflies and Dragonflies and Backswimmers and more.
Finally, today dawned. The forecast kept changing all week, so we were pleasantly surprised by the sun. That said, you know those Mosquito larvae we always encourage everyone to save? Well, they are hatching. But, just as for the rain, everyone was prepared.
Oh, and yes, another moment of NDD hit us only a hundred feet from the parking lot. We love mud.
Especially when it tells us who passed this way during the night. In this case, it was two critters: a Coyote and a Raccoon. If we can’t have snow, mud is great. In many ways, it’s even better than snow for the prints are much crisper and easier to read. (Don’t tell the snow I said that. Ever. If you do, I’ll deny it.)
But . . . we had a mission and a time frame. The Black and White Warbler didn’t care. Apparently, we had entered its territory and despite our presence, it went right on collecting nesting material.
When nature surprises us with these moments, I always feel we’ve been blessed to be witnesses.
Finally, it was time to dip the D-nets into the river.
We’d placed a few tables near it so everyone could take a look without risking going into the water. Plus, the trail to the water is narrow and once we realized the bird was building a nest there, it made it even more important that we not spend too much time.
The most prolific finds of the day: Mayfly larvae.
There are so many types of Mayflies as everyone soon realized. What I love about them: their feathery gills on the sides of their abdomens, and the three long tails that most feature, which they even had as adults, probably helping with balance for one thing.
Again, it was an enthusiastic crew and any time something interesting was discovered, all wanted a chance to see.
We had a damselfly that at first I thought was a Water Scorpion because the three shorter tails were held together so that they looked almost like the tubes at the end of the abdomen, but then I took a better look and realized that they weren’t elongated and in every other way, it had damselfly written all over its head and body.
Caddisfly larvae also entertained us and we found a Northern Case Maker, plus . . .
what might have been a Giant Case Maker, who built its home from the broken off tube of vegetation.
Everyone was fascinated, but we had one more stop to make so eventually we had to pack up shop in this location and move down the road to another trail.
Another NDD moment happened as we walked beside a vernal pool where we could not only spot Spotted Salamander egg masses, but also these of the Wood Frog variety, and tons of tadpoles feeding on the green algae. It actually created a full circle from our first classes about vernal pools.
A Pickerel Frog also caught our attention and delight. Bruce caught an amazing photo of the underside of its rear thighs–with the yellowish coloration. Both Pickerel Frogs and Northern Leopard Frogs have spots, but one of the defining differences is the yellow, or sometimes orange color that you see here.
Our final destination was Douglass Brook, where the water flowed faster than it did in the section of the river where we had dipped only a half hour earlier.
Our reason for this location was because it has lots of rocks and we wanted everyone to see how some critters use them as places to cling.
So once again, we took an up close and personal look.
And scooped up anything we could find.
Including Black Fly larva which like fast-flowing water. I think folks were not quite as keen on saving every little critter given how many Mosquitoes swarmed us, but still they did.
We also found a Dobsonfly Larva, aka Hellgrammite, who prefer the fast flowing water and hold onto rocks with strong claws on their legs, or so I read in A Guide to Common Freshwater Invertebrates of North America, and that’s exactly what this one did.
Two hours passed quickly and finally it was time for the four-week class to come to an end. And we were all smiles.
Senior College is an awesome opportunity for us mature beings to learn. The curriculum is diverse; there are no prerequisites, term papers, exams, or grades.
Hats off to the all-volunteer board. And to the students. We can’t believe how many of you joined us each week. And thank you all for helping us carry equipment today.
Many thanks also to Dawn for co-leading with me. And to Bruce for taking so many photos so that I could use them to share all of these incredible learnings with you.
Mr. Cretella, my high school Spanish and Latin teacher, popped into my head just now. In my yearbook, Mr. C. wrote, “Never lose your desire to learn.” Those words have reverberated with me over the years. I don’t remember what anyone else wrote, but his sentiment struck a cord. Pretty amazing, given that when I took Latin I my senior year, I was forever substituting Spanish words if I didn’t know the answer on a quiz or test.
Wherever he is now, I’m grateful that Mr. C. encouraged my desire to learn. And love that so many are the same.
We stood in her bedroom and peered into her closet, then I grabbed a shirt and was about to close the sliding door. It was Dad sitting on my shoulder, who reminded me, as he always does, to pull the string and turn off the overhead light.
Next I remember, she was getting ready to walk the three of us down the road to the bus stop. And grab the next-door neighbors on the way. We all always walked together.
That was my childhood neighborhood. My adult neighborhood is a wee bit different, but in a way, really the same. The length of our road is the same, with the same number of houses lining the street. We live at the dead end as my family did growing up. And it’s nothing but field and forest beyond.
One of my favorite parts about my current neighborhood is the vernal pool that I refer to as “MY” vernal pool even though it’s on a neighbor’s property. So, neighbors are still an important part of my life.
And while visiting the vernal pool to check on my amphibian friends yesterday as days of rain drew to a close, I discovered two new residents I hadn’t met in this space before.
Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Mallard have visited before, but in 30+ years of my journeys to this spot, I’d never encountered them. My first response was to scare them away. Thankfully, I came to my senses quickly.
But in those first few moments, all I could think about were the tadpoles that were using the pool to develop. Their moms and dads had left the pool just after the eggs that contained embryos that turned into the said tadpoles emerged. And because those moms and dads only spend about two weeks in the pool and then return to their upland habitat for fifty more weeks of the year, I always feel it is my duty to watch over and protect them. And the ducks . . . might gobble them up.
But she excited the pool and looked tall and poised and I was certain their visit was just for a moment and so I gave thanks that I’d had the chance to spot them.
He added his own stature to the landscape. And my presence seemed not to annoy either of them.
