Peaceful stillness in the North Woods bestows an autumn feast

Dancing rays of sunlight frolic in the autumn woods and
across the pond creating a peaceful beauty that is breathtaking when coupled
with the deep stillness of the north woods. Scarlet sunrises have become
commonplace, illuminating the sky with a fire that speaks to the coming glory of
each new day. Slowly the sunrise ebbs into a burst of golden rays set gently
across a back drop of blue sky, green ridges, and a calm clear pond, cliff
laden mountain framed in its surface.

The leaves have fallen from the trees, and on cold mornings
when walking up the driveway and onto the trails leading into the woods
footsteps crunch as they step down on the half frozen ground. Squirrels sound
like elephants as they rummage under the beech leaves for a nut or other seeds,
quickly rushing back to their hidden nest. Repetitive, back and forth, they
carry out their chore with such exuberance and passionate outcries when
disturbed that I do have a new found appreciation for their vigilance and
diligent work ethic.

This is my favorite time of year. The woods have become
quiet, two legged visitors have gradually diminished. Early bird hunters and
leaf peepers traversing up and down the roads have departed, leaving only a few
souls hardy and determined enough to seek the challenge of searching for that
large White-tail  deer hidden deep in the heart of the North Woods. The bucks here are wary, they are different, their patterns not as easily discernable as they may be in a small island of woods with houses and pastures nestled along its edge. As my grandfather used to say, if it weren’t for the rut, most would never shoot a buck. They are masters at disguise and they traverse up and down ridges, alongside swamps, and half way up the side of a ravine easily within a day. Most hunters are left panting and winded trying to trail them, if they do indeed possess the tracking skills to notice and differentiate  the subtleties between the moose, bear, and coyotes that frequent the area. Does and young fawns are easily found, stepping alongside edges, browsing, weaving between the concealment of tree trunks and firs. Despite the challenge, the gifts that are bestowed upon the hunters here are varied. One hunter remarked on watching a coyote in hot pursuit of its quarry. Another hunter recently saw four bobcat traveling
together, others have seen bear, following behind the crisp tracks and scuffles
in the snow. I find myself tormented by Ruffed Grouse, dancing in the leaves in
groups of five to ten, or sitting in the branches budding in the cool morning
air. So much so, that my feathered friends are beginning to make me seriously debate the wisdom of just silently slipping past. Antlers are found, some chewed and green with algae, others are more interesting finds, like the twisted horn of a
local moose, or one side of what most likely is a twelve-point white tail buck.
I find this is a time to explore, old woods roads criss-cross the working forest making this a delight to walk in most areas, especially as the raspberries and brambles seem to have lost their prickly touch. The more areas I go, the deeper I lose myself to the wonder, some areas look reminiscent of the deep woods I may find on the coast, others like the jaw dropping ravine framed with a crystal clear waterfall and large hemlocks make me wish I could spend every day so immersed in the exploration of this forest.

The bogs around the pond are literally bursting with cranberries, we have become connoisseurs, my littlest likes the crunchy ones, my oldest prefers the squishing ones, me I like them both. Some are large and plump and round, others are smaller and as delicate as a wild blueberry, and others still  are soft and pear shaped. Similar to wild strawberries the diversity seems reliant on the angle of the sun, the texture of the soil, and the amount of water that seeps through. We are enjoying finding and discovering them in the auburn colored bogs set beside the glittering blue water. The girls enjoy helping me make cranberry-pecan muffins, sour-cream cranberry coffee cake, cranberry-apple crisp, cranberry-apple pie, and the list goes on. We delight in nature’s bounty and use it to the fullest, relishing the rich goodness of a locally harvested food source to provide us with a little varietal twist to end the season.

Moose are roving, a week ago they had lined up the sides of the Spencer Bay road, bulls with cows in an explosion of activity. That seems to have dissipated, but they are still around, walking slowly on long legs between the tree trunks. The recent snow was short-lived but did allow for a couple days of tracking and snapping pictures of pointed firs, bushy pines, and white topped mountains and ridges draped in snow.

Sitting in the woods, the land comes alive as each minute creeps by. The soft stillness parts, and the chirps of chickadees, the buzz of siskins, and the catcalls and chatter of Blue Jays and Gorby birds sift down through the trees. Downy and hairy woodpeckers sail through the trees, landing and then hammering for a  tasty snack. Little mice scurry over and under the edge of the leaves, and cream colored moths rise up and float through the leaves, filling the bottom two feet of the woods with a feathery sight reminiscent of soft wide snowflakes falling gently to the ground. As I sit and listen and watch, I often wonder why I do not do this in the summer or spring.  I notice so much more in the fading sunlight of autumn.  The ebbing sun drops down over the hills highlighting one side gently into a rosy glow, trees trunks are touched with silver light,   and the opposite shore is painted in a straight line of shimmering gold, this is the feast our autumn harvest bestows.

