Overgrown

Whitewater house needed a little attention after a month's neglect. About 15 gallons of maple samaras, mostly soggy and sprouted, clogging the gutters. The gutters here seem to require cleaning three times a year: late fall, early spring, and about now.

The sidewalk along the south side of the house was close to impassable without a machete—Vi's dogwood reaching in from the south and almost meeting the alpine current hedge sprawling away from the garage wall. 

All is lush. The three mighty oaks in the back yard were leafless when we left the first of May. Now the trees are heavily clothed in green. Of course, that means we will be raking huge piles of brown come October.

Busy Day

Whitewater, Oconomowoc (Katy's 4K graduation), Fox Point (for reasons that will be come clear later), lunch in Whitefish Bay, and back to Whitewater with Katy, Will, and Buddy. Lots of play time. Will is teaching me to wrestle, and Katy is teaching me the hula.

Wrapping Up The Month of May

And a fine month is was. Arriving Kagawong on May 2, with ice still in the bay. Arriving back in Whitewater on May 31 (for a week) in the midst of summer.  A month of quiet, considerable solitude, an excellent variety of weather, sometimes annoying but still enjoyable projects, and the beauty of spring unfolding on the Island.

What used to be the beach at Manistique. The wide expanse of sand is gone and water is digging back the vegetated shore.

We stopped in Oconomowod on our way by and caught dinner and some play time with Bri, Renee, and the girls. The girls remembered us, even Becca, who was a bit shy at first but soon plopped herself right into the thick of things.

BioBlitz

To me, a surprisingly large number of people at the Misery Bay BioBlitz—maybe sixty. Among these, I found myself on the lower end of the knowledge continuum as there were serious birders, DNR folk, members of the Manitoulin Nature Club, and numbers of retired biological professors. However, I am good at asking questions.

We were supposed to go out in groups to specific areas and then canvass the herps—reptiles and amphibians. I had previously been assigned to the wetland group, and after we walked the trail from the Misery Bay Center to the Bay itself, which is a good walk, we had to stop and switch footgear, in my case changing my nice waterproof Cabelas boots for brother John’s chest waders.

Once that was done, we marched off across the alvar and into the fen. And what a fen it was—vast expanses of wetland where water is trapped and unable to flow somewhere else. It’s very hummocky and uneven, sometimes inches deep, sometimes up to the knees (you never know), and almost always with a mucky bottom that does not want to let go of your foot. Falling over seemed a possibility with every step.

I marched for what seemed miles and had great fun looking at things,  but I’m quite sure I never saw a herp, and I’m quite sure no one else in my group did either.

By about half past noon I decided all I was capable of, ideally, was a return trip, especially since I was beginning to suspect that I was losing the skin on my shins. So I turned back. When back on solid land I shucked off the waders, snuggled gratefully into my old boots, found a dry patch of sand on the edge of the forest, and had lunch. I’m quite sure the other members of my group had to take their lunch standing up, because there was no place in that vast fen to sit down.

Scientifically, I would say the BioBlitz produced little original or useful data. Amongst all the other groups I questioned, I heard of, at most, half a dozen salamanders. Not a single Blanding’s turtle, which is rare and endangered and the primary object of our search. (Of course, it was a chilly, gray day, and Blanding’s, like most other folk, prefer climbing out of the muck only when it is sunny and warm.)

However, in talking to the birding experts I found the answer to the question that has been bothering for a month: what is the bird we always hear when walking the lane, that goes “teacher, teacher, teacher?”

It’s an Ovenbird, and there are lots of them around here, although being tiny and elusive, they are hard to see.

Conclusion? Mostly fun, mostly social, hardly scientific. And, also and emphatically, here on the shores of Mudge Bay we have as much, if not more, wildlife as Misery Bay, or anywhere else. And, here, waders are optional.

Heading toward the outer fen, which is beyond the line of trees.

Pitcher plant, with its mouth  open hoping to swallow an insect, since it can't get enough nutrient from the fen itself. 

And, finally, on almost dry land, Manitoulin Gold, or Lakeside Daisy. Found almost nowhere else but on the Manitoulin alvar.

Columbine Time

Columbines in flower, and also star flower, wild strawberry, and buttercups.

Bought 6 tomato seedlings from Ted of, Gypsy Family Farm, at the farmer's market in Gore Bay; and then planted them out in the Kagawong garden, where they will have to fend for themselves for the next week. Today was hot and humid, with a strong south wind, so it is hard to imagine frost as a threat, but we shall see.

A light shower before dinner-time, but thunder in the distance. Hearing that, Pax left his dinner untouched and went off hiding somewhere. A bit more rain would be good to settle in the tomato plants.

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Afternoon On a Hill

I will be the gladdest thing
   Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
   And pick not one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
   With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
   And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!

   —Edna St. Vincent Millay

Birds On The Wing, Ants In The Rocks

At the edge of Fraser Bay, along the road, the township has in the past dumped many boulders, excavated from other road projects, as an act of prudence, to protect the road from extremes of wind, wave, or high water. (Also a good place to get rid of the stuff.) These boulders were really just compressed clay, only partially through the process of becoming real boulders when they were excavated. And now they are disintegrating. Today, as I walked by, I tapped one with a stick. The surface crumbled and then a swarm of ants rushed out. Beautiful ants, with red foreparts and black abdomens. Rock of Gibraltar or House On The Rock?

Once again, a perfect day. 

The usual morning of painting and trimming. But the afternoon being so beautiful, outside was the only choice, and we chose beach work, which involved wading, splashing, rowing, and moving a few rocks, so it wasn’t really that much work at all.

