November 20: Re-reading Bernd Heinrich’s WINTER WORLD

Shivering I read

how tree frogs survive

being frozen all winter.

August 2: Thinking of Basho

One of the classic haiku poet Basho's most famous poems:

 

old pond--

frog jumps in

splashing sound

 

Here's my response, after spending the day at Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens admiring the water lilies (and many frogs) in the small ponds they've crafted there:

 

shallow garden pond--

enough lily pads

to hold up all the frogs

 

Posted with Blogsy

May 1: Frog pond

My husband and I are spending the weekend at the Schoodic Institute, part of Acadia National Park in Down East Maine. This afternoon before dinner we walked through spruce woods to a small pond filled with singing frogs. They quieted when we showed up but eventually started up again, enveloping us in a music so loud we could feel the sound vibrate in our jaw bones. Our ears hurt by the time we left. Overhead, a raven chortled, used to it all.

 

Old frog pond--

we wait long enough

for the chorus to resume.

Posted with Blogsy

April 19: Peepers

Even at one a.m.

we drive out of our way

to hear spring's first frogs.

Posted with Blogsy

June 27-29: Weekend at Claybrook Mountain Lodge

Visited the mountains of western Maine for a three-day birding weekend guided by my friend Derek of Freeport Wild Bird Supply, and based at Claybrook Mountain Lodge. The Lodge, in Highland Plantation, is owned by dear friends Greg and Pat Drummond, and Greg also helped guide us around the area.

We visited quaking bogs, beaver ponds, the shores of Flagstaff Lake, meadows full of wildflowers, and wooded trails throughout the area, often with the dramatic Bigelow Mountains looming in the background. In addition to the Lodge's rustic charm and comfort, Pat's excellent cooking, Greg's storytelling, and the beautiful natural setting on a perfect Maine summer weekend, the group enjoyed many excellent birding adventures.

Our first evening as we sat on the porch of the Lodge, we were serenaded by tree frogs and peepers. We walked down the road at dusk, and Derek tried calling in a Barred Owl. As it grew darker, more and more fireflies flashed in the fields.

Highlights: Swainson's Thrush and Veery singing into dusk, sapsucker couple tending nestlings at a nest hole, night sky teeming with stars.

Last sunlight lingers
up on the mountain ridge.
Tree frogs begin to sing.

While waiting for owls,
I catch fireflies.
Stars too blink on.

Firefly blinking
on my bedroom window sill--
perfect night light.

Saturday we visited several bogs, drove dirt roads, wandered bug- and warbler-filled woods trails to beaver ponds, and ate lunch at a private beach on Flagstaff Lake where I got in my first swim of summer. At dusk, we paused near several fields hoping to hear a Whip-poor-will.

Highlights: Bluebird family at the Lodge, Snowshoe Hares, bog flora, bitterns, whinnying snipe, a single Palm Warbler, White Admiral butterflies everywhere, a very aggressive baby Garter Snake, bird accidentally flushed from a ground nest while I was trying to photograph a patch of Twinflower, several dainty does, more sapsucker nest holes full of whining nestlings, Common Merganser carrying her chicks on her back across the lake, dozens of roadside moose and deer tracks, Hooded Merganser hen with chicks on a glassy pond at sunset, spectacular firefly light show, a single bat.

Patch of pitcher plants--
red-veined cups of rain
offered up to the morning.

Baby garter snake
strikes without hesitation
Greg's much larger hand.

Sorry, mother bird.
I didn't know those flowers
were hiding your nest.

Such a hot day
the underwear I swam in
dries under my clothes.

Instead of Whip-poor-wills--
baying hound dog,
campers' fireworks.

This morning, we visited several regenerating clear cuts in our quest for a Mourning Warbler and explored the ferny, wooded trails around the Lodge. Our birding adventure finished up with a visit to Gilman Pond and some nearby farm fields and wetlands in North New Portland, where we flushed a bittern and a family of snipes.

Highlights: Mourning Warbler at last (warbler species #19 for the trip), telephone pole chewed thin by bears, a sweep of Maine's frog species, vocal baby snipes!

Sun-warmed wild berries
picked along the trail--
sweetness with a little grit.

On the mountainside
patch of clear cut forest
a different shade of green.

Flushed bittern--
we watch it flap out of sight
slowly over the marsh.

May 23: Monhegan twilight

Woodcock's sky dance--
lighthouse beam sweeping over
the two of us, the bird.

Monhegan Island, view from the lighthouse

Monhegan Island Light

May 28: Treefrog

We returned home from Monhegan this afternoon to be taunted by our backyard birds. After looking for three days for a black-and-white warbler out on the island, the first bird we heard upon pulling into our driveway was a black-and-white warbler, singing loudly right there. Then, as I was checking out how the flowers had progressed since we left on Saturday (lilacs in bloom! columbine in bloom! rhodos starting to bloom!), I was strafed by a hummingbird. We saw zero hummingbirds on Monhegan, despite the island being loaded with both flowers and nectar feeders--so this was a nice welcome home.

One odd thing, however, was hearing the trill of a gray treefrog coming from somewhere up the street. There are no wetlands in our neighborhood, other than the river on the downhill side of the house. This solo frog was calling plaintively in the vicinity of our neighbor's garden. I've been hearing him off and on for the past couple of weeks, but was surprised he was still around in what seems to be a completely random spot and still making noise. Guess he'll keep at it till he gets lucky.

Good luck, little frog--
you're not near water or mates,
but your song's pretty.

August 7: Froggy Weather

Tonight's misty rain and fog brought out the frogs. As we drove the winding dirt road from my sister and brother-in-law's camp, we saw many tiny frogs, maybe an inch or two in size, hopping in front of the headlights. Clearly they'd been waiting for a wet evening to roam from their home pools and puddles and explore the world. My husband is particularly fond of frogs. At one point when we came upon a little frog that didn't want to move from the road in front of our car, he asked me to get out and shoo it off the road. It was so small that I couldn't even see it at first, but then in three hops it was back in the woods. We saw several more on the rest of the drive home, flashing in the headlights like pale superballs bouncing across the dark pavement. My husband drove carefully, trying to miss each one.

Summoned by the rain
frogs explore the wet, new world.
Be careful, drivers.

September 6: Bold Coast

The Bold Coast Trails in Cutler offer some of the most beautiful coastal hiking I've ever experienced, especially on a cool but sunny day like today. We hiked through several miles of mossy spruce forest over bog bridges and tree roots as kinglets flitted in the treetops overhead. The trail follows the ocean's edge for several miles, as well, featuring one vista after another of dramatic rocky bluffs with crashing surf below, lobster boats at work on a sparkling sea, gulls and eiders bobbing offshore, and on the far horizon, the hazy length of Grand Manan Island.

At one point we crossed a small stream draining into a pebbly cove, and in a little side pool amid the rocks, I spied a frog. Hardly what I was expecting for wildlife so close to the shore. The frog was bright green with black spots, a leopard frog. My husband tells me they like wet fields, and we had crossed one earlier, but this palm-sized amphibian still seemed a bit out of its element.

We hiked almost six miles, and were a bit surprised to see the parking lot full upon our return. Clearly we weren't the only ones to think that this quiet, wild place in the middle of nowhere was the place to be on this holiday.

Why here, leopard frog?
Were you too drawn by sea's thrum,
these water-worn stones?