Corals of the forest shrouded by morning mountain mists

Slowly the feathery cool vapors of the morning mist lift and
swirl around me as my kayak glides across the top of the mirror-like water. I
am conscious of how much noise each dip of my paddle seems to make as I slide
over the surface, the cool mountain air and scents of the pond surrounding
me.  The birds are quiet because on this morning autumn has begun to awaken and let us know it is soon to spring full force upon the denizens of Spencer Pond with all of  its frosty crispness. The smoke from the woodstove curls up and drops down in gentle puffs around the cabin as I move farther from shore. I pay close attention and quickly spot a mother goose with her almost grown goslings huddled deep in the marsh. She is alert and watching my every move as I maneuver to take pictures of her along with the arrowhead
and pickerel weed flowers blooming next to the marshy shore. Beyond me the
splash of a beaver tail is heard as I move further down the shore, and I hear a
“slurmppp” and look across the bog to see the outline of a moose retreating
into the woods, mist swirling between us. The beaver continues behind me
slapping the water as I move forward, I keep turning around, is it my
imagination or is the rascal following me, with the sole purpose of letting
everyone of his woodland and water friends know that there is an intruder
about. Slowly I glide into a small inlet and watch as another beaver swims
directly toward me, closer and closer. I know she is fully aware of my presence
yet she seems somewhat curious as I am stopped. Within about 50 feet she softly
slips below the surface, without even the slightest sound, I look around me and
wait for her return, where will she surface? Within a few moments she pops up
about 50 feet behind me, swimming under the water as she passed. I wonder if
she thinks all humans are so foolish that we wouldn’t have even noticed her
presence? And in truth she was so stealthy and silent, that if I had not been
watching her directly, I never would have been aware of her presence, my senses
of sight and hearing dulled over ages of evolutionary adaptation.

My ears are tickled with the early morning chips of swamp
sparrows, yellowthroats, and a lonely marsh wren as I slide past, and then as I
move closer to the brushy undergrowth I hear the Least Flycatcher, and far away
I tease out the sound of a Willow Flycatcher, carrying through the mists and
over the water directly to my ears. The steam is rising now and has mostly
cleared from the pond, but is still swirling out in little gasps from the marsh
laden shore. An old tree is revealed and I watch as a group of Kingbirds
jostles near the top. Overhead a gull flies over. My eyes squint as I strain to
see through the mist on the opposite shore – Great Blue Heron? Or old rotten
stick? I sit silently…aha movement, heron. I slowly lift my camera, but even
though I am silent and allowing my kayak to gently drift towards him, I have
exceeded the comfort threshold and he lifts his body gracefully on huge slate
gray wings lined with black. I watch and he moves a few hundred feet further
away and then drops down to resume his fishing alongside the shore. I move in
between the islands now, hugging the shore, hoping to steal up on some ducks, I
am rewarded with success. I watch as my friendly ring necked duck dabbles
across the water picking up little tidbits to eat, and then I spook a wood duck
and he rises off his little squeaks piercing the misty mountain air.

I am moving slow and am afraid have not made much progress
in the approximately 90 minutes that I have been on the water. I love to look
deeply into the shore and investigate to see anything new I might discover,
this morning I am rewarded with the purple hues of the fall asters dotting in
amongst the Labrador tea and rhodora of the shore. I see wispy cotton puffs of
grasses and Swamp Candles flecking the shore.

Occasionally I pass a water lily, and as I look towards the
mountains gigantic pink tinged puffy clouds laced with a purple wisp swirl
around Lily Bay and Baker mountains. Squaw looms in the distance rising up
dramatically from the south end of the pond, as I steer back towards camp, soon
my work day will begin. I am greeted with a treasure trove of ripe blueberries
along the shore, and happy sunflowers pointing towards me from the garden as I step out of the kayak and move towards the cozy warmth of the still quiet cabin and camp yard.

Last night I had a chance to wander into the woods, these
rains have brought brilliant displays of fungi to the forest floor.  Far from the deep blue sea,  I have discovered the corals of the north
woods, they bear a striking resemblance both structurally and in hue to the
corals found upon the ocean floor. I have also seen several waxy caps, puff
balls, and brilliant red mushrooms that I have yet to sit down in my field
guide and identify. I find myself laying on the moist floor, arching my neck
and checking the light trying to get the perfect shot, but at the same time
making a total mess of myself. Just off one trail lies Rattlesnake Plaintain an
extremely interesting woodland flower that I must confess I have never noticed
before, but now the height of summer is passed and most of my wildflowers are
gone. I reflect at the rich bounty each season brings, early spring, the
warbler migration in a leafless forest so they are easy to see, leaves then
unfolding and spring wildflowers sally forth, along with fiddleheads and other
tender greens, these give way to succulent berries and an assortment of
wildflowers that range throughout the summer, and now with fall comes the last
sprigs of woodland flowers, and fungi, and later as the leaves turn into a
rainbow of colors will come nuts and cones for the little woodland creatures to
discover. Such richness abounds, such beauty, and all in perfectly orchestrated
timing so that each resource can be used to its fullest potential by the
creature that needs it to make themselves prepared for the long winter days
ahead. Even me, full of introspective human candor, I sink my hands deeply towards these small treasures and store them into the pockets of my mind for the winter days when I am away from the natural joys of Spencer Pond.