Lots of bird action today. A pair of great crested fly catchers overcame their shyness and came down to the garden fence. These are beautiful birds—yellow breast, brown back, rusty tail, gray throat—along with a mohawk just like Pax. A while after they departed, a pair of eagles flew over, mobbed by a few small birds. I heard the “whugh, whugh, whugh” of big wings before I saw the birds overhead. (At least I think they were eagles.)

As we often do, Pax and I stopped at Fraser Beach on our way home from the dump. Since we visit regularly, we get to to know it quite well, and we are impressed that it is never the same. Today the east end was all  pebbles instead of sand, and the west end, which is usually the special round-rock place, was all sand. Heavy rain is eroding the berms pushed up by ice, and the surf, depending on size, direction and other factors, is always sifting and straining, creating a new shore-scape every day.
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In all the years I have spent standing or sitting on the banks of this river, I have learned this: the more knowledge I have, the greater becomes the mystery of what holds that knowledge together, this reticulated miracle called an ecosystem.

    —Barry Lopez

Wet and Wild

Three hours of heavy downpour last night, coming down on an already saturated forest—so lots of runoff.  Tyson’s creek, for example, a raging torrent. 

After a frustrating morning trying to trim out places that were not built plumb or square, and, suspecting there might be considerable flowing water to watch, we decided to take a break and walk the the Kagawong River trail to the Falls (which we had not done yet this year). What we saw was stupendous— surging power, twisting and shouldering its way from the roaring cataract to the bar at the mouth of the Bay.

After noon, an email from Wolf let me know that a Windrider 16 had come to town (part of Pat’s new business), and that there was a hope to have three boats out for an afternoon ride. Mike C. would be taking the 16 since he has an interest it buying one. Wolf and Pat would be in their yellow boat, and I’d be in white. 

We rigged up and headed out and were perhaps half a mile down the east shore when a front came though, dropping the temperature and blowing up a gale, from the west. I struggled to get the main reefed, finding the reefing line tangled (which, of course, I should have checked before setting out). It was blowing so hard I couldn’t get the boat to tack, so had to ware about, which, even when controlled, creates a monster gybe and sends you down-wind a good long way.

Poor Mike was out for his first time in a trimaran, and a boat that may not have been quite up to the conditions, even with an experienced skipper. We were all being forced down onto a lee shore, but both Pat and I, in the more capable 17s, were able to claw off. Mike finally got blown ashore (but with no harm or damage). He waved off an offer for a tow—which would have been a dicy operation given the windage of the big tri and the limited power of the 2.5 hp. motor.) But then he ended up having to walk the boat back to the marina, wading along the shore, and that may have taken him more than an hour—I couldn't stay to watch because it was long past Pax's suppertime.

Video courtesy of Sue.

Taste of Summer

Warm and humid. Genuine, bonafide growing weather—heat plus sun, plus moisture. (Trouble is, poison ivy goes likes this, too).

Morning work (for some of us) (others choosing to put in a full eight-hour day). And then a lively Windrider sail in a building southerly blow—feeling prudent to have the mainsail reefed.

This evening, as I write, tree frogs tuning up, suggesting it might be a noisy evening.

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Putting in the Seed

YOU come to fetch me from my work to-night
When supper's on the table, and we'll see
If I can leave off burying the white    
Soft petals fallen from the apple tree
(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,
Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;)
And go along with you ere you lose sight
Of what you came for and become like me,
Slave to a springtime passion for the earth.
How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed
On through the watching for that early birth
When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,
The sturdy seedling with arched body comes
Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.

            —Robert Frost

We Got Rain

Rain starting about 3 a.m. and continuing steadily, sometimes heavily, until about 6 p.m. Not like the flooding in Texas, but a lot of water, and once again the swales are full and the rivulets running. Accord to the radar, this was a huge band of precipitation moving all the way up the Great Lakes from Chicago to the Sault, and from Duluth to Toronto, so there may be some impact on the water levels.

I can say that, with the minor exception of Pax (who seems to be adjusting), we enjoyed it . There's a lot to be said for lying in bed, listening to rain on the roof—and thinking the best time to get up would be later. Our nice slow start lasted almost until nap time, after which not a whole lot got done.

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And, interestingly, as we approach the summer solstice it is instructive to notice the effect of latitude on time, specifically the benefits of being north. Here's the list: in Kagawong we have 15.17 hours of daylight as of today; in Whitewater the number is 14.57; and in Rockport the number is 13.42. So, in mathematical terms, we here on the shores of Lake Huron's North Channel have six tenths of an hour (or 36 minutes) more day than Whitewater, and one and three quarters hours more than Rockport. Time for everyone to get their arses up here. Eh?

Cakes and Ale

Homesite for some deserving creature, excavated by a pileated woodpecker.

The Susie Pea, painted today by Sue to a lovely, antifouling battleship gray. (Second coat coming.) This has proved to be a wonderfully capable and useful boat, even though taken (for free) from the burn pile at Roger's farm, south of Whitewater.

(apologies to W. Somerset Maugham for stealing his title)

After a short day of work, and a lively sail in the Windrider, we did lift a glass in honor of threescore and ten (not quite fourscore and seven, but where there’s life, there’s hope), and then, after lovely phone calls and video chats with the younger generations, a fine home-made carrot cake. 

Warm day, mixed with cold periods (such as when sailing), and with the promise of rain, although Pax has not yet started acting nervous, so maybe not The midges are out, and a walk along the beach is loud, like a walk among the weed-whackers. Black flies are tapering off, but only to be replaced by mosquitoes. And we are not looking forward to the deer-flies.

But now, time to unfold the TV from the wall, dial in Netflix, and watch the last episode of the dark murder mystery Broadchurch. (Even here in the north woods we like the occasional diversion.) And then on to looking forward to something similar to today for fourscore and seven.