travel

Celebrating New York Our Way

~ lmachayes ~ Leave a comment

It probably seems odd that we love to visit the city, being the country-folk that we are who spend so much time wandering in the woods, but we do because there is so much to do and see and taste. And, after all, it’s only for a visit. But the best part–the people waiting for us on the other end, including our youngest and his gal and their friends and her family.

That said, on our first morning, we had some time to ourselves and walked several blocks to Prospect Park, where the Norway Maples have not quite given way to winter and so fall foliage still graced the sky above and pathway below.

Our intention was to walk the outer perimeter and explore some new areas we hadn’t seen before, which suddenly included Prospect Park Zoo. When in Rome . . . and so we did. We entered the zoo and had the most delightful time.

First, there was the metal artwork that greeted us, including this snake consuming a frog. I have memories of such happenings in the natural world, watching as the frog became a large lump in the snake’s “throat.”

Around every bend there was something different to see and we felt like we were greeting an old friend when we spotted a male Hooded Merganser preening.

Splishing and splashing, his intention was to waterproof and align his feathers, cleanse them of dirt or parasites, and allow him to spread protective oil from a small gland near the base of his tail, which will keep him warm and buoyant, especially important given the changing weather of the moment.

His mate, on the other hand, stood upon a log with a Red-eared Slider and we watched in bewilderment because neither one seemed concerned about the other.

It almost looked like they were two old friends sharing a quiet moment in the midst of a hectic world. And perhaps they were.

For a few minutes, I actually thought the turtle might not be real because there were some small sculpted animals along the zoo path, but then he turned his head ever so slightly.

We left them in peace and found the Emus and I immediately fell in love with their orange eyes. And though they don’t look anything like Turkeys, I felt there was a good resemblance, maybe because both have appearances only a mother can love, and this seemed an apropos bird to meet the day before Thanksgiving.

And then, and then, there was a River Otter. Asleep. Who knew River Otters took time to nap? In my book, they are always on the go, swimming and chatting to each other and sliding. Always sliding. But, of course, one needs to take a rest from time to time.

And then slowly lift one’s head up . . .

just a tad bit higher . . .

and scratch an itch, . . .

and then do the same as the ducks and preen a bit to spread the protective oils. It’s all in a day’s work schedule.

The ones who were having the most fun at the zoo seemed to be the Sea Lions. And we had arrived moments before a training session, so we stayed to watch and ooh and aah with the small crowd that had gathered that day.

They reacted to hand signals. And fish, of course.

High Fives . . .

and Open Sesames . . .

and Eye Drops . . . were all part of the program.

But maybe the best moment was when one swam to the edge, looked back at the trainer, recognized the signal to talk, and let us hear his voice.

Though I love fish, give me dark chocolates, and I might do the same.

Not to give away all that we saw, but there were Red Pandas who looked so cuddly, until I spotted the nails on their toes. They are bears, after all.

And a Pig-snouted Turtle, aka River Fly Turtle. I like the more common name because just look at that snout.

Meanwhile, the Merganser had moved to another part of the pond, but the Red-eared Slider maintained its position and I gave thanks for the opportunity to see it basking, even on a day with the temp in the low 40˚s.

On another day in another place, a place next to where it should have been, we unexpectedly spotted a Virginia Rail. Yes, we were beside the East River in Wallabout Bay, but for some reason this most secretive of birds ended up behind the grates guarding a window.

Our companions worried that it couldn’t get out, but I suspected it would as the openings were large, and could only imagine that the wild winds of the previous day had blown it a wee bit off course.

And in another place, Starlings, where I expected to find a more exotic species.

And then, much to my delight, one flew in: a Green Monk Parakeet.

I could have stood watching and photographing for hours in an effort to get to know them better, but there were miles to walk and so I settled for a few quick snaps of the camera and briefly captured their acrobatic movements.

Bringing us back to reality, were the Gray Squirrels dining and creating middens atop tombstones.

But even better than that, a Black Squirrel, the melanistic (dark fur) color variation of the Gray Squirrel. The black coloration is caused by a genetic mutation and perhaps provides advantages in certain environments, like helping them absorb more heat in colder climes.

And finally, much to my utter surprise, we spotted a Queen Bumblebee stumbling along in the crack of a paved pathway, probably seeking a place to overwinter moments before the sun went down.

It wasn’t just the wildlife that we came to see, for we had the profound pleasure of spending time in the company of four young people we are proud to call our own–that being our two sons and their gals. And together one morning, we explored Jumbo and walked below the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges.

One fun discovery was this orange cone Christmas Tree that seemed like it would look right at home in our hometown in western Maine, given that we’ve endured several years of sewer construction and road work.

After saying goodbye to our eldest, we ventured to Manhattan with the youngest and found the restaurant that inspired one of our favorite shows.

We sat at the counter where P posed below Kramer and felt like we could hear Jerry and George and Elaine in a nearby booth.

And then we walked to St. John the Divine, an Episcopal Cathedral steeped in history and never finished.

Our tour guide informed us that the original architects, George Lewis Heins and Christopher Grant LaFarge, envisioned a Romanesque-Byzantine style structure, as seen here in the Apse. Notice the rounded arches. They started building the Cathedral in 1891.

The Cathedral was partially finished in 1911, when Heins died. Architect Ralph Adams Cram was then hired to complete the work and the Nave reflects Gothic Revival architecture, his favorite. Notice the pointed arches.

Massive pillars that are 55-feet tall and six-feet across support the building and were constructed from New England granite without steel reinforcement, using techniques borrowed from the Middle Ages.

In the back of the Nave, the Great Rose Window is forty feet in diameter, with Jesus being 5.5 feet tall, despite how small he looks from the floor below. It’s the third largest rose window in the world and is made of over ten thousand pieces of glass, mind-boggling as that is.

Our youngest had signed us up for a vertical tour, and I have to say climbing up was much easier than climbing down, but I’m so glad we did it.

Each level brought us closer to the stained glass windows, which are dedicated to one of fourteen forms of human endeavor, including Labor, Medicine, Communication, Education, Law, Military, Arts, American, Anglican, Crusaders, Earth, All Saints, Missionary, and Sports.

The windows on the ground level show a variety of historical and scriptural figures engaged in a particular activity, all theme-related.

The higher set of windows show saints associated with the same activity.

Rosettes at the top depict Jesus, crowning each window and completing the progression from the human plane to the sacred and divine. He is always depicted with a cross above his head.

We happened to be there when the late afternoon sun was shining through and creating magical rainbows on the pillars.

From there we went to the MET Cloisters, where we walked the grounds and saved an inside tour for another day.

Each time we visit, we also arrange for a private group tour and this year’s locale was the Brooklyn Navy Yard in Wallabout Bay on the East River.

From the early 1800s through the 1960s, it was an active shipyard, and during World War II was known as the “Can-Do” shipyard, which employed 75,000 workers. In 1966, it was demilitarized.

According to our guide, the facility now houses an industrial and commercial complex for shipping repairs and maintenance, run by the New York City government, and as office and manufacturing space for non-maritime industries. Inside the museum one can view some of the products that call this place home.

One of the things we learned as we toured the shipyard, was that Sweet’N Low, the sugar substitute, was born and raised at a Fort Greene factory just outside the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Though the business has relocated, the iconic sign remains.

Our final tour of the weekend was self-guided, again with our youngest leading the way, and into Green-Wood Cemetery we ventured because it’s located just around the corner from the apartment he shares with his gal.

The cemetery contains 600,000 graves and 7,000 trees spread out over 478 acres, with hills and dales and ponds in the mix and as P noted, the city noises disappeared as we explored.

One of our fun finds, the pillar for Henry Chadwick and Jane Botts, he being the father of Baseball.

