Wildflowers

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.

Bear to Beer: Rumford Whitecap on Memorial Day

~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

It had been a couple of years since we’d hiked Rumford Whitecap together. As we drove north we recalled summer, fall and winter adventures on the loop trail, but never spring. And so today, we rectified that.

The 761-acre Rumford Whitecap Mountain Preserve was purchased by the Mahoosuc Land Trust in 2007. Our preferred route is to hike up the Orange/Red Trail and descend via the Starr Trail denoted by yellow blazes.

As we ascended, we chatted about our relatives and friends who had and do serve in the Armed Forces, including grandparents, dads, uncles, my brother-in-law, cousins, friends, and classmates.

Memorial Day was always special in our home growing up as my hometown celebrated with a parade that sometimes featured my siblings, neighbors, and me. Before it became a Monday holiday, it was celebrated the day before my mom’s birthday, so we always noted that the parade was held in her honor. And furthermore, her younger brother died in WWII, so it was a celebration of his service and life. I noted today that I only have known him all these years through photographs of a handsome young man, and stories of his youthful adventures.

Because we were chatting and spending much of our time looking at the ground to avoid tripping on rocks or roots, the trail passed quickly under our feet. Suddenly, I realized we were in an area of mature American Beech trees and so I started to search the bark on our never ending quest of bear claw marks. Two seconds later and bingo–I spotted one tree with a couple and then together we found another with many scars made by the bear’s long, sharp claws.

Some were older than others, and it appeared that during the mast beechnut year we had two and three years ago, this tree had been climbed several times.

We felt instant satisfaction for our efforts and continued to look as we followed the trail to the summit. But . . . we never found another.

That was okay as there was much more to see including the fluttering petals of Serviceberry or Eastern Shadbush, a shrub that loves the understory. According to Dr. Michael L. Cline’s Shrubs of the Northern New England Forest, the names Serviceberry and Shadbush “refers to early flowering corresponding to the time that those departed in winter could be interred and when anadromous shad returned to major rivers in spring.”

The natural community changes several times on this mountain, like many, and eventually it thins into a bald with islands of lichens, Black Crowberry, Alpine Bilberry, Lowbush Blueberry, Leatherleaf, Sheep Laurel, and . . . Red Pines. The summit is host to one of the largest Red Pine communities in the state–some dwarfed by the wind that flows across the granite daily.

Others standing tall in their military stature.

The wind was welcome as we continued up the granite pegmatite, and then a deposit appeared before our eyes and we knew we were indeed in the right place for this Mondate–Black Bear scat. By its color and texture, it was obvious that Ursus americanus had dined on the organ meat of a hairy critter. Too much information, I’m sure, but consider the wildness of it all.

Given all the blueberry blossoms, we suspect Ursus will return. Be ye forewarned.

At the summit, it’s always fun to find a survey monument-–the bronze disks used by surveyors since 1879 for mapping purposes.

From there (lunch rock–why does PB&J always taste so good when one hikes?) we took in the view toward Black Mountain in the near beyond,

Rumford in the valley below,

and several ridges covered with wind turbines. I’m of two minds on this topic–the old wishy-washy self that I am. In Canada, wind turbines are located across the landscape and even as we hiked the Cape Mabou trails on Cape Breton Island a few years ago, we stood below one and listened to its airplane engine-like sound, but we didn’t hear it until we were quite close. I actually think they are quite beautiful as they turn–ballet of a sort.

At last it was time to get out of the chilly wind and begin our descent. If you look closely, you might spot Sunday River with a wee bit of snow still on the ski trails. But . . . you have to look closely (Faith–I’m talking to you!)

It was on the way down the bald peak that I noticed the pompoms of several Tamarack (Larch) trees–because we don’t meet on an every day basis, they always bring a smile to my face.

We slipped from the Orange/Red trail to the Starr and found Rhodora beginning to bloom–its magenta buds bursting with pride prior to its leaves.

Pollination was happening everywhere we turned, including by Hover Flies becoming familiar with Pin Cherries.

The trail down was sometimes wooded and other times granite. As I was about to step up onto one slab, a mottled design captured my attention. It would have been easy to overlook for so well did it blend in–even seeming to mimic green lichen. But . . . it was a moth that hugged the stone face.

Soon after I made a curious observation. Colonies of Painted Trillium greeted us several times, but always at a higher elevation. I know they grow low, for I’ve encountered them many times, but it had to be a soil consideration that I don’t yet understand that caused such behavior.

Those that we saw had not yet been pollinated for their petals were not translucent . . . a give-away trait.

Further down the trail, we began to meet patches of Stinking Ben, aka Red Trillium.

There were also selections of White Quartz to admire.

And tiny Bluets that edged the lower pathway. Red, White, and Blue.

Being a Bear to Beer, we honored the hike and the day with a few sips at Sunday River Brewing Company in Bethel before heading home.

But really, the sight that best represented the day was the Red Admiral–red, white, and blue all in one. And an admiral to boot.

Thank you to all who have sacrificed your lives for our country. I did spend much of the day thinking about the peace and freedom that my guy and I enjoy. And the fact that we were surrounded by a variety of colors other than those of the American flag, which made me think of how the American Flag represents so many no matter their color or creed. And wondering why we can’t all agree to get along. We don’t have to like each other, but why can’t we agree to disagree and leave it at that?

Bear to Beer possibilities: Rumford Whitecap on Memorial Day.

Peace be with you.