Simple living amidst the wildflowers of summer

This has been my year to discover wildflowers I have
never noticed before. Delighted in my ability to reuse a box of old tin coffee
percolators as cabin-style vases, I have found great peace and relaxation in
walking up and down these old roads in search of different flowers. I had never
noticed the delicate purple vervain before. Lavender- like it stands on tall
spikes and puts the perfect purple touch in each bouquet. Joe Pye Weed is also
a new delight for me. For years I had heard my grandmother sing the praises of
Joe Pye Weed, and maybe I noticed it before, but I certainly never loved it
before as I do now. On stiff stems it rises, blooms clenched tight in a dark
magenta hue, then slowly opening to a feathery wisp of pink. Pearly
Everlastings line the roads, and might go missed by those whizzing by too busy
to stop to look at the delicate flowers, which are similar to strawflowers and
as one guest informed me dry perfectly to make wreaths and fall arrangements. I
am somewhat disappointed in the name of Fleabane, its purplish hue fading to
white over time, it seems like an aster, and I feel as if it should have a
better name, but it doesn’t. To my surprise there are still clumps of fireweed
to be found here and there and to my horror I have found one clump of the
dreaded Purple Loosestrife in a small stream. I am not pleased to see its
brilliant spikes of purple flowers, its tall stalks of brightly colored flowers
entice, it is long lasting in bouquets, but I feel as if I am handling toxic
waste when I deal with it. Can I have gotten a seed on my shoe, did one catch
in my shirt. I’m sure my fears are someone unfounded but at the same time, I loathe the plant so many admire. It chokes out ponds, streams, clogging the flow of water, and destroying native riparian habitat, one more example of how humans can so foolishly create havoc in their own ecosystem. The words of the Lorax come to mind when handling loosestrife “unless.” Unless someone cares enough toeradicate its presence, it will take over and destroy special places.

I have enjoyed finding clumps of Meadowsweet,  vetch, Daisies,  Hawkweed, Black Eyed Susan’s and, yarrow. These are flowers I normally would  associate
with the fields of my family’s farm. I have found the perfect places to find
Queen Anne Lace’s and St. Johnswort, and the first clumps of Blooming Asters. I
have marveled at the stately spires of Mullein and a few guests have found one
as the centerpiece of their bouquets’. As I go along gathering, I am learning
more than just wildflowers, I am taking note of the soil types and particular
slopes and areas these plants choose. Some like the fleabane are prolific and
can be found most anywhere, but others are much more particular about the
habitat in which they dwell. As I have walked down the roads, with the hot
sunshine of summer beating upon me, I have listened to the chirr of
grasshoppers and crickets, I have watched particular areas that the game seem
to be frequenting and made mental notes for autumn.

I have found some particularly lush spots ofraspberries that I have managed to beat the bear to, and I must confess, they delayed my flower expeditions as I had to stop to collect and devour these brightly hued summer treats. Taking myself back to my childhood, I make raspberry leaf sandwiches stuffed with juicy berries for my girls to eat.  I think back to when knowledge of such local
plants would have been extremely useful, and as I collect my summer time
bouquets I hope guests ask me about the flowers, and notice they are not from
the gardens, somewhat saddened that the best use I can give to this botanical
knowledge( in this world of commercial pharmacies and dulled attention to the
natural world) is to place the assortment in a bouquet and hope I spark some
interest. Even Dana has become caught up in my mid-summer flower enthusiasm, bringing home tales and pictures of the Pitcher Plant, a carnivorous herbaceous resident of the marshes of the edge of the pond! Intriqued with the wonders of the bogs, I have sent him forth on his next mission, to discover the small  sundew.

The camp has been alive with children and adults this
summer, kayaks have flecked Spencer pond in a rainbow of colors. We have seen
boys catch their first fish, girls whisper as they catch their first toad, we
have toasted marshmallows, told stories, sung songs, and made memories. From
puzzles to board games, to books and cooking, guests have kept themselves
entertained in the simple ways of the north woods. Nothing flashy, nothing to
fuss over, just simple “clean living” taking it one day at a time, slowly
enjoying the sun, the rain, the wind, and the ever changing hues of the
mountain and pond.

Soon it will be time for fall mushroom forays, and I am
relying on my uncle and his proficiency to guide me into stumbling upon the
treasures that await in these woods.

Our garden is full of cukes, tomatoes, beans, sugar snap
peas, peppers and lettuce. We will soon begin our second planting, hoping to
extend our season well into fall before the killing frosts come. My cosmos and
sunflowers have started to blossom, letting me know that autumn is quick on our
heels.  We have started to harvest our garlic, and next year I think we will need to redo the leek patch. Our soil this year has improved immensely after Dana hauled in multiple loads of cow manure, and we also tossed in some seaweed after each lobster feed, slow and steady, and in time we will have the rich dark nutrient rich earth free of weeds we so desire.