We also looked for familiar names and weren’t disappointed, though we don’t know of any connections at this point.

But what truly struck us is that this cemetery is one for all–for so many were the nationalities and religions depicted.

And while most of the stones looked like they were frequently cleaned, I did locate some with lichens, speaking to the fact that there is life among death. And this shield lichen very much spoke to such life for it featured the fruiting bodies or Apothecia with abundant Soredia, which are tiny, powdery vegetative reproductive bodies that can be carried off by the wind or rain to form new lichens. The Soredia are similar to other vegetative reproductive growths called Isidia, which are stalked growths on the thallus or body of the lichen.

From the cemetery, we could see Lady Liberty standing tall and holding her flame to bring us all together.

And from various vantage points we could see the Empire State Building, standing as a beacon to us . . .

almost like Pleasant Mountain and Mount Washington back home, so that no matter where we were, we knew where our weekend home was located.

Because this was the view from said “home,” the Brooklyn apartment owned by our Thanksgiving hostess.

And no trip of ours is ever complete without a tour of a hardware store.

He said he wasn’t going to go in, but you know that he did. It was a quick loop up one aisle and down the other, for so narrow was the store, but oh was it packed with merchandise–every square inch in use as is the city way.

And remember our cemetery trip? Well, I spotted this and My Guy didn’t know what the Old Guard Southern Hardware Salesmen’s Association was all about. Turns out, it has quite a history.

Curiously, I found this explanation on Instagram:

From the American Artisan and Hardware Record, June 1, 1918:

“THE OLD GUARD SOUTHERN HARDWARE SALESMEN KEEPS ALIVE ITS ORIGINAL FIGHTING SPIRIT.

“The original fighting spirit which moved the members of the Old Guard Southern Hardware Salesmen’s Association to organize for carrying on the bloodless battle of commerce was strongly in evidence with new force and application in its annual general meeting held May 29, 1918, at Atlantic City, NJ. These veteran warriors of salesmanship pledged all their energies and experience to the aid of the younger men who are waging the titanic warfare of a free people against the despotism of barbarians who hide their savagery under a guise of mechanical culture.

“Particular significance attaches to the Old Guard by reason of the fact that its ranks represent the ripened wisdom of years of active service in the hardware trade. It was formed ten years ago at the Convention of the Southern Hardware Jobbers’ Association in Hot Springs, Arkansas. The membership of the Old Guard is strictly limited to salesmen and traveling salesmanagers who have sold hardware and kindred commodities to the hardware jobbing trade in five or more Southern and Southwestern states during a continuous period of fifteen or more years. The membership is limited to one hundred.

“The men who have been in charge of the affairs of the Association for the term which ended at the conclusion of this year’s convention have exerted themselves with enthusiasm and persistence to maintain the traditions of the organization and to further the collective interests of the membership…

“Adjournment was taken with a feeling of renewed confidence in the power and purpose of the Association and a determination to use all the influence of the organization in promoting a vigorous Americanism throughout their territory to the end that international justice may be established and lasting victory be won for the hosts of democracy.”

Hardware and Democracy it seems, were both important to Herb.

So we arrived in Brooklyn the night of my most recent birthday and were welcomed with a surprise celebration that included New York-style pizza and dark chocolate cake–thanks to M and P.

We were also there to celebrate America’s grand feast with M’s family in New Jersey.

Dinner included a gathering of family and friends, one of whom is a Kiwi and this was her first American Thanksgiving feast, so she graciously wore the turkey hat.

And this little one kept us all in line throughout the day.

At the end of the day and the end of the weekend, our biggest thanks go to these two, daughter and mother, M and D, M being our youngest son’s girlfriend. Their hospitality and generosity never cease to amaze us.

Because of them, we did lots and lots of walking, while it felt like an almost equal amount of dining was thrown into the mix from bagels to farm-to-table to traditional Thanksgiving to diner breakfasts to pub meals, and of course, the iconic New York-style pizza.

Thank you, D and M and P, for inviting us to celebrate New York our way, and to S and H for making the trip from Boston, even if you couldn’t stay the entire weekend.

Far Winde-a-Way Mondate

~ lmachayes ~ 5 Comments

It’s been a while since I’ve written about a Mondate, and believe me, we’ve had numerous. And other dates during the week as well, but today found us exploring a new-to-us property that’s just too special not to share. And I think the owners would appreciate it. I know that we appreciate that M suggested this to us. She was spot-on correct that we’d like it.

We’d been by a trail sign on the road a bunch of times to hike other trails in Greenwood, but until M mentioned it, we hadn’t really paid much attention. Until today. The kiosk is about .2 in from the road and I loved that there were pumpkins and a ghost to decorate it. And all the information hikers need to enjoy the area. Though My Guy goes without, I highly recommend trekking poles should you go forth on the well-marked trails. They are steep in places. And rocky in others. But that all adds to the fun.

For me, the fun was enhanced by spotting examples of this pleurocarpous moss. It took me a while to learn that pleuro refers to side and carpous means fruit, thus they have a side fruit. They are low, tangled mats with branches that rise from the main stem.

This particular moss is the Stair-step Moss or Hylocomium splendens. It prefers deep shade and damp conditions. Due to the dry conditions we’ve been experiencing, this year’s growth of a new step rising from last year’s stem probably didn’t occur until recently.

There were other mosses, giving the trail a fairy-land look at times, but also abundant were the Christmas Ferns, which decorated long stretches of our route.

And not to be left out were the Common Polypody that always give boulders a bad-hair day look.

Those items would have been enough, but we realized from the start that we were in Hop-Hornbeam territory, and several surprised us. Typically, this is a tree that stands straight and tall, but a few must have been hit by other trees during storms perhaps, and their trunks had turned. Despite that, other branches took over and reached for the sun.

The other day some of us were looking at a sample of this tree and I asked them what they noticed about the bark. Their responses: shaggy and vertical lines. Spot on. Sometimes the bark is a bit tighter to the tree than this one we saw today, but it’s a great example of how this bark behaves. If you rub your hand on it, some pieces will flake off.

What I really wanted to see since we were in the presence of so many Hop-Hornbeams, were the hops for which it was named and BINGO! They were scattered along the trail, so I picked one up and slit the inflated paper-thin casing open and pulled out a seed. Such a small nutlet compared to the bouyant sac it was borne in.

The leaves are double-toothed and just as these emerged in the spring, male and female flowers would have developed. Being a member of the Birch family, the flowers are in the form of catkins, the male being longer and reddish-brown, while the female would have been shorter and green. Pollen is dispersed by the wind.

During the summer, the fertilized females form into cone-like structures, or strobiles, and their shape gives them their name for they look like hops.

I challenged My Guy to find some of these, which he’d never seen before. Knowing he likes a challenge, like counting Lady’s Slippers and looking for Bear Claw trees, I knew he’d pull through, and he did. But, he also developed Warbler Neck, for so high up in the tree does one need to look in order to spy the hops.

And so to counteract that, I suggested he look down. Success again. This guy is good!

At lunch log, we had a chance to enjoy the view and realized we were looking at Noyes Mountain, which we had hiked about a month ago.

With the camera, I could pull in the rocks on Noyes where we ate lunch before descending into an old mine below.

After circling around the summit of Far Winde-a-Way, where the views may be better in the winter, but we didn’t mind because that’s where we found some of the hops, we began our descent and noted a few artifacts, which got My Guy talking about the fact that metal cans for motor oil were replaced by plastic in the 1980s. He is Mr. Hardware, after all.

And I found a stone that had split naturally in quarters.

Well, maybe they weren’t exact quarters, but still it was worth a wonder to notice.

