“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”    – Albert Camus

On the morning of October 1st, at first light, I was scared out of a reasonably sound sleep by the sound of explosions in the woods.  Welcome, duck hunters.  Now go home.

Having already managed to pick up a nasty head cold, I spent a day home last week trying to sleep off the worst of it.  Late in the afternoon I took an hour in the healing sun, sitting on the edge of our lake, feeling more like myself than I have in six weeks.

Our lake continues to disappear, as the drought continues across much of Maine.  October’s forecast is not calling for anything close to enough rain to make up for the ten inch deficit we’ve been accumulating since April.  Usually the water is all the way up to the far left of the photo.

In late May this rock was submerged, and I was carefully navigating the lake bottom (with healthy feet) to catch children as they plunged into the water.

Certainly birds remain, but I haven’t been as attentive to them as I was during the spring and summer.  We no longer hear the juvenile osprey screaming at their parents for food all day.  Mostly we see turkeys – in open fields and front yards, on country roads and I-95.  Yesterday we had one in the backyard but it flew up into a tree when it heard me clomping across the kitchen floor for a better look.  For more on the fascinating world of turkeys see here:  https://www.nwtf.org/hunt/article/five-senses-wild-turkey and http://www.maine.gov/ifw/wildlife/species/birds/wildturkey.html.  (I use the word “fascinating” somewhat loosely.)

Geese have been flying over for several weeks now.  It makes me feel a little better about my own scattered process of getting through a day when I see them take a few tries to sort out their flying “V.”

I guess somebody has to be straggling behind, while half the pack is racing to get up front, and the leader can’t help but wonder, “What was I thinking trying to lead this pack of clowns?  I’m exhausted.  They won’t quit complaining.  What’s the point?”

But here’s the thing, and it’s a truth (my own!) that I come back to again and again.  We go on through days that seem mundane because we must.  Because someone is counting on us.  Because we are here for a reason.  And if we can’t see the reason then we owe it to ones we’ve loved and lost from this earth to find a reason and make our time here count.  Part of this truth, for me, means treating Mother Earth like the patient hostess that she is.  Pick up your trash.  Leave the place better than you found it.  Recycle.  Turn off lights when you leave the room.  Teach a kid why nature matters.  Go outside.  Play.  Walk, don’t drive.

This week I have my first Board meeting for our local lake association, and in November I hope to join the Board of the land trust in the neighboring county, where I now work, and therefore spend half my life (and also where I spent my college years). The land trust in my county is choked with (good) lawyers already – I hate being an extra sitting on the bench.  Maybe I can put some of my land use/real estate/zoning/conservation work to good use and help preserve more land for public outdoor recreation.

One of my favorite poets is Mary Oliver.  Tonight I leave you with her take on geese, and life:

WILD GEESE

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

 

Sadly, I haven’t walked the 400 feet across the lawn and through the woods to our swamp front for several weeks.  This may have been a calculated part of holding onto denial for as long as possible.  I’ve been scrambling into my swimsuit and chasing the sun around the backyard every chance I get (not many, with the new job) and I keep raving about the weather as if the Sun God will take pity on me and stay.  If the meteorologists are right (and they are so seldom accurate that many days I wish I were the weather girl), then fall weather is going to drop heavy into my lap this weekend.

I won’t miss the humidity: it broke me two months ago.  Since then I’ve been submitting (without bothering to complain – much) to sleeping on a mattress in the basement on the worst nights.  The basement arrangement is a long story that involves the stupidity of crank out windows, no proper AC, no cross ventilation, and an old lady dog who prefers the basement to all else.  But where was I…..

Right, summer is gone.  I know – the start of school is for most of us the psychological end of summer, and with good reason.  But I prefer to take my bitter pills in increments – similar to easing into frigid water instead of just jumping in and getting it over with.  So the start of school is the first nail in the coffin.  Changing leaves: second nail.  Autumnal equinox: third nail.  You get the idea.