Often people ask us about our daily life and how we do
things. In addition to running all the camp office work, and cabin cleaning, I telecommute five or more days a week from the camps.  In our cabin only, we use solar and wind primarily to power two laptops, a phone, multiple chargers for various electronic devices (from phones to my daughters portable DVD players. )There are two cabins (ours and the Moose) that do not have well-water pumped into the cabin by the hand pumps so we lug our drinking water in a big blue cooler. I have a small portable mixer that we occasionally use when cooking, but most often I mix things by hand (unless I am beating egg whites or whipped cream.) We have a vacuum cleaner that we use occasionally when a glass breaks or I need to clean something intensively. Other than that we don’t use any modern electronics. We live much the way our guests do, with propane and oil lamps (we are currently in the process of converting all our oil lamps and potentially the tractor over to biodiesel). We boil our water to wash the dishes by hand,and we rarely watch a movie or dial up TV on the internet. In our free time wecontent ourselves to talk or read, or play a game of cribbage together.  In the summer we rely on our garden to supply 100% of our vegetables, and what the guests don’t eat, we can, pickle, or make into salsa or sauce. We do not miss much or feel deprived up here.  We also do not waste much, we recycle, reuse,
repurpose whatever we can.  Not only because it is environmentally wise, but more because it just makes sense to plan wisely and conservatively.  We plan
our trips into town /errands to coincide with Dana’s fishing schedule. I
personally have not left camp for close to three weeks and am very contented
with that thought. When I do go out, we buy in our groceries in bulk, and since
I loathe shopping I try to buy enough for two months at a time. If its 7pm at
night and we don’t have something we need we improvise, as the store is not 5
minutes away. It’s a new way of thinking, of living, but we enjoy it. We have a
Zodi shower with a small bilge pump which allows us to take hot showers, and
are currently working on hooking up a gravity fed on demand propane shower
system for our cabin. The girls take baths in a gigantic old tin washtub, we
heat water on the stove and fill it up until it reaches the proper temperature.
As I watch them run wild and free, chasing butterflies, eating blueberries,
twisting themselves dizzy on the swing, I don’t think they feel  deprived either. It is amazing how swiftly and easily our family has adapted to living with less material things, but more “life” so to speak. I am often asked about the girls school, and only our oldest is ready for kindergarten. We home school during the time we are here  which basically means we learn constantly each
day whenever my daughters show an interest in learning. We do plan to return to
our main stream school in the fall, using some of the curriculum as we can work
it in.  We will see how it goes. I believe every day they are learning here, from exposure to different cultures (we have a lot of European visitors) to just curiosity about the natural world, these lessons are building a character for them and a base of social knowledge far richer than anything our public schools can provide. I know I am learning from our guests, we have such amazing people come here and we really enjoy their company. For as many as I am able to give information to, there are at least that many if not more that teach me a variety of things about this pond they love and this area of the North Woods.

Summer Song of Spencer Pond

Hot summer days and cool nights are upon us. The sun shines down across the wooded landscape and in the sides of the roads the berries start to ripen, grouse can be found partaking, along with many bear, rabbits, and other larger four footed mammals as nature’s bounty rises suddenly in a crescendo of might.

Walking in the woods with young children, they are alive with a treasure trove of a secret and often bypassed world to be discovered. I think because they are closer to the earth physically, and their spirits are not dampened with worldly concerns, children are able to open a whole new door to natural discovery that as adults we often miss as we look up or through the trees for mightier fare. My girls see spiders I would have missed, webs hung perfectly between the branches of trees, salamanders, frogs, and a plethora of beetles. The beetles themselves are so interesting you could spend a lifetime of study and not really touch the
surface, some with iridescent neon skins, others with long fuzzy legs, and
others with antenna that stick out and sticky feet that tickle if you allow
them to run along your arms. Caterpillars are also equally interesting as are
the many butterflies and moths that spring forth across the summer skies.
Lightning bugs dot the landscape and flicker over the pond and across the lawn
in the July evening, while the whir of the mosquitoes can be heard. Dragonflies
and Bats swoop to catch their evening prey, as the first stars pick forth in an
unpolluted night sky. The crescent moon has been seen several times over the
last few weeks, peeking out in perfect form, one can almost imagine the man on
the moon, sitting in his curvy chair suspended in the sky.

This week has been a week of colors, images, and gentle
breezes. I have seen so many things to paint, from the flickering evening light
as it casts its glow on the opposite shore, to a bouquet of fushia peonies
perfuming the room,  cast against the backdrop of a handmade wooden cupboard. The wind gently blowing some tall amber brown grass with light set to one side admidst a field of green. The sight of an antique kerosene light, perched on a crocheted doily, with a lace curtain  hanging in front of a multi-paned window beside an old victrola has inspired my brush, alas the time to complete these masterpieces in my mind’s eye eludes me.