Another tree that we noticed as we descended was an American Basswood. The bark is similar to Northern Red Oak, but without the red in the furrows between the ridges, and the ridges are flat, almost brushed. Again, I rubbed my hand along the almost smooth surface.

I kick myself now, because I didn’t think to look for their fruits, but I did spot leaves on the forest floor. They are typically quite large, and have an assymetrical base, so if you fold a leaf in half, one base will be shorter than the other. The only other trees in our woods with this feature are the American Elm and Witch Hazel.

Next we reached a brook, where I’m sure the water cascaded over the moss-covered rocks in the spring when we experienced about fourteen rainy weekends, but today it was almost all dry, except for a few pools.

Creating a spider-web appearance on the pool’s surface were about a dozen Water Striders, so speedy in their dance routines.

And hiding at the edge, perhaps in hopes of capturing a Water Strider for a meal, was a Green Frog, with its dorsal lateral folds beginning behind its eyes and continuing down the edges of its back.

At the Cakewalk, for so a trail closer to Mud Pond is named, we met Mouth Rock. We’re pretty sure this wide-mouthed boulder ate all the cake because we never found any.

But our finds did include a champion! Co-champion actually–for the largest Eastern Hemlock in Oxford County according to Far Winde-A-Way Nature Preserve‘s website.

And I quote: The tree is: 10 feet in circumference, 90 feet tall, with a crown spread of 60 feet.

We also found this great specimen. Rock or tree? Tree or Rock? Rock and tree! Tree and rock!

Where does one end and the other begin for they looked like twins. Maybe that’s what happens when you spend so much time together. Kinda like some people looking like their dogs (we had a neighbor when I was growing up who always had beagles and he really did look like a beagle himself. Of course, we never told him that.)

Anyway, this is a Yellow Birch that got its start in the moist soil that probably formed on the moss atop the rock and then sent its roots downward and trunk upward, but really, the two could have been one.

One of our last views before heading back up to the kiosk, was of Noyes Mountain again, only this time it included Mud Pond. And our early fall foliage season. Foliage reflections are among my favorite.

I’ll close this Far Winde-a-Way Mondate by giving thanks not only for My Guy and his love of new adventures, but also for the family that made these hiking trails available so that all of us could enjoy them: The husband and daughter of the late Pam Nelson. “This preserve is dedicated to the memory of Pamela (Roots) Nelson. For more than 30 years, Pam lived her dream to protect, conserve and enjoy these woods and waters. She roamed this rugged hillside and developed a trail system steeped in the natural wonders of the Maine foothills. Today you can enjoy some of the beauty she discovered.”

Pam passed away in 2022, but her family carries on her tradition, and this poem at the kiosk was written by her sister.

Thank you to M for suggesting Far Winde to us, and to the Nelsons for sharing it with all of us.

On the Cusp of Autumn

~ lmachayes

It occurs every year, autumn that is. But this year it hasn’t even started and already feels different. In the past week, My Guy and I have followed many a trail or waterway, both on foot and by sea, oops, I mean kayak on local lakes and ponds, and every offering has been unique.

Some, such as this, being Brownfield Bog as we locals know it, or Major Gregory Sanborn Wildlife Management Area as the State of Maine knows it, took us by complete surprise. The last time we’d wandered this way together was in the spring, when despite wearing Muck Boots, we could not travel some parts of the trail because the water was so high. That was in the Time-We-Actually-Experienced-Rain. That time has long since passed and now western Maine is in a severe drought and don’t the Lilypads know it. What about all the mammals and birds and insects that depend on this water? It was an eerily quiet walk in a place that is usually alive with action.

Where the Old Course of the Saco River crosses through the bog, there was some water. But still, not enough. And we know of other areas of the Old Course, such as in Fryeburg Harbor, where there is no water.

As for the Saco, it too, was incredibly low and sandbars were more the norm.

Other adventures found us paddling our favorite pond.

And bushwhacking around another bog.

What kept making itself known to us–the fact that the trees are turning much too soon, and many leaves aren’t even turning, but rather drying up and falling.

That meant that some paths or bushwhacks found us crunching the dried leaves with each step we took. We could hardly sneak up on a Moose or a Bear, or even a Squirrel.

Despite such dry conditions, we did find the varied colors of Wild Raisins or Witherod drupes dangling in clusters below their leaves.

And Winterberries showing off their enticing red hues–ready to attract birds and maybe become part of our holiday decorations. Only a few branches for us, mind you. We leave the rest to the critters because we know their importance in the food chain.

Late summer flowers were also in bloom, including the brilliant color of the Cardinal Flower.

And in a contrast to the red, there were Ladies’ Tresses, a wild orchid, one of the few with a fragrance if you can bend low enough to smell it.

I think one of the greatest wonders is how many variations there are on a theme, in this case flowers for take a look at the Pilewort or American Burnweed, this one growing upon a Beaver Lodge.

What you are looking at is the flower heads: They are about a ¼ across and petal-less. The inner bracts, with their purplish tips form a ½-inch tube exposing just the yellowish to creamy white stamens at the top. And the seeds are teeny tiny, as you can see, with tufts of white hairs to carry them like parachutes upon a breeze.

Along one trail, we spotted another teeny tiny display that surprised us due to the fact that we haven’t seen many mushrooms this summer. But the Orange Peel Fungus apparently had enough moisture, at least to produce these two forms.

Critters were also a part of our sightings and several times we encountered young Northern Water Snakes, not more than two pencils in length.

In another spot where we expected to see Water Snakes, we instead met a Garter. Mind you, none of these wanted to spend any amount of time with us.

And despite the cooler morning temps that we’ve been experiencing, including lows in the mid-30˚s the past few days, or more likely, because of those temps, the Painted Turtles were still basking, soaking up the sun’s warmth. I love how they stick out their legs to absorb more warmth. It truly looks like a Yoga position, and I know this personally because along one of the trails we traveled in the past week, My Guy showed me several poses he’s learned recently. He also showed me those he struggles to perform.

Not all turtles were of the same size, and this was a tiny one, who stayed on this log for at least two hours as we spotted it before we embarked on a bushwhack and it was still there when we returned, though it had changed its position. And gave me a wary look.

My Dragonfly fetish was also fulfilled for the Darners and Skimmers continue to fly and occasionally pause. Well, the Skimmers often pause, but the Darners are usually on the wing–patrolling territory while looking for a meal, and even more so, a mate. That’s why it’s always a moment of joy for me when one stops and my admiration kicks up a few notches. In fact, it’s the notch in the side thoratic markings that help with ID–in this case a Canada Darner. I’ve discovered this summer that they are numerous ’round these parts.

While the Darners are on the largish size in the dragonfly world, most of the Skimmers that are still flying are much smaller. The Blue Dasher, as this is, is probably considered medium in size.

What a display, no matter how big, with the blues and blacks and greens contrasting with the Red Maple leaf’s hues.

And then there’s the dragonfly’s shadow. It’s almost like it was a different creature.

My surprise was full of delight when I realized as I floated beside a Beaver Lodge, that I was watching female Amberwings deposit eggs into the water as they tapped their abdomens upon it. I rarely spot Amberwings, and yet they were so common in this spot.

And overlooking all the action, perhaps not only to defend its territory, but also to eat anything that got in the way, a Slaty Blue Skimmer, twice the size at least of the Amberwings and Blue Dasher.

Birds, too, were part of the scenery wherever we were. This Eastern Phoebe spent moments on end looking about, from one side to the other, and then in a flash, flew to some vegetation below, grabbed an invisible-to-me insect, and flew off.

Much to the surprise of both of us, despite the loud crackling of leaves and branches upon which we walked in one place, we didn’t scare all the Wood Ducks off, and enjoyed spending a few minutes with this Momma and Teenager. Usually, this species flies off before we spot them on the water.