Though my concern was that they’d gobble all the critters I chose to protect, I did think that if they had any interest in the larval Mosquito wigglers or their pupal tumblers that looked like little bullet forms, then have at it and eat away. Just don’t touch my Wood Frog and Spotted Salamander tadpoles. “MY” tadpoles. Synonymous with “MY” vernal pool. Located on a neighbor’s property.
As I walked around the pool, the Mallards swam, and I realized that I’d forced them into the spot where the egg masses had been laid and I wondered how many they’d already eaten.
And then . . . they did start foraging. My only hope was that I know tadpoles quickly dart under leaves, so that might protect them. But what else could the ducks be consuming? Aquatic plants are few in this particular pool. Seeds, however, are abundant, so there was that thought. But really, I’m sure they were dining on my buddies as well as macro-invertebrates.
I tried not to think about it. Until I did.
Two years ago, we had rain all spring and summer and this pool, which typically dries out by mid to late June, was full until September, and for the first time in my memory of decades of visits, I witnessed the tadpoles developing hind legs first and then front legs.
Last year, however, due to drought conditions, all dried out in a short time, and if any tadpoles metamorphed, it was quick. And I think this year’s egg masses spoke to that for there were far fewer Wood Frog masses, but over forty Spotted Salamander masses. Perhaps the latter sensed the changing conditions last year and enough were able to develop quickly into adults.
On the way home, I searched the trees in our woods and finally was rewarded with one showing off the suds of a rainy day–when pine salts turn into bubbles at the base of a tree.
The better surprise occurred just up the trunk, where I suddenly keyed in on intense activity, in the form of Crane Flies canoodling and jockeying for a chance to canoodle. They were fervent in their attempts.
Today dawned SUNNY, and after church I headed back out to the pool. At first I didn’t see the ducks, but within moments realized they were still present. And I began to come to terms with their presence because really I love them too. I just don’t want them to eat all my other friends.
While I looked down, a cat-like meow called my attention upward and there I spotted a female Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. And I was drawn back in time to watching Sapsuckers raise families in our yard and on land trust property and I wondered if this female was a momma and if so, where had she hidden her gang?
And then, because of the sunshine, I could peer into the water through my polarized sunglasses and tada, I still had tadpoles. This momma was pleased and proud. So, maybe I could share the space with the Mallards after all–as long as they promised to not eat all of my babies.
In the mix, I also spotted Predaceous Diving Beetles, and of course, the ubiquitous Mosquito larvae.
As for my ducks, ah yes, I’d now accepted them as mine. Really, they are a handsome couple. My next question for them is this: how long will they remain? That, I know, depends on how long the pool holds water. Which depends on how much precipitation falls from the sky. One thing leads to another, which leads to another, and so life goes on.
Upon a floating log within the pool, more life happened, this time in the Midges trying to canoodle with other Midges as a Crane Fly looked on.
As for the ducks, they again moved under the branches where the egg masses had been, but this time they preened.
And into the midst of all, in flew a couple of Black and White Warblers, and I felt rewarded once again for being in this place at this time.
Zebra birds might be another suitable description.
A few minutes later and Mrs. Mallard demanded my attention once again as she took a bath.
And then she climbed upon a rock in the pool, while he circled around for a while, protecting her or so it seemed.
She finally settled and he joined her, pausing to preen.
And then they both took a nap. Apparently my presence wasn’t a concern.
Thank you, Mom, for your visit. It was so awesome to spend some time with you last night. And thank you for making me realize that we don’t have to necessarily be moms to human children, though I do give great thanks for our boys who have been in touch throughout the day even though we couldn’t be together, to be nurturing. To all who guard and watch over human babes, and amphibians, and birds, and insects, including monarchs, and furbabies, and you name it: Happy Mother’s Day. Your efforts are gallant. Your souls are brave. Your hearts are full.
I love it when my parents show up in my dreams, but couldn’t believe my good luck today to wake up after a visit from Mom.
Spring is actually a combination of many seasons, beginning with winter that doesn’t want to let go, followed by mud, and then road-repair, with bug quickly taking form following several days of rain, and soon to come, my favorite of all–dragonfly season.
And so I thought I’d take some time to honor friends I’ve met in the past and try to get to know them better . . .
With my pencil first. Sketching is such a wonderful way to slow one’s self down and try to capture the essence of the object. Thankfully, with pencil and a good eraser, changes can be made and believe me, I have, and will continue to edit these.
Darner Naiad
And then I decided to take it one step further–by painting the Naiads (larval form) of six dragonfly families.
One of the incredible wonders of this world is that the aquatic form of dragonflies become terrestrial and we anticipate and celebrate their emergence every spring, knowing that BUG season won’t last too much longer. Well, in some places. Right Jenn?
Usually, they begin to emerge by the end of May and then it’s an ongoing process, with some waiting until late summer or early fall to transition from one world to the next.
This is a Black-tipped Darner that I met in the fall a few years ago when it was barely alive. It was on the grass by the outlet of Deer Hill Bog in Stow, Maine, which is a typical habitat for this species, though it isn’t common.
Stream Cruiser Naiad
After painting the Cruiser Naiad, I thought I’d use the iNaturalist APP: SEEK on it and bingo, SEEK identified it as a Stream Cruiser. All the rest came up as dragonfly/damselfly, so at least AI knew I was painting insects, but I was excited that it could reach the species with this one.
When immature, Stream Cruisers remind me of Oreo cookies, or maybe an Ice Box cake, which is actually rather funny because a few days after my birthday last year, I was the surprise recipient of an Ice Box cake. Thank you, Deb!
There are not a lot of cruisers in the Cruiser family, and as far as I can tell, this and the Swift River Cruiser are the only two found in New England.