The camp has been busy, family, friends, guests have
stoked up the campfire, toasted s’mores, the smell of barbecue wafts through
the air on each sunny evening. Giggles and peals of laughter rise from the
children on the swing and delighted proclamations from the fisherman on the
docks.  The Maine Lodge has been host to several large families and the old cabin swings into life, hosting memories and idyllic summer days, and most importantly quality time well spent with the family. The kayaks have dotted the pond, as children and adults alike have jumped in and ventured across the pond. The other night my nephew was treated to an excursion to hallowed fishing grounds in the company of his great grandfather the voyage complete as they sallied forth in the legendary canoe “Big Red”(now green) that my grandmother once retrieved guests from the opposite shore with (long before roads encircled Spencer Pond.) I hear the trout were made fun of, and jokes abounded as they cast their fly rods into the cool clear waters of the pond for their quarry. My nephew has become a professional fisherman over the last few weeks, pulling not just trout, but record perch, and fall fish from the pond, and each evening he is rewarded with at least not one if not two, “Hornpout” more commonly known as Brown Bullhead.  I have learned how to cook almost every kind
of fish in this period, from frying, to baking different recipes have been
tried, but I am told my recipe for Baked SquareTails exceeds all.

My uncle has been here and between his knowledge and that of my grandmother who has been enjoying her days here, I am beginning to learn a little mushroom identification, most of my education has consisted of  “don’t
bother with anything that resembles a little brown mushroom” I have begun to
search for the start of the the elusive chanterelles, with tidbits of knowledge
that have been bestowed, although I am told my best “mushroom finds” will come when I least expect it and am not looking. This is an interesting pursuit and one I do not take lightly, and only take under the advisement of sage
professionals who have been doing this safely for years. But my thirst for
knowledge consumes me. I am told field trips will begin upon my uncle’s return
to the area in the late summer and fall. I plan to hold him to this. My
grandparents have generously gifted me with probably the most extensive natural reference library in the state, and I am proud to say that many old favorites have now returned to the shelves of the office. I now can find and lookup almost anything concerning the natural world of the North Maine Woods. From Native American medicines, to the fossils we stumble upon, the library awaits. I find myself almost hoping for a rainy day (I said ALMOST) so that I can peruse and absorb just a fraction of the knowledge that is stored there. I cannot wait to share this with guests, we have expanded the cabins libraries of field guides, but this master library stored in the office leaves no subject to
chance, all answers can be found within.

Guest have delighted in seeing several bears on their
evening excursions and the moose are now feeding along the shore, summer is
definitely here, and we are enjoying the peaceful joys it brings. From
bountiful salads of butter lettuce, spinach, and mesclun, to the small baby
radishes and carrots that are now peeking forth in the garden, our taste buds
rejoice with each forkful of flavorful produce. Soon the peas, beans, and
summer squash will blossom, inspiring summer stir frys and grilled veggie
kabobs. Even the  baby chicks are growing at a furious pace. Old mother hen is anxious to raise more, and we have a colorful variety of Ameraucanas, Silkies, Leghorns, and one lone Turkey- Julius who will supplement our older laying hens in a few months and produce an abundance of fresh and colorful eggs for the fall. Rainbow the rooster is quite proud of his flock and spends his days merrily chasing after the ladies, and seeking out ants, ticks, slugs and any other bugs that happen to frequent the lawns or cabin edges. Our guests spend evenings enjoying the antics of the chickens, and some are rewarded with the soft hopping of snowshoe hare who also frequent the lawn. We have been delighted this year to host  an array of talented musicians, whose lovely
melodies have wafted into the evening air, enriching our lives and those of our
children with memories of halcyon days when music was one source of commonality that bound people together socially in a joyful spirit of soul-connected sound. From the haunting lyrics of a fiddle, to the sprightly jigs of a harmonica, to the strum of the banjo, and peaceful melody of an acoustic guitar they have uplifted our hearts and those around us. This is the spirit we wish to keep alive at the pond, music freely played by experienced hands has and always will be welcomed here with heartfelt and loving arms. And just as we fade to sleep, the loons remind the human musicians and listeners  each and every night, that their song, and noother is truly the song of Spencer Pond.

Dana has begun dropping his lobster traps into the waters
of Blue Hill Bay, and his frequent trips to the coast have allowed several
parties of guests the opportunity to be treated to a lobster feed. We don’t do
this in a planned or methodical fashion, much like the bean-hole beans, fresh wild blueberry scones, and homemade ice cream churn, we find that when the moment is right, and opportunity presents itself, we are glad to share our heart and food with joyful companions.  Heeding no schedule may make it unpredictable for guest, but for us, it keeps it genuine, and prevents it from being a chore. We love these old camps, and what we do! My daughters have eaten so many wild strawberries recently their fingers and skin are stained bright pink, my fingernails alas are in need of a manicure as I whip through the
quarts hastily hulling, practicing my shortcake baking skills, until I am
certain they meet perfection. (It requires a LOT of practice.) Soon the wild
raspberries will be on and as one daughter gathers bouquets of daisies, my
other daughter and I will greedily fill quart baskets, in the hopes of making
jam. 19 jars of wild strawberry jam have already been made and shipped home to
share under the Christmas tree with treasured family and friends, and more will
find its way there as I love to make jam.