According to the folks at National Geographic, the autumn equinox arrives at 10:21 a.m. ET on September 22, officially marking the beginning of fall in the Northern Hemisphere and the start of spring in the Southern Hemisphere.  The word “equinox” comes from Latin and means “equal night,” referring to the roughly 12-hour day and night that occurs only on the two equinox days of the year.  Check out this link for more:  http://news.nationalgeographic.com/2016/09/autumn-equinox-explained-start-fall-spring-sun-earth-science/

Autumn’s chill seems impossible today, when the temperature was 80.  After dinner my husband and I decided to walk down to look at the lake.   I had to look a little longer than usual, since it’s disappeared terribly far away from shore.  Those ruts in the picture above are marks left by the dock wheels.  This year will (hopefully) be remarkable for its drought conditions for many years to come.

I stayed down at the lake with my camera for a bit and took some pictures of groups of geese flying in and out.  Maybe this weekend I’ll jazz the pictures up a bit, but for the moment here they are.

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Born and raised in Maine, I grew up on a town that sits along the Kennebec River.  I’ve always wanted to take a boat down the river but the opportunity did not arise (or I did not aggressively seek it out) until this August.  Friends of our take their motorized boat down the river a few times each year.  A mere two days after our ocean-based Kennebec River Cruise, we joined our friends at the Gardiner boat launch and headed downriver to Richmond.

The weather was perfect for being out on a boat – blue skies, sun, and no wind to speak of.  I found our ride every bit as interesting as I always thought I would, watching men fish, seeing small marinas, noticing wildflowers and wildlife, riding under bridges, and shaking my head at the wealth on display in the form of overly large houses and sweeping, manicured lawns.

We were having such a grand time that we went beyond Richmond for perhaps another half hour (nautical miles would be a more useful measure – let’s say another four or five towns down).  We were well aware that the tide was going out.  In fact, we lingered in one area to marvel at the rush of water around the rocks and take pictures.  Heading back, we intentionally grounded the boat on the side of an island to have the sandwich lunch we’d packed.  We only see these friends a few times a year, and three of the four of us are big talkers, so we really got carried away with ourselves and FORGOT THE TIDE WAS GOING OUT.

By the time we realized our predicament, 900 pounds of boat were mired in clay.  The four of us could not budge the boat.  No way.  No how.  It was mid-afternoon and I did not relish the thought of being stranded until the tide turned, if only because I’d need to call in a huge favor to get help with my two dogs and I’d already used the favor for the day. (Plus, I’d already eaten my sandwich and I get hungry fast and furious and then all bets are off.)

It was a Saturday and there were plenty of other boats on the river, several of which had begun to slow down to stare.  I have no pride and no shame, so I busted out the damsel in distress moves – waving my arms and probably shouting (don’t quite remember).  Three boats pulled in and four men and one very strong woman added their muscle (and presumably sacrificed the well-being of their bare feet), to help heave and rock us to eventual freedom. It took about 45 minutes and I was afraid that some of our team members might have a heart attack, such was the exertion.  I’m smallish, so mostly I dug out the clay when it piled up after each roll and push, and I coordinated the team with the count of three and some general purpose cheering.  I tugged for all I was worth, but I’m not sure it was much. There was collateral damage to muscles and flesh.  Cut and bruised feet.  Flesh torn from palms and fingers (ever looked at a gymnasts hands once she’s gotten off the uneven bars?)  Very, very sore bodies for a few days.  But things could have turned out much, much worse and we are so grateful that strangers gave their time, their best health, their clean clothes and their pleasant attitudes to help us.  Surely they thought us fools – and we were.

I don’t blame our friends for what happened.  Why would I?  There were four adults present – eating and chatting while the tide went out and the boat got stuck.  Maybe next year we’ll try it again, but if we do we will remember that the river is tidal, and tides wait for no man.

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Friday the temperatures climbed above 90 degrees in much of central and western Maine – and surely elsewhere as well, but I didn’t take the time to verify. Today, the promised thunderstorms and rain came through.  A strong wind blew across the lake and turned our backyard into a snowstorm of leaves.  I’m told the lack of rain will negatively impact the fall foliage, but I’m still apologizing to my flowers and hydrangeas for this summer’s drought and refusing to acknowledge falling leaves.

So although tonight’s temperature is slated to dip to the mid-fifties, might we agree to think back momentarily to late August?  That is when my husband and I took a day trip to Boothbay Harbor and enjoyed a three hour tour of the Kennebec River with Cap’n Fish’s Boat Trips.  Here’s what the website description says about the tour:

This fabulous 44 mile trip offers a variety of the wide open sea and close-to shore cruising. Relive history dating back to colonial days along the Kennebec River. Then let your captain bring you up to date on the latest shipbuilding activity at bath Iron Works. Experience the thrill of passing through Hell Gates and don’t forget your camera to snap the seven lighthouses, seals and historic Fort Popham.