Emerald Naiad
Okay, so I tried to show the hairy body of the Emerald Naiad. If you’ve ever looked through a loupe or hand lens, you’ll know that the whole world is hairy!
Most Emeralds have greenish eyes and this Kennedy’s Emerald is no exception. In his field guide, Dragonflies of the North Woods, Kurt Mead writes, “Named for Dr. Clarence Kennedy, a professor at Ohio State University and a pioneering odonatologist.”
Also in the Emerald family are the Baskettail dragonflies, this one being a COMMON Baskettail. I’ve commented before on the word “common,” and probably will again, but seriously, do you see anything common about this intricately-designed specimen?
Spiketail Naiad
So, um, I drew and painted this Spiketail Naiad, but to my knowledge, I’ve never encountered a Spiketail. I guess that should be one of my goals for the upcoming season. And I’m sure that having said that, I will start receiving photos of such from friends who have spent time with the adult members of this family.
Clubtail Naiad
Clubtails, however, I do know and meet often. They are so named because most adults have clubbed abdomens.
One of the ones I meet most frequently is the Lancet Clubtail–who loves to greet me on our dock or accompany me for a kayak ride. Do you see how the end of the tail is more club-shaped?
I will say that I often have to slow my brain down to differentiate between a Lancet, Dusky, and Ashy Clubtail.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the biggest Clubtail of all: Meet the Dragonhunter. Yes, he has a clubbed tail. But also yes, as his name implies, he eats other dragonflies. Oh, there are plenty of other things on his menu, but at up to 3.5 inches in length, this big guy may also eat butterflies and even other Dragonhunters!
I would also be remiss if I didn’t share this photo of a Dragonhunter exuvia, which Dennis Paulson, author of Dragonflies and Damselflies of the East describes as “wide, flat larva that resembles a wood chip.” The legs alone speak to its strength; formidable in the water and out.
And this is just a reminder to self that though I sketched and painted one form of a dragonfly naiad for six species, some may have other shapes. It’s the cerci at the tip of the abdomen that becomes key for identification to family.
Skimmer Naiad
My final painting completed this afternoon is that of a Skimmer Naiad. This is the largest family of dragonflies and every ID book includes a thick section for skimmers.
That seems apropos because not only are there a lot of family members, but their abdomens are also quite thick or chunky.
Pictured above is a male Calico Pennant Skimmer. His counterpart has all the same markings, but where you see red, she sports yellow. And soon, a pair of cousins will fly before the Calico Pennants. The cousins are the Hudsonian Whitefaces. Their abdomens are similar, but they have clear wings and as the name suggests, white faces.
That being said, I again have to slow myself down when I spot a Hudsonian because I often mistake it for a Calico at first glance.
I share thousands of photos (and probably have shared at least a million over the last ten years) of Skimmers, but thought I’d keep it simple and end with this one–a male Spangled Skimmer. Note the white stigmas on his wings. That I am aware, no other dragonfly has these white stigmas.
Thanks for stopping by to check on my current Naiad collection.
Naiads are the dragonflies of the future.
And the future is close at hand.
I can’t wait for spring 2025 to debut her dragonfly season.
After he finished Yoga, and we both purchased veggies, eggs, flowers, jam, and goodies at our favorite farm market, aka Fly Away Farm, and picked up sandwiches at The Stow Corner Store, it was time to pull into a parking spot and head off on a journey, knowing full well that it would probably begin raining before we returned. That said, we left our rain gear in the truck. Wouldn’t you?
Our trail of choice this morning was actually a dirt road. One with a million names, but possibly most easily identified as Forest Road 9.
Because the gate is still locked, we had a two-mile walk ahead of us before we reached our lunch spot, but actually, that is my preferred way to travel this route. As I reminded My Guy, when we walk another road during the winter to a location very close by, we get to see bear hair on telephone poles. There were no poles along today’s road, but there could be other things worth noting.
Like Sessile-leaved Bellwort, aka Wild Oat, showing off its drooping bell-like flower that almost blend into the roadside scenery and if you don’t know to look, you might miss it.
And Coltsfoot! What looks like a Dandelion, but isn’t a Dandelion? I LOVE this flower because like all spring ephemerals, it is so fleeting.
In the Aster family, the flowers can be distinguished from Dandelions by the presence of obvious disk florets and ray florets. The stems are unique in that they are covered in tiny bract-like, scaly leaves, and the actual leaves for which the plant received its common name, don’t grow out until after it has flowered.
At last we reached our destination, after, of course, My Guy showed me where the snowmobile trail turns to the left and comes close to a trail around Shell Pond that we’ve viewed while circling that body of water.
Today’s water body: Deer Hill Bog. One of my favorite places to go, especially when the gate is closed and there is no traffic.
But, I’ve been thinking about that descriptor: Favorite. It’s rather like this one: Common. So many species are named Common This and Common That. And I find nothing common about them at all. I guess it’s true for favorite places. On any given day, no matter where I am, it is my favorite. Unless it isn’t, of course, but that doesn’t happen very often. Thankfully.
Beside the water, we heard a loud BUZZ, and there was a huge Bumblebee nectaring among the tiny bell-like flowers of Leatherleaf and I’d forgotten that they should be in bloom already.
All along the road, and then right in front of the wildlife blind, was another fav that I can’t resist photographing: Hobblebush. I’ve yet to find one with the tiny fertile flowers open, to that means more photos to come.
While munching on my sandwich, I saw fast movement on the water surface as it appeared the critter was running. When I zoomed in with my camera lens, I realized it was a Fishing Spider, who has a hairy, water-repellent body that help it move across the water.