Even the male hung out and when I suggested to My Guy that he look at it through the monocular, he was certain he really didn’t need to because he could see it without any aid. And then he did. And “Oh wow!” was the reaction. And I knew he’d finally seen a male Wood Duck–for the first time. And that moment will remain with me forever.

One of our other favorite moments occurred on our favorite pond, where we first spotted a Bald Eagle on a rock that the low water had exposed. And then it flew. As birds do.

And we followed it with our eyes, and watched it land above us in a White PIne.

And thus, we spent a good twenty minutes with it, admiring from our kayaks below.

The Bald Eagle was sighted not to far from our favorite Beaver City–where we know of at least five lodges located within a football field-sized area. And this one above had been abandoned for the last few years.

But fresh mud and fresh wood told us that someone was home. Probably more than one someones. We love the possibilities. The mudding is an important act–preparing for winter by coating the outside and closing up any holes or airways that might let cold air penetrate. Of course, the “smoke hole” at the top will remain, much like a chimney in our homes.

Just a Beaver channel and a hundred yards away, another of the five lodges also showed signs of winter preparation. It’s a busy neighborhood.

No matter where or how we traversed, one of the things that stood out to us is that despite the autumnal equinox being September 22 at 2:19pm. fall is already here thanks to the summer’s drought.

It’s usually mid-October when we begin to celebrate the color change–that time when Chlorophyll, the green pigment we associate with summer, and necessary for photosynthesis, slows and then stops manufacturing food, and the leaves go on strike.

Veins that carried fluids via the xylem and phloem close off, trapping sugars, and promoting the production of anthocyanin, the red color we associate with Red Maples like these.

Tonight, as I finish writing, we are on the Cusp of Autumn, which is about seventeen hours away. But this year, I think it’s already here and if you have planned a fall foliage tour for mid-October I hope you won’t be too disappointed. I suspect we’ll not have many leaves left on the trees by that point.

But . . . maybe I’m wrong. There’s always that possibility.

No matter what–Happy Autumnal Equinox!

Student Teacher in the Field and Yard Classroom

~ lmachayes

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.

Unexpected Finds On The Trail

~ lmachayes ~ 5 Comments

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.

The Saga of Walker’s Rips

~ lmachayes

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.

Vermonting We Did Go

~ lmachayes

Okay, so “Vermonting” is not a word. But we did go. And came home richer for the experience.

It takes us forever to plan a vacation, even a mini-one. Well, actually, it only takes a few minutes once we put our minds to it, but prior to that it’s a lot of “We should go to . . .” or “We need to get away,” or any of a myriad of other comments, and we do nothing.

So about a week ago we cleared our calendars. We knew kinda sorta where we wanted to go, but didn’t know where we might stay, until we discovered The Barn in Peacham. We have a red barn attached to our 1870s farmhouse and long ago turned the upstairs into a movie theater/rec room for our sons, all that being a rather rough rendition of either–the movie seats were from an actual theater in our hometown, which was the best part. The seats are still all up there. And there’s a pingpong table and an air hockey table and trophies (remember the Porcupine Invasion last November?) and various other things, plus now a Yoga area for My Guy, but it’s hardly like the space we rented for the weekend as pictured above.

Cozy, roomy, tons of natural light, everything we needed, even eggs and English muffins if we came up short for our first morning.

I think one of my favorite things, and I had lots of favorites, were the little windows that lined the floor in all four rooms. And above these in the kitchen, a Fannie Farmer Cookbook on a shelf. It was touches like this that enhanced the already perfect space.

And our host and hostess, Chuck and Mercy, were equally delightful, and full of information. Thanks to them we discovered Three Ponds Sandwich Kitchen in Danville our first night and marveled in the deliciousness.

But what we were really there for was to hike. And so Saturday morning we went in search of the trailhead to Peacham Bog. If you happen to see My Guy this week, ask him how that search went. We’re still laughing.

We did find the trailhead, but obviously not where we expected it to be. And at the recommendation of Brian at the Groton State Forest Nature Center, we decided to hike the two miles in to the Bog and then continue along a multi-use trail before reaching Devil’s Hill, circling back along the same route.

The natural communities along the way made us feel as at home as the barn, for we (read “I”) felt like we were walking among old friends such as the Mountain Woodsorrel. I love its peppermint ice cream presentation.

And then, in a damp spot Swamp Beacons lit the way and I was drawn back in time to my first encounter with them while tramping through the woods in Lovell with friends Parker, Joan, and Dave. RIP Parker–please know that you accompany me on and off many a trail and I know that you would be happy that I actually remember some of what you taught me.

Vowing not to count Lady’s Slippers, we didn’t. But they were there, though most waning.

At last we reached the coveted bog, where a boardwalk was long ago placed to keep hikers like us from stepping onto the fragile environment.

It was at this point that another funny story evolved, but again, you’ll have to visit My Guy at his store to get the rest of the story.

At last reaching the platform with a bench at the end of the boardwalk, we sat down to eat sandwiches and take in the scene and sounds that surrounded us.

Sphagnum mosses formed the peat base and laurels and Tamaracks and Firs and flowers and insects all expressed themselves.

I, of course, can never see too many Pitcher Plants and be forever wowed by those downward facing hairs that entice insects in to the pitcher-shaped leaves where the end-of-life lurks.

And the otherworldly flowers were in full bloom, including this one that hosted a long-horned insect and a sub-imago Mayfly (read: Dun).

I’ve been wowed by these for a long time and years ago drew this rendition as a teaching tool that now is the background for my iPhone.

There were Unadorned Bog Flies pollinating Bog Labrador Tea.

And Cotton Sedge showing off their hairy tufts.

Our next leg took us from the Bog to the Groton multi-use trail, being used mainly by horse riders and moose. We saw neither, but their tracks were evident in the mud.

What we did spot was this Aurora Damselfly being wrapped up by an Orb Weaver Spider. I knew the damselfly immediately because of the uneven stripe on the sides of the thorax.

And had recently tried to paint a mature form of the same species.

We also met a couple of Red Efts, the teenag and terrestrial stage of the Eastern Newt. The red spots act as a warning to predators because if consumed, they secrete poison toxins from their skins. As humans, we can touch them and live, but to ingest one would be harmful. So don’t try that.

A couple of miles later we reached the trailhead for Devil’s Hill and snaked our way up the switchbacks to the summit, where this view of the rolling hills and iconic geography of Vermont stood out before us.

On the way down, a male Luna Moth presented itself, hiding as it was under a Striped Maple leaf.

I love these leaves and their twigs, especially the growth rings that stand out so predominately, and My Guy appreciates that the leaves serve as Nature’s Toilet Paper. TMI? But really, they are easy to identify and they are soft.

Returning on the multi-use trail before retracing our steps on the Peacham Bog Loop, we had to walk through tall grasses and sedges, which did not make my heart so glad because this was heavy tick territory. I had on tick gaiters and repellant. We took at least five off My Guy.

But, this pair of Craneflies did share a canoodle moment with us, so that won me over for a second.

All in all, we hiked over eleven miles that day, and were too beat to go out to dinner, so instead drove to the West Barnet Quick Stop, about 1.5 miles from our weekend home. There we ordered Chicken Cordon Bleu Paninis with Pesto, and a salad to share. And while we waited for our meal to be created, noticed Shain’s of Maine Ice Cream in the freezer, which made us chuckle. Wait a minute. We were in Ben & Jerry Country. Never fear–they had a much better presentation in another freezer.

And, while we waited, I asked the woman who was creating our salad if she lived in the area. “All my life,” she said, and added, “So far.” We chuckled, but then I asked if she knew so and so, a couple I know from church who had lived just down the road for many years (a fact I’d only learned days earlier).