We snagged a seat on the open front of the boat (port – or left – side, actually) and promptly made friends with the retirees sitting next to us.  (Mostly we shared the boat with people twice our age.)   In the first 45 minutes of the trip the wind was considerable and so we ended up soaked by huge waves, which was really pretty funny, since the retiree-wife was wearing white pants and looked like she’d entered a naughty-contest.

Once we realized the waves had us beat, we moved into the covered seating area (staggered, actually, as I was wearing a knee-high removable walking cast and the boat was rolling and pitching).  At least one woman was green, although her eight year old daughter was sound asleep.  Another woman must have taken a strong pill, since she was flopped over sideways in the back of the boat, with her husband sitting nearby looking completely unconcerned.

For maybe 20 minutes we sat and recovered from our free-of-charge carnival ride.  I sipped some water, rung the water out of my hair, and then foolishly tried to use the head (um, toilet) at the back of the boat.  Because who doesn’t want to go pee in a tiny closet under those circumstances?  Once we neared Fort Popham we tripped our way past the lady getting another mixed drink and went back to our soaking wet seats.  We were cold in the shade, so we moved to the front of the boat with about half the other passengers.  In the game of life, don’t expect to get good pictures when you are on a boat with highly enthusiastic retirees with expensive cameras, especially if you are in a walking cast and they are not.

We went on this same river cruise ten or twelve years (and ten or fifteen pounds) ago and enjoyed it then too.  For this trip our captain was a relatively young guy who didn’t drive me insane with his commentary, unlike the gal who ran the microphone on the whale watch we went on in the summer of 2015.  In fact, I learned some rather interesting things about how sailors and captains navigated the same route two hundred years ago (carefully and without GPS, if you can believe it).

The weather was beautiful and the day was relaxing.  Before we boarded the boat we parked where we always parked, cruised the same stores we always cruise, and ate where we always eat (the pizza joint on the water).  Hey, once a year it’s okay to pay $6.50 for a mixed drink at 11:00 am, right?  We may have even wandered into a store that caters to high-end ladies by offering expensive jewelry and fine clothing, and I may have pretended to be high-end and bought a polished-clay necklace made in Kenya by a women’s co-operative.  Living the high life.  With gratitude.  (And a pizza stain on my t-shirt.)

Last week I started a new job, and the week before husband and I had a fantastic vacation (staycation) week.  We took a few day trips and I am very eager to tell you about our tours of the Kennebec River – one out of Boothbay Harbor (where we saw the boat pictured above) and one out of Gardiner with friends.  The trouble is the long weekend has gotten away from me, and with the work week ahead I’m rather certain I’m not going to find time to post much.  It will happen though – give it time.  My new job will keep me from posting as much as I’d like but I’m not giving up on this hobby of mine.

In the meantime, the owls are still outside hollering and the osprey juveniles are apparently never going to leave the nest.  We can no longer deny the earlier sunset or the cooler nights, and leaves are slowly turning.

This deer (yearling?) was hanging out in the same corner of our yard where I photographed the owl on the ground earlier this summer.

Went to Jamies (Jimmie) Pond Wildlife Management Area for a walk this morning. (See http://www.maine.gov/ifw/wildlife/land/department/region_b/jamiespond.htm FMI.)

Arrived around 9:00 (with husband and dogs, of course) and was surprised and delighted to find we had the place to ourselves.  (Hooray for mid-week walks!)  My good friend the beaver was not as thrilled by the turn of events, and for the ten minutes I spent taking photos and wandering the shoreline he was zigzagging more than he might have otherwise done.  At one point he disappeared with a fantastic splash.

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The beaver was headed toward this shoreline when I spotted him mid-pond.

The pond is not as green (not really green at all, actually), as my photos make it appear.

There is about an inch of water here, which gives you a sense of the water’s clarity.

As explained in an article in the June 21st issue of the Kennebec Journal  (Morning Sentinel), the state has been undertaking timber harvesting at Jamies Pond this summer. (See http://www.centralmaine.com/2016/06/21/state-wildlife-officials-to-host-meeting-on-jamies-pond-in-hallowell-next-week/ FMI.)