It was while looking down, that I heard a high-pitched whistle I recognized, but was surprised to look up and watch an Osprey land on a snag right in front of us. My, what intent looking eyes, most useful for detecting objects under the water, with fish being its main food source.
That said, the Osprey is a raptor, and I suddenly spied a Canada Goose on a nest atop an old Beaver lodge, and thought about the breeder’s camouflage and how well its wings blended in with the nesting materials making it not quite so noticeable from the air.
Really, though, I think I was the perceived threat since the Goose held its head low and pointed at me as it guarded what I assumed were eggs below its body. Thankfully, it didn’t hiss at me, and when I realized the situation, I moved on.
All the while though, I kept an eye on the Osprey who had flown across the bog and perched–looking in the opposite direction of the Goose. I didn’t want to find out if Goose eggs were on the menu along with a fish. Though it would have been great to have observed it catch a fish.
Mergansers were also out and about on the pond and these two vocalized, which drew my attention to their location upon a log where I fully expected to see Painted Turtles basking. But today wasn’t that day–basking day.
Instead, as had been predicted, it began to rain and we had two miles to walk out and unlike the ducks, could not oil our feathers and let the water roll off.
That said, it wasn’t a raw day and we really didn’t mind. I know I rather like rainy days. Besides, we both had extra clothes waiting for us in the truck.
As we walked out, I mentioned that I was surprised we hadn’t seen any Red Trilliums in bloom.
I kid you not, a minute later I spotted a Painted Trillium, the first of the season for me.
My Guy wasn’t surprised, but wanted to know if I could make a Moose appear.
No, but about a mile later . . . a Red Trillium. We had missed both of these flowers on the way in, which is another reason why though loop trails are wonderful, I don’t mind retracing my steps because there’s always something different to see.
As for the Moose, no sightings today, but . . . I still want to give a Shout-out to the Universe for what we did spot both at the bog and along the road.
It’s Monday. And that typically means a Mondate for My Guy and me. Especially if he’s worked all weekend. And a Mondate most often means a hike. So, that being that, we headed off to conquer two trails today. Neither was overly long, and one was rather easy, while the other was moderately difficult. But both offered sightings that have us still smiling.
I’ll start with the second hike of the day because this is my blog and I can do that sort of thing. We were in Shelburne, New Hampshire, and so on our way back to Maine, we stopped at the Shelburne Forest, a trail we tried to hike a year or two ago, only the Mosquitoes or Black Flies or both were so thick, that after about a quarter mile we turned around and raced out–treating ourselves to ice cream sundaes in Bethel, Maine, instead.
Today was different. Blue Sky. Slight Breeze. 75˚.
We soon began to notice a theme along the River Trail. First we encountered several Fox scats, indicating this spot may have marked a territory. It seemed like it was important enough to return and leave a sign again, and again, and again.
A wee bit farther and more Fox scat.
And several displays of Moose scat, this one being from this past winter, while another had more debris on it and was starting to break down, indicating a previous winter.
We also noted Beaver works in the form of a dam, plus some cut trees on the trail beside a steep embankment to the river. And deer prints and scat. And coyote scat.
I mentioned that I’d like to come back in the winter to see who spends time here.
My Guy’s response, “Anyone else might think you were talking about people, but I know you are not.”
He gets me!
I had two other favorite sightings along this “Scat” trail. The first being the leaves of Trout Lilies. NUMEROUS leaves of Trout Lilies. So now I know I need to return soon to see the flowers, rather than just wait until winter.
And a Garter Snake that surprised My Guy because it was in the middle of the Forest Trail as we completed a loop, but quickly slithered away.
I kept hoping it would stick its tongue out to get a sense of its surroundings, but for some reason it didn’t honor us with such.
Now it’s time to turn back the clock and head off on the Peabody Brook Trail, which was our late morning hiking spot, the first hike of the dat. We were grateful for signs like this when the trail crossed a logging road.
We chose this trail because we’d read about it in New England Waterfalls, by Greg Parsons and Kate B. Watson. I know Kate from church and love that these two visited waterfalls throughout New England to include in their comprehensive guide. We’ve visited some, but have so many more to do.
At the beginning, the Peabody Brook flows through a ravine and due to a rainy weekend, it cascaded over, around, and under the boulders, and was an ever-present companion for much of the trail.
Other companions included several Anglewing Butterfies, that I couldn’t identify until I saw their underwings, as the markings indicate either a Comma or a Question Mark.
And there were Hobblebush leaves, with their corrugated presentation, beginning to unfurl.
Plus a few Painted Trillium plants showing off their leaves of three, though no flowers yet, and causing My Guy to comment, “You’ll probably take a trillion Trillium photos again this year.” Did I say he knows me well?
Upward we climbed into the great blue beyond, for so it seemed on this gorgeous day.
And then we reached a junction, and I, for one, was excited about what might be ahead.
Would we meet Devlin, the giant in my fairy tale, The Giant’s Shower? After all, he lives only a giant step away at Arethusa Falls.
I also thought we might see a few fairies, including Devlin’s favorite, Falda, for such was the neighborhood, with lots of mossy areas among the Hemlocks.
And then My Guy got excited when he spotted something? A giant? Maybe, but in the form of Giant Falls, and if you allow your eye to move a wee bit to the right of his pointer finger, you’ll see the white water through the trees.
Where we’d left the brook for a bit as we climbed up, the spur trail led us back down and suddenly there was fall after fall after fall beside us.
We considered eating lunch beside a large pool. But then reconsidered, but not before I noted some features of the brook that I’ve been sharing with a homeschool family this year. A POOL.
And EDDIES. And FLOWS.
And FOAM. And that very foam was being picked up by the breeze and “snowing.” Oh how my ten-year-old friend would love that.