Her face lit up with a smile as she recalled them and said they used to frequent her other store and that their daughter had worked for her. As tired as I was, that smile of hers was the perfect ending to a great day.

Well, it wasn’t quite over yet. For there was no TV at our weekend digs. And so I taught My Guy to play Parcheesi, and then I beat him.

The next morning we drove north to Orleans to meet my first college roommate and her husband, Bev and Bill, at the Carriage House for breakfast. Funny thing–as I drove up Route 91, there was one car in front of us and approaching it, with its Maine license plate, I spotted Lakes Environmental Association and a Loon Echo Land Trust stickers on the rear window. It had to be someone from our hometown. Sure enough, as I passed it, I recognized the mother of one of my former students. And a wondermyway follower.

Betty, if you are reading this, that was us on the highway with you on Sunday morning at 8:30 or so.

We spent two hours talking and eating and talking and talking some more over omelets and coffee and Bev and Bill suggested that we hike Mount Hor, which overlooks Willoughby Lake. I’d been to Willoughby before with Bev and two other dear friends, but never hiked in that area. And so we did. They gave us easy to follow directions and we parked and then walked almost two miles up the CCC Trail. I love that this was another project meant to keep people working when times were tough.

Though the hard packed surface we walked on was not the original road, we kept spotting these posts and my theory is that they were original and held cables that connected one post to another and kept vehicles from catapulting down the steep embankment.

When we finally reached the actual trailhead for Mount Hor, I met a new flower. Canada Violet. It made sense since we were probably about ten miles from the Canadian border. Delicate. Pure white. A well-defined runway to the nectar. And leaves offering a different take on the violet theme.

What we soon realized was that it not only grew tall, but also in large clumps.

Oh my gosh, our next find–Maidenhair Fern. Such a unique presentation and color and, oh my gosh!

At the summit, we had three choices. First we headed to the Summit Vista, where the view included Cedar trees in the foreground and two delightful couples who were enjoying GORP and blueberries but when they heard that we had homemade Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip granola bars a la The Stow Away Baker in our backpack, they wanted to chase us down the mountain.

From there, we hiked another mile across the ridge line to the East View, overlooking Lake Willoughby.

While there, we spotted a Peregrine Falcon soaring on the thermals, but neither of us got a good shot of it. Still. Forever in our minds eye. And sometimes, those are the most memorable moments.

From the North Vista we looked across at the cliffs of Mount Pisgah and wondered how many more falcons we weren’t seeing.

Back down the CCC Road we did walk once we stepped off the mountain trail and my favorite find was a Mountain Maple, that stopped me in my steps for a few minutes as I had to remember who it was that I was meeting.

Back at Lake Willoughby North Beach, Mount Hor is on the right and Mount Pisgah on the left, creating a fjord-like presentation.

From there, we drove south to South Barton as I let my nose lead the way and found a cemetery I’ve visited in the past for some of my ancestors are buried here.

Recognizing family names is always a treasure. And actually, within the post railings of this place I noted at least three different families that have contributed to my DNA. I’m pretty sure my love of the north country, be it Northern New England or Canada, comes from these folks.

On the way back to our home base, we grabbed sandwiches to go from Three Ponds and gave thanks for their goodness.

And then this morning, after packing and cleaning and chatting briefly with Chuck, we had one more place to explore–Kettle Pond State Park within Groton State Forest.

So here’s the thing. My understanding of a kettle bog is that it’s kettle or bowl shaped. And has an outer layer of herbs, with the next layer surrounding it of taller herbs, and then a third layer of shrubs encircling the kettle, and finally, trees who like wet feet, like Red Maples, forming the final ridge around the pond.

None of this was present. Well, there were shrubs and trees, but not in layers like I’m used to seeing. And the shape of the pond was more north-to-south glacial-related than kettle-related. Hmmm?

Still, some great finds like this Spotted Salamander egg mass along with four others in a deep puddle along the trail. Can you see the embryos forming?

And a Garter Snake that had been basking on a rock in the trail until we happened along.

And Twin Flowers, each sharing a petiole, growing like a mat along a glacial erratic.

And Stair-Step Moss growing abundantly like a set of stairs here and there and even over there.

And a warning, which was more of an invitation at the only private cabin along the way, a route which offers lean-to shelters for groups to rent. I love this sign. We looked forward to meeting said dog, but sadly, no one was home.

Flat-fruited Pelt Lichen also lined the trail. So much to see. So much more to learn.

Oh, and an Eastern Newt in the water. It was like the Newt brought the trail to a full circle beginning with the Red Eft on our first hike of the weekend and ending with this adult form.

Our time Vermonting came to an end this afternoon, but oh, what a wonder-filled time we had. We hiked so many miles while meeting old and new friends, dined with dear old friends, met friends of friends who were old friends to each other and new friends to us, and just plain had fun making new memories.

Thank you Chuck and Mercy, and Bev and Bill, and Debbie and those at Three Ponds, and Brian at the Nature Center, and to all the others we met along the way for making our experience such a rich one.

Vermonting we did go. Word or no word, it was exactly what we needed.

A Visit From Mom

~ lmachayes

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.

Shout-out to the Universe

~ lmachayes

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.

My Guy, The Giant Butterfly Whisperer

~ lmachayes ~ 3 Comments

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.

Easter 2025: An Interwoven Weekend Celebration

~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

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.

Happy Easter 2025!

Marching into the Vernal Pool

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

I’ve lived in Maine for just shy of 40 years and can barely recall the month of March going out like a lamb, as the saying goes.

It’s certainly true that once again this year the ending of the month is more lion-like with an overnight and morning snowstorm, with freezing rain on the horizon for tonight and tomorrow, followed by a warm-up and rain on Monday.

That all said, March snow doesn’t last long.

But still . . . it has me dreaming. Remember, I LOVE winter, but am as ready for spring as the next person.

And so I spent much of today (when not shoveling, which really didn’t take long) holed up in my wee studio where I’ve been working on a vernal pool series of paintings.

The idea for this post actually came to me in a dream last night–why not turn those paintings into a blog post. Why not?

Because, it’s scary to share creative works with the world. But, I am probably my own worst critic. My instructor, Jessie, always reminds me to put my inner critic into a box, place the cover on top, and get to work. And besides, by sharing here, I can hide behind the screen. She wants those of us in her class to host an art show, but I refuse to do that. It’s much more comfortable for me this way.

I’ve only been painting since last May, but let’s not let that be an excuse. The thing is, working with gouache paints means I can easily edit, much like writing. And believe me, I have. My motto has always been that there’s no such thing as a final draft–whether it be an article for a magazine or a work of art.

Have you noticed that I’m procrastinating? And putting all of my excuses out there.

It’s snowing again.

All right, I’m almost ready. But here’s the other thing–in sharing these with you, may you be inspired to do something you never imagined and discover that the time you spend doing such is most enjoyable and it’s easy to get “lost” and just plain have fun and decide that even though the “end product” isn’t exactly what you first set out to create, it’s still half decent and you had the most delightful time sitting quietly as is my custom, doing just that: creating.

And now . . . for a look back as a way to look forward to a vernal pool as it emerges from winter or early spring, or mud season, or almost spring but still winter, or whatever season this is.

Pine and hemlock needles and branches from winter storms coat the ice as it slowly begins to melt along the edge of the pool, providing a glimpse of the sunken leaves below, where life awaits.

Once the ice finally melts, barren trees offer a reflection that speaks to winter, but there’s hope in their buds.

And no sooner has the ice gone out, when upon my approach I hear “Wruck, wruck,” and know that the Wood Frogs have returned to their natal breeding grounds. At first, they dive as soon as they hear me approach. But I stand still, sometimes for up to fifteen minutes, and ever so slowly, one by one, they rise to the surface and float.