This is truly a simple life, one that makes you relax and
slow down, one that sheds off material possessions, and in the stark absence of
unneeded disturbances of freshly pressed modern contrivances makes one
equalized with nature. Worldly titles and resumes fall off at the door, what is
important here, is the character and integrity of the people who visit inside.  Spencer Pond is certainly not for everyone,and a few do discover that to be true for them.  By far the preponderance of what we have seen this summer, is the magic creeping in on a new generation of guests, guests that rediscovered a piece of history and a section of  their being that lay hidden inside. They have taken the time to enjoy the simple pleasures of a slowly cooked meal, kept warm on the woodstove,a book in the evening read by the flickering light of a kerosene lamp. They like us have discovered, they do not need a button to push the timer, or
microwave, or coffee maker. That brand new items freshly purchased from Big Box stores can never exceed the love that goes into an handmade quilt or the
delicate hemstitched dresser scarf. That they find more joy in returning to the
basics, to rediscovering old fashioned tools and methodology, to finding inner
strength they had forgotten existed as they challenged themselves to new
adventures.  That kindness and simple words sent forth to a stranger brings great joy and uplifts the soul and binds people together. This is the spirit and the magic that connects one to the old rustic wilderness cabins in the North Woods at Spencer Pond.

Leaping squaretails! A dusky paddle reveals rusty blackbirds, moose, and more

My paddle dips softly into the water, breaking the crystal clear reflection of mountains and cotton-puff clouds. I increase my pace,quickening the stroke, gliding gently out into the center of the flat calm pond, the mountain is before me, underneath me, beside me, my quickening strokes propel  me yet closer and through it in the mirrored water top reflection.

In front of me looms Lobster mountain.  I slowly drift and gaze into the swampy
shoreline, rhodora and Labrador tea lace the edge, some blossoms still faintly
visible in the fading sunlight.  I am escorted by a chorus of banjos struck in tune by the multitude of green frogs singing along the water’s edge. I am struck by how the papery feathered needles of the Tamaracks (Larchs and Hackmatacks to some) sit softly in the evening air, bringing the swamp to life. Red winged blackbirds perch and sing, but I am entranced by one unusual specimen, his song capturing my attention. Towards him I paddle, and to my delight he is not camera shy, unfortunately the kayak drifts into the edge and away from the best view, but I am able to capture one quick shot of this fine fellow making his display – he is a Rusty blackbird,and here is my prize and treasure for the day. Amidst the calls of Common Yellowthroats, Swamp Sparrows, Swainson’s Thrush, Snipe, and Loons,  I  am captivated for the moment by the squeaking call on one rather nondescript fellow, clad simply in black needing no other adornment. His tail fans out spreading and wide, and his shoulders puff sideways showing his might, he is a proud fellow,and though his sueaking call does not match the rich coc-ka-lee of the swarming Red-Wings, in my mind, no finer a black bird could one find. Heartened by this unexpected discovery, I slip onwards, maybe I will find a rail, or a heron. What new discoveries await me admidst the marshy shore?  As if on cue I hear the Marsh Wren start his
song, singly out boldly and piercing the night air as the sun truly begins to
fall. The peepers begin to sing, and I cruise the shoreline, ears listening,
eyes scanning. I catch a moose just slipping into the cover of the woods, the
movement flickering out of the corner of my eye, and no sound, except for one
quick sucking whoosh as one foot must have lifted from the mud. I am sold, this
is the place to be as the sun sets and the children lie sleeping in their beds.
I am now drifting mesmerized by water as the tiny criss cross ripples of water
begin to sparkle with the setting sun.  They seem to be carrying me sideways on a silent north woods conveyor belt, they are moving so fast, and yet when I check my bearings against the land I find I have not moved at all. “WHUMP, SPLASH” goes the thump of the beavers tail, jolting me upright into the kayak. I look sideways to see the crafty gal swim off silently towards the other shore. I giggle inside, thinking of how I truly jumped, and how entrancing the water was. I look up at the sky, the clouds just faintly tinged with a smudge of pink, with bluing edges and there appears the glimmer of the crescent moon. The stars have not yet arrived, and I will be on my way back to camp as the first one puts forth the first twinkle. The black flies start to swarm around my head, one flies into my eye, and I remember not to open my mouth unless they become an unintentional dessert.  I do not swat, I just paddle slowly, they aren’t biting, more of an annoyance than anything. Deep in my mind, I can’t help wishing I had brought my fishing pole instead of my camera, with flies this thick, I know the fishing is good. I am right, just as the thought begins to bounce inside my head, I watch the fish surface and jump into the pond. I contemplate raising my camera, but the light is low, and the chances of catching that perfect picture seem ominous at the moment, besides more movement seems to attract more flies, unless I am moving away, so I sit quietly and watch. There is my Great Blue Heron, perched on the opposite shore, standing so still and with such a crook, that at first I mistook him for another log. He is waiting patiently as am i. Finally the flies are too much and they drive me off. I look across the pond, gazing fondly at the faint blue reflection of Squaw mountain, looking off to Lily Bay and Baker to my left, the mountain –Kokadjoweemgwasebemsis slipping into the distance behind me. As I reach the camp yard  I again move slowly. The American
Bittern is in his place in the swamp, wood ducks have flown over my head, and I
have watched Golden eyes alighting on top of the water in a small cove. I hope
to catch another moose, or maybe a deer, but then again morning is best for
that. Reluctantly I paddle to shore, but the heady scent of the lilacs is there
to greet me, along with the perfume of the crabapples and the slight fragrance
of the Lily of the Valley in bloom as I drag the kayak along the shore and back
to its place. I stand quietly and survey the darkening camp yard, trees,
flowers, the freshly painted stained lodge, benches, and picnic tables. The
sparkling new window and the dark green roof. The camp yard is neat and tidy.
The Maine Lodge  stands out sharply and I am proud. Proud to be here, proud to become part of the history of this place, and proud to see it coming together with the teamwork of a family who loves it. I am proud  of my talented husband whose love for me and our combined vision  has actually managed to weld past, present, and future, into a melting pot of restorative work, that has brought these dear camps to life. It is wonderful to be here, captivated by the magic of the pond.