Do you see the little white dots above the water and rocks?
We decided to hike farther up the steep trail to reach lunch rock so we could enjoy the power of the falls fanning over the boulders.
Take a moment to listen to this incredible force of nature.
After taking in the scene around us, it was time for lunch. And that’s when the magic began to happen.
A fairy flew in. I kid you not.
That’s just a butterfly, you might think. “Just”? No, no, no. I’m sure it was a fairy disguised as a butterfly, because the fairies don’t want us to know that they are present.
And . . . it landed on My Guy’s right leg.
As we both watched quietly, it walked down his pants to his hiking shoe.
And then it began to puddle. PUDDLE. ON. HIS. SHOE. LACE.
Puddling is a butterfly act intended to seek minerals and other nutrients from things such as scat, carrion, puddles, etc., but a shoe lace? And on My Guy’s shoe lace? What, indeed, could the lure be?
We’ll never know. But what we do know is that the Anglewing Butterfly was an Eastern Comma, based on the white comma shape on its underwing.
Spectacular.
The butterfly spent at least five minutes with My Guy: who seemed to appreciate that he had suddenly turned into a Whisperer. I don’t know that he’s ever held that status before.
When we finally departed, we had to hike back out along the same trail upon which we’d journeyed in, and . . . cross a bridge that bowed in the middle. Certainly the sign that a giant frequented it.
My Guy: The Giant Falls Butterfly Whisperer.
Worth a wonder.
P.S. No, there will not be a sequel to The Giant’s Shower. Self-publishing is expensive and I still have a bunch of books left from the second printing because I’m terrible at promoting it. It’s easy to do here on the blog, but not in real life.
I was asked to give the homily at church this morning and have spent the past month or more reflecting on what to say. Of course, it was to my blog that I turned for inspiration for I knew that parts of the story were tucked within these posts.
Driving home from a recent Trail Snails walk, I spotted this statement on a roadside sign: “There is no Planet B.” And I thought it was an apropos title for what I want to share with you this morning.
On Sunday, March 23, in Forward Day by Day, Tyler Richards, a priest serving St. Anne’s Episcopal Church in De Pere, Wisconsin, responded to Exodus 3:vs 3-4: Then Moses said, “I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.” When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.”
Reverend Richards commented, “I do not have an accurate account of the things that have caused me to stop and look again. Solar eclipses, northern lights, sunrises, and sunsets are a few of these.”
He continued, “God asks us to turn aside and experience wonder. God’s creation is a source of endless contemplation, and, at times, so is human ingenuity. But these great wonders that take our breath away prompt me to ask: What are they for? Are they an end to themselves, or are they there to remind us that God is even more incredible? Indeed, God is so great that God inspires and colors the very creation itself. It might not always be a burning bush that causes us to gasp at God’s greatness.”
In response to that I invite all of you to join me as I share a few of the thin places I have visited, where I see the light more on this side than the other. These are not burning bushes, but they do make me gasp at God’s greatness. The first I call “Emergence.”
Emergence
Oh dragonfly, oh dragonfly.
In your infancy, You laboriously Climbed upon a slender stem.
Ever So Slowly, Seams split.
Soft and squishy, You spilled forth Into this sunlit world.
Perched upon your former self, Wispy strings recalled Aquatic breaths. Moments slipped Into an hour.
Your body of velvet pulsed As blood pumped Into cloudy wings.
Standing guard watching you, I noted preparations For first flight.
Eyes bulging, You chose a spot Of viewpoint advantage. Colors changing, You gained the markings Of generations past.
Wings drying, You offered a reflection Of stained glass. Beyond understanding, You flew, A dance of darting restlessness.
Odonata, Odonata, You have known both worlds. First playing beneath the watery surface.
Then in a manner so brave, Climbing skyward To ride summer breezes On gossamer wings.
Forever in awe Of your transformation From aquatic naiad To winged adult, I can only imagine The wonder of emergence.
******
Drawn by the Sapsuckers is next.
Along a path Through a cathedral in the pines, It seemed apropos That I should spy The works of An Oak Apple Gall wasp.
For it is believed That circa 800AD Irish monks used such galls To create the green colorant Of their artwork As displayed In the Book of Kells.
My first intention of wander Upon this special day Was soon verified when I was About twenty feet From a maple tree For I could hear peeps From the ever hungry Babes within.
Only two weeks prior Father Sapsucker entered The nest hole every few minutes To nurture his offspring, but today Things had changed.
No sooner did he toss in a meal When a nestling popped its head out And begged for more.
Finally, with the urging Of the ever present deer flies, I moved on To the neighboring meadow And gave thanks when A Slaty Blue Skimmer Dragonfly Snatched a pesky insect From my head And settled upon a stem to dine.
Nearby on a milkweed leaf I spied something tiny.
By the X-shaped pattern On its back, I knew it was A Spring Peeper. Sitting two feet Above the ground, This little frog Hid from predators During the day As it waited for dusk To crawl down The plant's stem And munch a meal Of its choice.
Behind the wee frog A dash of color Brightened the background.
Bedecked in orange and black, This being a Fritillary butterfly, It flew Down the path And out of my vision.
In this same place, Tiger Swallowtail butterflies Added their yellow wings To the tapestry.
Plentiful in number, Skimmer dragonflies, Each with a uniqueness All its own From Spangled to Dot-tailed and Great Blue Chased down meals And hunted for mates.
Before departing I checked On the nestlings In the Red Maple trunk, While their papa Did the same From a tree Ten feet away.
Was he teaching them patience? Perhaps. Sensing our time together Was waning, I gave thanks That it was the Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers Who drew me to this place.
******
Finally,
"The way to be heard isn't to shout," said the Reverend Sam Wells of St. Martins in the Fields, London. "It's to whisper."