It’s the lucky male who has the best “Wruck, wruck,” that finds a mate. He clasps her with his forelegs and as she begins to deposit eggs, he fertilizes them externally.

I return a couple of days later, in the late afternoon, and can’t believe my good luck. The pool is coated in pollen and the sun hits it in such a way that I see a rainbow of colors and love how the tree reflections are in two orientations upon still water.

A few weeks later, looking deep into the pool, which isn’t really all that deep, I notice blobs of eggs clustered together in a mass that has a tapioca-like shape to it and notice little life forms moving about in the shape of tadpoles. I feel like a proud momma. The thing is, the Wood Frogs mate, she lays eggs he’s fertilized and within two weeks, the parents are long gone, back to their woodland setting. And so I do feel protective parent–or maybe foster parent–keeping watch and celebrating achievements.

Another life form who uses the pool as a natal breeding spot is the spotted salamander and though I tend to mostly spy them on Big Night, I can tell by egg masses left behind that they have visited.

Their egg masses are a wee bit different from the Wood Frog masses, in that they have a gelatinous coating around the entire grouping, so they don’t look so tapioca-like. Mosquito larvae, tumblers at this stage, also wiggle about in the water.

And if I’m lucky, though this has never happened at the pool behind our house, I might see a fairy shrimp or dozens.

So here’s the thing: 40 Wood Frog egg masses make a pool significant; OR 20 Spotted Salamander egg masses; OR 10 Blue Spotted or Jefferson Salamander egg masses; OR a single, yes one, Fairy Shrimp. And this one is a female, as noted by the sac of dark eggs she carries.

Fairy Shrimp are cool because in order for eggs to be viable, the pool must dry out. And they can survive being dry for multiple years. And in any given year, not all eggs will hatch, thus saving some in the bank for another year or ten.

Hanging out by the pool, Green Frogs are always willing to dine on whatever is available. So the Green Frog has dorsal lateral folds (or bumps) along either side of its back that start behind the eyes.

The Bullfrog differs in that the line behind the eye circles around the tympanum (ear drum) and ends.

Here’s the other thing to remember: Males have tympanums larger than their eyes; females are smaller or equal to eye size.

And I like to think of this painting as a Frog-ersation.

This week I actually framed two paintings to send to friends, the Bullfrog being one of them.

There. I did it. Survived the art show.

As I bring this to a close, I realize there’s one more painting I should add to the collection, but I’ll save it to paint another day.

Thank you for marching into the vernal pool with me. I hope you are glad you did.

The Exclamation Point

~ lmachayes

The crossover from winter to spring is actually emulating the same from autumn to winter with fluctuating temperatures and snow. But still there is so much to see if you can get outside.

Yesterday, My Guy and I paid a visit to “our”vernal pool (located on a neighbor’s back forty) and noted that it was still ice covered. That said, I know I’ll start making almost daily visits because any time now the ice will begin to melt and tada, the action will start to happen.

The day before, we’d walked a local trail that still had areas of snow here and there, but were delighted to spot our first Great Blue Heron of 2025, which was apropos as this morning I received an email from the state biologist asking if I’m still willing to monitor three rookeries as I have done for the past 15 years. YES!

And the day before that, while hiking another trail in a different town where there was almost no snow, we had a quick sighting of an Anglewing Butterfly that I couldn’t name to species because it flew off before I could spot the markings on the underside of its wings.

Now those sightings seem like only memories and how could they have possibly occurred given that five inches of snow accumulated quickly yesterday.

But early this morning, the snow turned out to be a tracker’s delight, for fresh tracks showed details providing names for the creators who passed this way.

And so along our cowpath (where cows haven’t walked in years), I followed the Red Fox, wondering where it might lead me.

I knew I should have backtracked it so as not to put pressure on it, but knowing and doing are two different things.

If I had backtracked it, I might have discovered the source of its scat left in such a location beside a tree stump, that I thought it was a boundary marker the Fox had deposited.

And it may well have been, but I suspect there was other important information given off by the scat such as the fox’s gender, age, and health, for a few steps later it left a sign and scent of its availability in the form of skunky-smelling pee. I thought mating season had come to an end, but apparently I thought wrong and the fox knows best.

We stayed together for a bit, though there were a few downed trees I chose to walk over or around, rather than under like the fox did. When it reached the stonewall between our land and the neighbor’s field, I decided to turn around and head toward the vernal pool instead to perform my daily check.

The transformation from yesterday to today should not have amazed me–My Guy and I walked in sleet and then snow yesterday, but still . . . the vernal pool seemed like a whole other place–almost like December 25th rather than March 25th.

To the left of the pool I noticed tracks that I’ve seen frequently here and beside the cowpath and knew that the resident Porcupine had been out and back overnight. I love the sashay of its track pattern and will miss seeing that when the snow does finally melt.

I followed Porky’s track to a Hemlock and noted that it had climbed up and down. I know about where its den is because I followed its tracks a few weeks ago over a couple of stonewalls and then into the yard of a neighbor around the corner, but decided to not locate the actual spot cuze it might seem a bit odd that I was looking for such.

Can you imagine seeing this woman show up in your backyard because she wants to know where the Porcupine she displaced this winter is now denning?

On my way out today, I did grab the game camera because I fully expected to see the Red Fox on it. For some reason, it alluded the camera, but I did find a couple of Porky videos. The first was taken about a week ago and I encourage you to watch the ten-second demonstration of the mammal’s behavior.

Not only do Porcupines sashay, but they have other dance moves as well, and I only wish I’d seen these in snow, but if I ever do, I’ll have a better understanding of interpreting them.

This behavior is one of self-defense–as Porcupines don’t see or hear very well, but it must have sensed danger. The camera didn’t pick up on a predator, but those erect quills being flashed all around indicate something loomed in the night.

I’d love to call it a dance of joy, but know better. It was meant to be an intimidating dance. If a predator should get close, Porky could lash out with those 30,000 quills, which are easily detached and can become embedded in the skin of the attacker. Definitely not a dance of joy from the predator’s point of view.

A couple of days later, Porky was all business as he headed toward home, leading me to believe he felt no threat in that moment.

Here’s the thing. His den is the same den of the Porky by the vernal pool and I know he has sampled several trees poolside, as well as several trees cowpath-side, so I assume it is the same animal.

I left the pool behind and walked down the driveway of a local business and then slipped into a park where I again met Foxy Loxy on the move.

He wasn’t the only one moving, either. Do you see the tiny black mark by my tracking card?

Winter Stoneflies were having a heyday this morning. It always excites me to see them because their nymphs require healthy, clean water and so to live in a area where these tiny insects are abundant means we are among the fortunate.

How fortunate? Super! For my next great find was . . . drum roll, please . . . an Otter slide. My heart be still.

I’ve seen their slides in this very spot before, but it’s been quite a few years. Of course, I had to follow the path that they took, which was really a bushwhack, given that they crossed the path we humans have created.

This is the spot where the Otter came out of the brook and bounded up the hill. I assume it was one, but sometimes they travel in family units and follow the same route so what looks like one could be two. Foxes do the same.

Speaking of that, do you see a set of tracks coming in from the east to meet the Otter? Or at least sniff around and wonder where it went? Those belong to the Red Fox.

The same Red Fox who traveled through our woods? Possibly.

And this is the spot where the Otter slid back into the water.

Fortunately the Otter didn’t meet its fate by becoming a meal for the Red Fox. Yet.

I moved on from that spot, but it seemed no matter where I went the Red Fox had been there before me.

And always searching. Food is a strong motivator.

So is finding a mate. More urine and this time there were two foxes, so I wonder if he found a she.