Spencer Pond June 6, 2011

Indigo buntings, frisky otters, swimming moose, against a white polka dot of spring blooms

The wild strawberries have covered the lawn with a polka dot carpet of white blooms. Soon the birds will be dropping down to sample the bite
sized delicacies.  The strawberries are not the only white flower to have blossomed, painted trillium, white trillium, gold thread, choke cherry, mountain ash, and others have already bloomed. Within a few weeks the woods have transformed, green appears now at all levels. It started gradually with the sprigs of Canada mayflower emerging, then the trillium. Fiddleheads have opened and created an ethereal primal forest floor. Now starflowers and hobblebush are in bloom. Beech leaves and moose maple have opened creating a soft whispering green canopy that is alive with wood warblers,  hawks, and other forest birds.

Today while walking the trails I was amazed to see beside me
a huge moose, walking parallel and somewhat unconcerned with my presence, my mouth gaped, and I stopped to watch as it silently slipped into deeper cover
probably not too far out of sight. Last night our guests were entertained with
hummingbirds, a rainbow, and the grand finale, a moose swimming across the pond directly in front of the camps. I am always surprised by how many surprisesthis place can produce, and it is almost beyond belief, but each new treasure that is revealed brings abundant joy and pure tranquility.  Moose sightings have also begun in north inlet and at various locations along the road and on the trails.

Tonight the pond is flat calm, etched in purpled pink hues
as the sun dips. My husband stands on the dock slowly fly fishing, the picture
perfect ending to another beautiful day.  The garden is planted and we anxiously await the first taste of our produce which we will share throughout the summer with our guests.  The chickens are laying eggs and we delight in their rich golden color so bright and cheery and different from the eggs you find in the store.

I am in love with the mountain. Each day it transforms into
some new visage. Tonight the light was reflecting off the cliffs casting a
golden glow against their faces which was matched in deep contrast with the
blue sky and green foliage that has colored in the gray bark on the trees at
the base of the mountain. We have watched the clouds swirl across the top and
down the sides, slow fingers whisking their way down almost to the base, like
icing on a sponge cake that has been freshly baked. Other times this week the
mountain has been a swirl in clouds, with a silent white band floating across
the middle as if standing sentry and gently caressing the sides of the peaceful
mountain. My favorite is watching the rainbow spring up from its base and
stretch across and upward into the sky ending in a pile of clouds and dropping
down again near Lily Bay and Baker mountains on the other side of the pond. The mountain stands silent sentry, a keeper of the north woods, immutable, unalterable, and permanent as it reaches towards the sky beckoning climbers to reach its moss laden summit.

The ruffed grouse have been out sporting full regalia. It is
hard not to walk in the woods and avoid their seemingly ceaseless drumming.
Despite my best attempts I have not yet captured one perched on a log and
displaying, but have caught glimpse as they spread out tail fanned as they
waded back into the woods and deeper cover.

We have otters, and in true anthropomorphic  fashion, we have named them, “Ollie” and “Whiskas” they have given us some shows gently rolling through the water, peeping up at us and blowing out of their furry whisker lined mouths. They have to be my favorite pond citizen. They are so unbelievably cute and quite comical with their antics, it is a delight each time we have the opportunity to see them. The eagles have also been fishing the pond and the streams, we have counted at least four, but suspect their maybe six all told across the pond. We delight in watching them glide through the sky, and hover over the pond as they drop in to snatch their prize from the depths of the pond.

Dana has turned into quite a birder. Tonight he ran towards
me, voice in a rather loud whisper “Christy, get your camera, quick.” Not
hesitating and sensing the urgency in his voice, I ran, expecting to see a
moose lumbering through the bottom of the campyard as often happens. But that was not to be, instead he had seen two hummingbirds locked in an inexplicable bond, or as Dana said “doing the wild thing” his eyes a twinkling with delight on his newest natural discovery. Earlier this week he was the first to spot the indigo bunting at our feeder. I  watched
for hours in anticipating, went out and scanned the trees and yet did not hear
or see it. The next day, our Indigo pair appeared, amidst a rainbow of finches,
purple and gold, we had our blue bunting gracing our feeder. The swallows have
begun nesting in our houses, and I look forward to see who else is raising
families in the bird houses lining the garden. Last year we watched a pair of
chickadees raise their young and were entertained for hours as we watched them
progress. The birds are too numerous to count, but one fellow birder has
amassed 14 species of warblers in his short stay here, from Blackburnians,
Magnolias, Tennessee, Pine, Parula, Yellow-rumped, and others. Of course I am
not sure which of those now count towards genus dendroica as the ornithological
society has recently thrown me another loop reclassifying my favorite grouping of birds. We have seen and heard black ducks, mergansers, teal, and several wood ducks on our voyages out onto the pond.