But, I ask you, who are the whisperers?
As you go forth this spring . . .
Listen for the slightest murmur Of Beaked Hazelnut Sharing its most Beautiful, yet minute Magenta blossoms That so many never see.
Hear also The soft words Of Trailing Arbutus Hiding its delicate flowers Beneath leathery leaves.
Be attentive to Hobblebush No matter how much It makes you stumble, For it always Has more to offer Including corrugated leaves unfurling And a flowerhead silently forming.
Give audience To Rhodora's woody seed structure Of last year Before her brilliant pink flowers Soon distract.
Pay attention To the male Hairy Woodpecker Who speaks In hushed pecks As two females Squabble for his attention.
Focus on The soft cheers Of Female Red Maple flowers waiving their pompom stigmas in hopes of meeting . . .
Male pollen Blowing in the wind.
Remember to Keep your voice low As you spy The first crosiers Of the most Sensitive Ferns.
Heed the inner voice Of Mystery And Be Present With your heart and soul.
I invite you To walk in silence Throughout the forest and wetlands While listening intently To all Who whisper along the trail.
******
I’ll end with part of an entry from Creation Justice Ministries’ Seeking Creation: Lent 2025 Devotional.
Referencing Ezekiel 37:21-28, the authors wrote, “God’s goal is not to abandon Creation that God has made. It is to live with us among that Creation. A theology that suggests that God’s good Creation was made solely for us to deplete it and hoard resources from one another ignores the long line of biblical witness that cast a vision of a united humanity where the Creator lives among the creatures, us included.
That God would want to live among Creation should tell us something of Creation’s Worth to God. It is not disposable. It is not replaceable. It is not profane. The dream of a Holy God is to live among Holy people within the holiness of Creation. May it be so.”
And remember: There is no Planet B. This is all we have.
May hushed voices shout from every corner of the Planet AND as those voices uplift your spirits, may you realize God’s greatness and never lose your sense of wonder. ~Amen.
Hindsight being what it is in offering 20:20 vision, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised at how this weekend played out, but going forth without expectation always offers the best of the best.
The weekend began on Good Friday, when after completing some errands, I wandered along a local trail for far longer than I intended, and in fact, had to pull myself away to get home in time to attend a Taize service at church.
Walking alone gave me time to reflect on the past and be present in the moment.
And that’s when I spotted my first Painted Turtle of the season, who offered a reflection all its own.
I still have some of the man-made Turtles I collected as a kid, but love when the real deal presents itself. And by traveling alone, I wasn’t making much noise, and so the Turtle didn’t suddenly plop into the water and disappear.
Along the same trail I nearly stepped upon another Painted Turtle, who immediately pulled its head into the shell, as only this species can do. It was in a spot where cobblestones cover a culvert, and I decided I should help it cross to the other side.
But first, I insisted that it pause for a selfie. Based on the length of its nails, being on the shorter side, and flat bottom shell (plastron) as opposed to the concave bottom of a male, I decided this was a female.
And a beautiful female at that–in color and pattern and texture. Amazing.
It took her a few seconds to decide the world was still a safe place, but once she started to move, it was a quick journey to the water before she swam out of my life, and I wished her well while giving thanks for our short time together.
Once I cued in on there being turtles in this place, I quickly realized they were everywhere. I counted eight on one semi-submerged log. And in this photo there are two.
Can you locate the second one?
And then I had another surprise, and this was the main reason I probably overstayed my welcome.
At first I thought it was a beaver, until I looked at its thick rounded tail and knew I was in the presence of a Muskrat.
Usually Muskrats disappear in my presence, but I think again, because I was willing to stand still and be as quiet as possible, this one did not dart off.
It did, however, dine in places where I came to appreciate its camouflage coloration.
Other times it was in the open so I could better watch as it munched on vegetation, holding the plant matter with both small front “hands.”
As I finally walked back to my truck, I stopped one last time, to admire the buds of Trailing Arbutus, on the cusp of blooming.
And then on Holy Saturday, My Guy and I returned to the same trail system because when I’d first arrived on Friday I ran into a former colleague who mentioned an adjacent trail and I wanted to explore it.
It’s actually part of the snowmobile system, and if you know where this privy is located, then you know where we were. Together we covered a lot of ground (as in 9 miles) and got a better understanding of the area and local ponds and wetlands near the privy.
But even better than that– (remember yesterday’s buds ready to burst?) another first for the season that again seemed apropos for the weekend: the first blossoms of Trailing Arbutus. So sweet and tender and fragrant.
Maybe instead of being known commonly as a Mayflower, this year it should be an Easter Flower.
On Easter, we had a late start for adventure and actually, we chose Plan B for our hiking destination because of the time–since we’d attended church in the morning and then dined at a local restaurant with three generations of our family, minus our two sons, their gals, and a nephew and his gal.
At the summit we did what we always do and waved to some friends who have a summer place on the pond before our eyes. And expressed our sorrow that they won’t be heading north this year. We can only hope that future plans include a return trip.
The wind was wild and brisk, but we took time to also admire the beauty of another pond and Sebago Lake in the distance and shouted, “Happy Easter, Alleluia!”
Eventually, we had to backtrack along another trail upon which we’d started our hike, and though we love loops, I also like it when we follow the same trail back because sometimes you see different things you missed.
Such was the case.
It had been a few years since we’d followed this trail named for a local brook, but it wasn’t until the return trip that I spotted this Scouring Rush. Again, it’s a case of structure and form and color and design and texture. The stem reminds me of an accordion and the top a cone. Or even Cancer Root. Just wow!
And then today found us exploring yesterday’s intended Plan A, where we circled a river for about 2 miles, enjoying the sounds as the water flowed and splashed and sounded so life giving–as it should because it is.