And I’m wondering how many Gray Squirrels who frequent our bird feeders will become meals for kits. The squirrels are well fed; I can attest to that.

I felt like life couldn’t get much better, and then others made their presence known, like the Long-jawed Orb Weaver,

Winter Firefly,

and another robust spider.

As for those suddenly ubiquitous Stoneflies . . . I kept looking for one that had actually reached a tree and was at last successful.

Until it wasn’t, and I wanted to say (and actually did), “Hey Bub, you took a wrong turn. You’ll never find a mate if you don’t reach that tree trunk.”

Of course, there are many more trees in the forest and perhaps something didn’t seem quite right about this one.

Until it did. And the Stonefly started to climb up onto the bark.

Do you see it?

How about now? It’s definitely a Where’s Waldo moment.

Does the arrow help?

With his abdomen, he’ll create a drum beat only she can hear, and I left him to it in hopes that he was successful.

As I turned around, I met a young mother and her two-year old son out for a nature hike and so I introduced them to the Stoneflies. The tot was thrilled and he kept locating others. We chatted for a few minutes and then it was time to part and he turned to me, smiled, and said, “Goodbye,” and then blew me a kiss. His mother was as surprised as I was. I blew a kiss back to him.

There was so much out there to make my day today, and that kiss was the final seal.

It brought me back around to the Anglewing Butterfly. On Saturday I couldn’t tell My Guy if it was an Eastern Comma or a Question Mark, both species that as adults overwinter behind bark.

This is a Comma, where as the Question Mark would have this same line, plus an additional dot making it look like a QM.

My Guy’s comment, “For you, it doesn’t really matter. They are all Exclamation Points.”

YES! And today was full of Exclamation Points. I’m forever grateful.

P.S. As I headed home a couple of hours later, the temperature had risen and snow plops were falling from trees and the conditions for tracking had significantly deteriorated.

Bald Pate Mondate

~ lmachayes

Driveway and pathways cleared of snow? ✔️

Bird feeders filled? ✔️

Sandwiches packed? ✔️

Microspikes in truck? ✔️

And we were on our way over the hills and through the woods.

It’s actually a short journey to this trailhead, but by the time we arrived, it was already 11am and others had been there before us, thus making the trails easy to follow in the fluffy snow.

And even My Guy appreciated the beauty that surrounded us.

About an hour later, we reached lunch log and the view through the trees included Peabody Pond in Sebago.

It wasn’t long after that when we climbed up to the beginning of the open ledges at the summit and looked back toward Pismire Mountain in Raymond in the distance and a bonsai Pitch Pine in the forefront.

There are a few landscape photos one must take when on this mountain, Peabody Pond being one of them. Thanks to the volunteers and staff of Loon Echo Land Trust who cut down some trees to open up the scene.

Another must-take is Hancock Pond to the west, and we always wave to our friends Faith and Ben, even though we know they aren’t in residence at this time of year. But we trust that they wave back anyway, from their winter home.

Before we left the summit, I took a couple of seconds to admire the Pitch Pine needles because I wanted to honor some of the evergreens that grow here.

While White Pine has bundles of five needles, spelling M-A-I-N-E for our state tree, or W-H-I-T-E for it’s common name, I used to think that trees with three needles were Red Pines. They are not. Rather, these are the needles of the Pitch Pine: three strikes, you’re out!

Red Pines also grow on the summit and in other places along the trails, along with the ubiquitous Whites.

Red Pines, however, have bundles of two rather long and stiff needles that snap in half easily, rather than being short and flexible like those on White Pines.

Our journey continued to a false summit, where another view shot needed to be taken. Often, from this spot, Mount Washington is visible in the saddle of Pleasant Mountain’s ridgeline, but the red arrow is pointing to clouds that obscured the mighty one on this beautiful, crisp day.

My Guy asked me which way to go, and I told him to keep turning right at intersections. That is, until we reached the Trail End sign. He didn’t obey the sign, nor did he turn right here. Instead, we did a U-turn and headed toward the parking lot.

Along the way, however, I wanted to honor one more evergreen because I know several grow here, but don’t often get to see them at other places where we hike. These are the needles of Jack Pine; in short bundles of 2: Jack and Jill.

And right next to them I met another evergreen I can’t recall ever spotting before. Maybe I have, but today it was like meeting it for the first time: a Northern Cedar. What a fun find. And the topic for a future public hike formed in my mind: Meet the Evergreens.

About three hours later we arrived back at the kiosk, noting ours was the only truck in the parking lot. We’d met only one other person and his friendly dog, but by the prints left by other humans and dogs, we knew the trails had been well traveled today.

The orangy-red indicates our trails of choice. We’re rather predictable on this mountain, most often traveling this route.

At the end of the hike, I returned the hiking pole I’d borrowed, grateful to Loon Echo Land Trust and its kind volunteer who had created these, since when I went to grab my pole from the back seat, I realized I’d pulled it out the other day. Silly woman.

Hiking pole in truck? Not a ✔️

As soon as we arrived home, I put it back in so that next time I’m ready and someone else can use the poles at the kiosk.

Thank you once again to Loon Echo, not only for the pole, but for preserving this beautiful property in perpetuity and maintaining the trails and always thinking not only about the landscape and its importance, but all who travel here as well.

It was a perfect day for a Bald Pate Mondate.

Breaking Bread and Acorns

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Up, up, and away, we were this past long weekend, My Guy and I, and New York City was our landing spot. It’s good to get out of our own space occasionally and enter the greater world where we don’t know the place as well.

But, in doing so, we also like to return to spaces we do know a wee bit–there’s comfort in walking into a cathedral such as this where pathways lead wanderers away from city sounds and vistas and into the natural world.

And we discovered new pathways where the sights and sounds of the city co-mingled with nature, albeit upon a raised bed that replaced a now defunct highline rail system.

No matter where we went, there were moments for reflection . . .

of the season passing.

In a way, it was like reliving fall foliage all over again and made me yearn to follow it down the East coast, though that was only a passing yearn for this “four-season worshiper.”

Gardens still proclaimed autumnal colors from the flowering heads of hearty plants growing beside Hudson River, where the north wind did blow.

And a few plants, more protected by buildings on either side of the path, showed off their sunshiny faces, though the petals appeared to make a ragged effort. Still . . . they blossomed.

We had the great fortune to join our hostess for a Victorian Christmas Tour. In reflection, it was not at all what we expected. Somehow, our minds’ eyes had conjured up a vision of entering stately Victorian homes and admiring their Christmas decorations.

This was not that tour at all. This was even better for the tour guide, Rick, was a storyteller who transformed us back in time to help us understand our Christmas traditions long rooted in the past, including Washington Irving’s influence as he told tales of New York’s founding and a Dutch ship wreck and Saint Nicholas riding over the city in a wagon and encouraging the Dutch to settle the land.

As we walked through three neighborhoods with Rick, we learned that O’Henry coined The Gift of the Magi in Pete’s Tavern.

And more about the poor and boisterous Irish who raised havoc on porches such as this at #4 Grammercy Park West belonging to NY Mayor James Harper (founder of Harper and Brothers which we now know as Harper Collins).

While the house next door is a replica of #4, the gaslit lampposts in front of Mayor Harper’s residence were meant to warn the partymakers to not disturb his rest. Or were they actually to help him find his way home? Perhaps both.

One of our stops was outside Lillie’s Victorian Restaurant where Rick shared the story of stockings being filled and the ball ornaments serving as representations of the gold that might have gone into them. And I was immediately transformed into my own story of the Christmas traditions as I’ve recorded in The Secret Giver of Gifts.

For a second, I stepped inside, and would have loved more time to experience this space named for Lillie Langtry, a British actress and late 19th Century Socialite, but we needed to move on.