According to the article, the timber harvesting plan “includes removal of certain trees to allow other, younger trees to flourish, thus increasing foraging opportunities for deer, snowshoe hare and turkey, and deer wintering area work to increase browse and patch openings in aspen-dominated areas to provide habitat for both grouse and woodcock.”

Trees slated for removal are marked with orange.  We only heard heavy equipment toward the end of our walk (around 10:15) and we saw no signs of the work being done, but we stayed close to shore today rather than taking any of the more difficult trails at higher (and rockier) elevations.  We’ve explored all of the trails many times, in many seasons, and this is one of our favorite spots to visit.  (We’ve run into hunters there during the fall, which always makes me a little nervous.)

No bugs, no loose dogs, no twisted ankles.  All in all today’s walk was nearly perfect.  Now ain’t we living the dream?

 

 

Husband and I are sharing our second (final) week of summer vacation this week.  We will spend our time at home, since our two dogs are old enough so as to be entirely inflexible about camping adventures.  That’s okay – we live in a spot (pick one: the United States, Maine, a lake, the woods) where many people would be (and are) grateful to park their cars and campers and pillows for the summer, or a lifetime.

As you can see, our slice of weed-heaven is now so shallow as to require a paddling start through lush vegetation.

The engine fussed a bit, but eventually we zoomed away in high spirits.  (Actually we didn’t zoom until much later in the ride, but if I told you we puttered this story would be off to a snoozer of a start, wouldn’t it?)

I was excited to see two Double-crested cormorants on the  lake – the first time I have seen them here this summer.  They were sharing a scattering of rocks with a few seagulls.

We also noticed two eagles on the north end of the lake searching for a meal.

One landed within a moment of us noticing the pair, and the other circled so high into the sky that I eventually put down the camera and we moved on with our ride.

We boated to the end of the lake where a huge culvert crosses under Route 202 and connects our lake to Maranacook.  I wanted to see the beaver dam that is blocking the inflow.  I’m not sure why, but my Husband-Captain waited until we were as close to the culvert as we could safely come before explaining that the dam is on the other side of the road.  Oh.  But no matter.  I got to watch a great blue heron fishing near some pontederia cordata – pickerelweed.

One of the most exciting aspects of my photo hobby is finding the picture that I didn’t realize I took.  This morning I took a picture of a heron flying over as we motored out of our end of the lake; what I didn’t realize was that the moon was in the photo.

Had our lake association meeting on Saturday.  In addition to eating some rather fantastic pancakes, I had the opportunity to learn about:

1. The status of the invasive milfoil infestation on our lake (one new plant, one still out for testing because it is suspicious).

2. The several explanations for the lake’s record low water level, including excessive drought and evaporation, a beaver dam blocking an in-flow culvert from Maranacook Lake, minor leaks at the dam where the lake flows out into Jug Stream, and theft of water by enemy combatants (this last reason is meant to check how many of you are actually reading this post).

3.  The fact that the lake’s water clarity is better than it has been since the early 1990s (at least I think this is what the speaker said, but I was in the back of the room and I might have been distracted by pancake syrup dripping down my chin).

4.  Lots of other stuff that I’m not going to tell you because I’d rather show you pictures of a mallard, loon and killdeer, here:

 

I think that sums it up.

Juvenile barn swallows on the garage roof this evening.  (Credit to the lovely folks on the MAINE Birds – Facebook) for identification assistance.)

And our owls are back.  It’s been about five days since we last heard them; at dinner time their unmistakable screech started up 100 feet from my kitchen window.  I think they hunt here for a few days and then hang out somewhere else when the pickings get especially slim.  This particular owl sat in plain view for as long as I cared to take photos.  (I didn’t see the other owl but I could hear it.)   I spent about 20 minutes trying to capture interesting shots and then decided to move on so that the owl could stop worrying about what I was up to.  There’s something to be said for knowing when it’s time to leave.

Actually, I believe that these are osprey siblings taking a bite of the same piece of food.  I sat and listened and watched them for half an hour today and the bird on the right was clearly eating something, alone, while the bird on the left was making a lot of noise and fuss.  Eventually the bird on the left stopped with the noise making and got involved in eating, though that seemed to lead to more frustration, since he finally flew off to a nearby tree.  Shots below are a bit blurry.