Our chosen spot for today’s lunch was upon steps after we crossed the river to head to a connector trail.
And it was there that we had a most pleasant surprise: a woman rode past on horseback. I only wish I’d been quicker to snap the photo.
Our other surprise in this spot was the knowledge that this past winter a Ruffed Grouse had roosted overnight right here based on the pile of scat it left behind–which is its habit.
My Guy sat upon the rock above and I cautioned him about setting down his water bottle or sandwich.
And in a super sunny spot nearby, the first False Hellebore leaves of the season, at least for me, showed off their bright green and pleated presentation.
After crossing the connector trail we reached a pond with the mountain of our destination serving as the backdrop. I love it that often, even if there is a breeze, and slight it was today, this pond offers the most glorious reflection.
While we paused, we spotted two people fishing, but also another who had the same finned meal in mind, a Common Loon. We didn’t see another, and if memory serves me right, it’s rare that we’ve seen a pair on this pond.
I can only hope memory doesn’t serve me right this time.
Within the shallow depths there were also huge Bullfrog tadpoles and teeny tiny minnows. And probably so much more, but I didn’t look any closer.
Another fun find reminded us that we will return to these trails in another month for the Lady’s Slippers that call to My Guy will make their usual request for a count.
Finding the capsule is so rare considering that there are hundreds of Lady’s Slippers that bloom just along the trail, yet we only spotted two of these structures, which would have contained thousands of dust-like seeds that dispersed through the split sides.
Similar in shape to the capsule, but of a completely different origin, we found two piles of Moose scat–deposited possibly two winters ago based on its formation and the dried leaves and other debris that had landed upon it.
As we continued along the trail beside the pond before climbing up, we knew to look to the ledges for a rare sighting. It’s up there, but you may not see it until I share the next photo with you.
Do you see the cross? How apropos for Easter Monday.
The question remains for us: How did it get there? Or is it a natural formation? We know that we would not have the heart to climb down to that spot and install it, but perhaps others did.
Actually, we don’t want to know how it got there. It’s enough for us that it is. And persists.
And even more important today, the fact that we didn’t get here on Easter, but instead hiked this way on Easter Monday, the day Pope Francis died, one who cared about those marginalized and the Earth. All of Creation matters.
Our time at the summit of the mountain was brief because we needed to get home for My Guy had another event. But it’s never lost on us that the shape of the main basin of the pond is a heart.
Back at the truck, we celebrated the weekend with a treat from Fly Away Farm.
And gave thanks for how all that we saw and heard and experienced this weekend seemed to be interwoven into a beautiful Easter tapestry.
Once the snow and ice began to melt, I started making almost daily visits to “My” vernal pool, located about a quarter of a mile from our house, and only a hop, skip, and jump, well maybe a few hops, skips, and jumps, from the cowpath, and more importantly, on neighbors’ property.
I met the neighbors for the first time last November when I spotted them walking their dog through their woods as I looked for any insects on trees. They were breaking branches to create a sorta trail, and I encouraged them to walk the cowpath instead because it’s flat and I try to keep it cleared of downed branches.
It was upon our second encounter when they did actually use the cowpath (and have done so regularly since though our paths haven’t crossed in months) that I asked them if they knew about the vernal pool. They did not. The dog was a rescue and they’d only had her for a few months and she was the reason they were out walking in the woods.
Being my blunt self, I did ask that they not bring their dog to the vernal pool in the spring and explained about the Wood Frogs and Spotted Salamanders who use it as a breeding pond. Yeegads. But they didn’t take it to be rude, and instead told me that they think they have another vernal pool elsewhere on their land, closer to their house. Then they invited me to walk in their woods and explore anytime. Um, I thanked them and admitted that I’ve been doing that for years; I just don’t go close to the house.
At last, about two weeks ago, the ice went out. But . . . there was no action. It was cold and seemed to snow every other day and the ground was still frozen and the breeders just weren’t ready. I waited.
Finally, on Sunday, April 13, 2025, we had some rain, and our local Big Night celebration was announced via text and email messages. Big Night is that night(s) when it’s been raining in the afternoon and evening and the roads are wet, and volunteers head out to locations close to home to help amphibians cross the road without getting smooshed. Or help most of them.
We didn’t hear any Wood Frogs or Spring Peepers as we approached the pool of our attention that night (not “My” vernal pool, which is thankfully not near a road), so we weren’t sure if we’d see any action. And others south and east of us had been posting for a week that they’d only found one or two frogs during any given rain event. Still, we went. And were glad we did because we helped a total of 158 Wood Frogs (including the one pictured above) and Peepers that night. There were still a few smooshed, but as always, we reminded ourselves that they become food for other critters.
Given that success, the next afternoon I visited “My” pool and heard not a peep upon my approach. But I did what I do, and stood as still as possible upon a rock at the edge, and within a few minutes this male Wood Frog surfaced.
And I decided that this year I am going to try to be more present at the pool and try to get to know all who venture in and around it, including Chippy, on an eternal search for seeds to stuff into his cheeks.
Mid-morning Tuesday found me making my way to the pool again and this time, I could hear the “Wruck, Wruck” calls of the male Wood Frogs as I approached. Spring has finally sprung. Oh, and the crocuses have finally bloomed. Beaked Hazelnuts with their tiny yet exquisite magenta flowers as well.
And then, my first peek into the pool, and there it was, a Wood Frog egg mass about the size of a wiffle ball and I wondered if it had been there on Monday and I just hadn’t seen it.
As always, I stood still, and as always, it took the frogs a few minutes to surface, but suddenly they were everywhere, and probably wishing, if frogs can do such a thing, that I would leave so they could begin their mating chorus again.