And so we did, our family, some of our hostess’s family, and their friends, finishing up on a street that was once part of the Moore Estate in Chelsea and Rick recited “Twas the Night Before Christmas,” breaking it down to give us the history behind each stanza and we all gave great thanks for his insights and knowledge.

I hope I haven’t ruined this tour for you and that you will think about signing up for there was so much more. Just be prepared. It lasted about three hours.

Christmas decorations abound throughout the city, including this display at Pier 57. I loved how the fiber and ornaments were so subtly represented and suspect there’s a story behind this artistic installation that I’ve yet to learn.

Nature also showed off its Christmas decor in the form of holly, Ilex cornuta or Chinese Holly, an introduced species. Um, I think we are all an introduced species.

And we spotted Christmas Ferns. Well, I spotted them and tried to explain to My Guy and our youngest that the leaflets are shaped like a Christmas stocking or even Santa in his sleigh, but they weren’t seeing that. I’m not sure they were really looking either.

But I was, and near the Christmas Ferns grew Maidenhair Ferns, like a star radiating off the wiry stem.

We also had the good fortune to meet another movie star, this one at the Museum of Moving Images. It would not have been my first choice of museums, but when your host works for an editing house, you embrace the choice and once we got going, it turned out to be a real treat as we could see behind the scenes of some old favorites including The Muppets.

Being in the city, sometimes we were like the House Sparrows, which didn’t know which way to go, despite what the sign indicated.

Other times it was easy to choose the right path.

And in doing so, we got to meet a small one who is probably low on most New Yorkers’ list of preferences, but which I was thrilled to see honored with a statue.

My Guy dubbed this Pigeon Square. Do you see why?

Thanks to our hostess, or I should say hostesses, we were guests in a small Prescott Park apartment with a view of the Empire State Building, which was lit first to honor Thanksgiving.

And then two nights later for Small Business Saturday, which we appreciated since we own a small business. Well, as I always say, My Guy owns it. I’m just married to it.

The iconic tower soon became our Mount Washington or Pleasant Mountain, for no matter where we were, if we spotted it, we had a sense of our place in this great city.

And I’m here to report that the lights on the Empire State Building eventually go off for the night. The same was true for many of the other skyline buildings.

Before I bring this post to an end, I want to share with you a few of our fellow travelers as we posed beside the Hudson.

These two–our NYC host and one of the hostesses, for whom we are most grateful. He being our youngest.

Our oldest and his gal who made the trip south as well and were able to stay for a couple of days.

And our main hostess posing with us. We give her great thanks for sharing her home and her apartment with us so that we might spend so much time with our family. And treating us to an incredible meal, as well as the Victorian Christmas tour.

We went down to break bread with this crowd on Thanksgiving. And there was lots of bread to break! And good humor shared.

I also loved that I was able to break bread at St. John’s Episcopal Church in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn on the first Sunday of Advent.

And before saying goodbye we broke bread one more time with this young man. We don’t know how he does it, living and working in NYC, oh, and driving. YIKES! But he does it all and he does it well.

Along the way of this five day journey, we discovered we weren’t the only ones breaking bread, though in this case the squirrel’s form of sustenance was acorns, which were plentiful.

Breaking Bread and Acorns in New York City. Not our every day cup of tea, but one which we relish when the opportunity arises.

November 11, 2024 Mondate

~ lmachayes

It’s Veterans Day 2024 and My Guy and I chose a trail less traveled in the National Forest, giving thanks to our families, friends, and strangers who have served our country. It’s because of them that we can hike along trails and old logging roads, and even bushwhack; two of the many freedoms they’ve given us are the freedom to move about our country and the freedom to not live in fear (well, most of the time).

And so today found us crossing the state line and beginning our journey beside Langdon Brook in Chatham, New Hampshire. Like everywhere we look these days, the water level was low–a result of the current drought.

What isn’t low is the number of Geometer Moths, and I believe this to be The Bruce Spanworm, aka Winter Moth, that is currently on the move, emerging from the duff in October and November. I didn’t look for females, who are flightless, but saw plenty of males on the wing.

Our trek found us following steep old logging roads for a good portion and as we looked for Bear Claw Trees, I spotted this, a hornet nest.

One Bald-faced queen started building this nest in the spring by chewing wood and mixing it with saliva to create a paper-like material. I love that you can see the multiple layers of horizontal combs, under what’s left of the papery outer envelope.

Just last week on a hike closer to the Atlantic Ocean we saw another football-shaped structure, that one being much more intact than today’s example.

Take a second to admire those layers of paper.

What to our ever wondering eyes did eventually appear, the first of several Bear Claw Trees, but I promise to not share all of them with you.

What I will share is this one, a first for us. We often see “elbow” trees in the woods, but never before have we spotted a “collar-bone” tree, so dubbed by My Guy. I think it’s a great description of the morphed shape of this Red Maple, probably caused by logging equipment rubbing against it years ago.

And because we were in a place where one would expect to see wildlife, or at least the signs of such, we found Moose tracks.

Where there are tracks, there is bound to be scat, though the tracks were much fresher than this pile. We actually expected to find both because we’ve traveled this way several times before and know it can be a highway.

As much as we both wanted to see the real deal today, I was glad we didn’t spot a Moose since it’s rutting season. That said, there were plenty of mature trees to hide behind had one approached us.

A few miles up and down, and a short trail new to us that was so much easier than the usual bushwhack approach we’ve taken in the past, and we arrived at our destination: Mountain Pond. With the Doubleheads in the background.

Doesn’t it have the cold November look?

It was breezy, but really, not as cold as it should have been and we both wore sweatshirts and anorak windbreakers and were quite comfortable.

Once we reached the pond, we decide to follow the loop trail that encircles it, and stopped at the lean-to for lunch–just far enough from the open water to be out of the wind.

And then it was time to continue on, dealing with rocks and roots most of the way. A bit technical in the footing department especially at the outlet brook, but not difficult.

Soon after crossing the brook, we entered fairy land. Even MG recognized it for what it was.

We didn’t see anyone at home, but trusted they were sleeping as is their habit during the day. Even the boulder condominium looked like it housed a few.

It’s places like this that inspired my children’s book, The Giant’s Shower.

If you are interested in a copy, or two, or three, please contact me by leaving a message in the comments of this blog because I’m not sure the thegiantsshower email mentioned at the end of that blog post is currently working.

But I digress.

On the far side of the pond, we spied the Baldfaces, which gave us a better sense of our place in the world at that moment.

After completing the loop, we found the short trail back to the logging roads and practically ran down hill, despite the signs indicating we should do otherwise.

Not far from the start of our journey, I spotted a classic representation of Red Fox scat. The tapered end and twist are what give it away. And its size.

I actually expected to find a range of scat samples along the way, but that was not the case. And the only critters we saw were two Red Squirrels who dashed for cover as we approached.

But we did have an unusual sighting . . .

On the way back, about 100 feet below where I’d parked the truck, I spotted something else–Goldenrod in bloom on November 11th.

For the last few years, my nephew and I have been sharing photos of plants blooming when they should not be and he’ll receive this one in a text message soon.

The other amazing thing about this bloom . . . the Bumblebee seeking nourishment upon it. At first I thought the bee was either sleeping or dead, but it moved.

It does need to watch out, however, because just below it an Ambush Bug was busy dealing with another Bruce Spanworm moth–one down, a million more Winter Moths to go.

But again, I couldn’t believe that the Ambush Bug was still active either. We had a hard frost a few days ago. How did all of this happen?

November 11, 2024, a day to remember all those who served our country and a day for My Guy and I to take advantage of our freedoms and make some discoveries worth wondering about on this Veterans Day Mondate.