But I stayed. And wondered. Why is it that a Gray Squirrel, like the Chipmunk, can scamper about and rustle the leaves and make all kinds of noise and the frogs continue to float upon the surface, but the minute I flinch, they dive to the bottom and hide under leaves for minutes on end?
I did decide to change positions after a bit of enjoying the sight of so many frogs, because I wanted to see if there were any egg masses at the western end of the pool, but discovered none.
I did spy a bunch of Cluster Flies by the edge of the water.
And in the water, I watched Mosquitoes larvae wiggle about and a Predaceous Diving Beetle lift its butt to the surface to fill the air bubble located under its wings or elytra.
And then the Beetle surprised me and after swimming under the small log, it climbed onto it and gave me a whole different perspective for I never think about them as fliers, but they have strong wings and can do such, especially if the pool they are in dries up and they need to get to another pool. Apparently they are also attracted to lights, another reason not to keep outdoor lights on all night.
My morning visit came to an end when the frog nearest to me dove down and hid under the leaf cover. Well, sorta hid. Do you see it?
I was so taken with the pool, that I returned again in the afternoon. And this time I spotted something I’d missed in the morning. A more recently deposited egg mass. I suspect it had been there for at least a few hours because it was already bigger than a quarter, which is the size they are at first.
During this visit, I also spotted Whirligig Beetles gyrating around each other in breakneck speed, creating ripples everywhere.
And male Wood Frogs ever on the look out for a date.
In fact, so anxious were they that sometimes one male tried to grasp another, but the one underneath quickly squealed and swam away.
Then I spotted another old friend or its relative and wondered if the Long-jawed Orb Weaver that had created a perfect web between branches over the water was one that I’d photographed on the snow this past winter. Probably not. But a woman can dream.
Later in the afternoon on Tuesday it began to rain and while the storm didn’t last too long, it was enough to wet the roads and again the word went out for Big Night #2. This time there were a few Spotted Salamanders on the move as well.
The next photo may disturb you, so you may want to skip over it.
I included this picture of two squished female Wood Frogs because this is what happens when we drive by vernal pools and other wetlands on rainy nights. And I added the arrows to show the egg sacs that had popped out as the tires drove over these ladies.
We let out a communal groan as we heard the pop, and then made this discovery, trying to ease the moment by reminding ourselves that they would become food for others, but still . . . reinforcing the reason why we’ve been celebrating Big Night(s) on this local road for at least 25 years of organized events and I suspect many more before that.
All told for saves on Tuesday night: 836 live Wood Frogs, Spring Peepers, Spotted Salamanders, plus at least one Green Frog and one Eastern Newt.
That was a BIG night! And many thanks to Dawn and Maggie for organizing it.
And from the sound of the “Wrucks” on Wednesday, which was louder than the day before, I knew the ladies had returned to “My” pool as well. And the guys were feeling successful.
Within a minute of standing there, I looked down and spotted a couple embraced in what is known as Wood Frog amplexus, the smaller and darker male being on top with his forelegs wrapped around her, just above her enlarged belly.
She seemed to be in full control as she moved about the twigs, looking for a good location to deposit her eggs.
I thought the first spot was perfect because it was located near another egg mass and Wood Frogs tend to deposit their eggs in communal colonies, the better to avoid predation–especially if yours are among the first and are surrounding by other egg masses, and therefore protected.
Scanning the pool, I spotted another couple and decided that going forward they need names, so this is Couple 2.
Meanwhile, Couple 1 continued to move about the same set of twigs.
And then near my rock, Couple 3 appeared.
There were also lone males, and because it was breezy, no one seemed to mind my presence. In fact, a couple of males in the western corner even “Wrucked” a few times.
Couple 2 found a larger branch and hung out there.
But Couple 1, they were on the move again.
This time testing a different set of twigs. All I could do was wonder exactly what she was looking for. What made a prime location prime?
I don’t have the answer and probably never will, but still couldn’t believe my good fortune to have all three couples right there by my feet.
And then . . . and then Couple 1 swam off and disappeared under a recently fallen tree and I thought, “That’s a good place because there are so many branches to choose from,” but at the same time I was disappointed because I figured I’d never see the rest of the story.
Until . . . they swam back out and approached the twig of their first choice.
And seemed to be making a move to settle upon it.
Only they didn’t. Instead, they swam to another twig that they’d tried earlier; one that had no other egg masses.
And suddenly, right before my eyes, she began to lay eggs, which he fertilized externally. Can you see the black and white dots between their hind legs?
I could not believe I was finally witnessing this amazing moment. Magic in the making.
My body was stiff from standing so still, but it was so worth the effort.
With her hind legs, and I may be wrong about this, she appeared to be wrapping the mass around the stick so it would be well attached.
The eggs are black and white, the Pied Pattern, the top of the egg being dark so predators from above may not see it because it more closely matches the dark leaves and muck on the floor of the pool, and white on the bottom so that predators within the pool will think it’s just sky.
So, as luck would have it, and I was feeling super lucky and grateful for the opportunity to observe, my camera battery died. And the back-up battery was at home. (Note to self: carry it in my pocket.)
I pulled out the next best thing and shot this photo with my iPhone. He eventually moved off of her, but not too far away, probably exhausted from all the effort. And she remained below the quarter-size egg mass for a few more minutes.
As for the other two couples, one disappeared under the fallen tree and the other went under the leaves below my rock, perhaps seeking privacy.
Finally, I took my leave. With a huge smile on my face.
Oh Baby(ies), I know your parents will leave the pool soon, but I’ll be there to watch over you. Maybe not daily, but frequently for as long as the pool holds water, being ephemeral as it is.
wondermyway 