All in all, the last few weeks have been busy. The water has
been very high, the wind has been fierce, and we have had several drizzly days,
but still we have tulips sprouting throughout the camp yard, peepers blaring in
a rock star style concert, bellowing out so many decibels of sound one must
almost cover ones ears when standing in the swamp. The American Bittern and
Snipe are here, the meadow hen calling whonk-a-chug, wonk-a-chug in a nightly
chorus against the darkening sky. I have not yet seen a great blue heron but I suspect a glimpse is forthcoming, and I welcome with anticipation the new naturalwonders that mother earth will bring this season.

Rapidly greening floor in the North Maine Woods

Walking through the beech forest one sees the small pink buds on the trees extending out in their long oval shape rolls, preparing to unfold and raise a green canopy above the forest floor. It is so nice to be out in the fresh air, listening to the black-throated green warblers, ovenbirds, Swainson’s Thrush, and the occasional white-throated sparrow. Each bird that sings I make a mental inventory of, this is the time of year that the woods awakens, but spring comes slowly, especially after such a long winter, the earth is slow to warm, the muddy roads still emitting great big cracks where the frost escapes and those that travel into the sides with heavy vehicles learn all too quickly as they sink down that the middle is the safest place to be. The forest floor is an amazement, despite the fact that two weeks ago we were staring down three feet of snow at the end of our driveway, it has managed to come alive. Small clumps of stinking Benjamin (purple trillium to some) have erupted in bursts wherever the sunlight hits the floor, the green furls of the Canada Mayflower have begun popping out and gently carpeting the forest floor in a delicate hue that no manicured lawn could possible replicate in earthly beauty. To my surprise the painted trillium are growing fast as well, and in some spots one could see the star flower and gold thread begin to emerge. Still I search on in a quest for what I do not know exactly, and there I stumble upon a pile of white violets springing up from the brown carpet of leaves in such an exquisite fashion that I stop enraptured and take a photograph. My husband is of course irritated by my rambling distracted dilly-dallying, we are on a mission, shed hunting to be exact. It’s not often that we take a day to spend together and he wants me to focus on the task at hand. I can still hear my friends chuckling as I told them what my day entailed…”be careful they warned, those sheds can be sneaky” …one friend warns, “I hear you can smell them a mile away” but alas I am not searching for buildings or outhouses as is implied, we are searching for the dropped antlers of the moose. Late each year the majestic giant bull moose drop their antlers, and then they are re-grown anew in the spring. Paying close attention to the locations where the big bulls were spending time in the fall and throughout our early winter sojourns into camp, has proven fortuitous.  Dana has already found several sheds this season.  Pressure off, I am taking myself on an ambling nature walk, thinking that the discovery of a shed will be an added bonus. Despite his persistence I take time to “psshh-psssh” to the small wood warblers I hear above me, trying to entice them close enough to get that dreamed upon picture, the squeaky whine of the black and white warbler has me convinced I might just succeed but he is not coming any closer, then I hear a Parula, he would be a glorious specimen to capture on film, with his jeweled necklace adorning his golden bodice, but he  does not come down from the heights. Thinking again, I add “need big huge telephoto lens” to my mental wish list. I am rewarded by a downy woodpecker, he isn’t shy, for some reason I seem to have a knack for calling in woodpeckers. I have never known why, but soon I have a flock of them around me. My husband shakes his head, yet smiles, for he knows this is me, and this is what I love best, seeing what birds I can call in and walking slow and taking in the wonders of the woods. We stray uphill and I notice the teeth of the moose engraved into the trees, then I pass another and here they have pulled great strips of bark off to munch upon the young sapling. You can almost see the size of the teeth as they make their indentations into the wood. Looking down at my feet I see bear scat, fresh bear scat. It appears to be everywhere, you will see new piles in the road, and certainly it is abundant in the woods, we have seen a lot of black bears on the drive over the 14 miles of roads into camp this spring. Each time I am delighted. Never have I been lucky enough to see a bear in the woods, and I don’t suspect I will today, walking along calling birds in, calling out to Dana each new spring time discovery. But then I don’t intend to. As a child I can remember conquering my fear to walk into the woods around camp alone, amazingly I was never frightened by moose, I always delighted in seeing the huge animals amble through the woods, and would marvel at how quickly they could disappear without a sound. Often I would find they would hide their heads behind a fir tree with their big brown bodies sticking out – as if to say “I can’t see you so you can’t see me.”  But bears, I was always worried about seeing a bear. I must have quizzed my grandfather (a retired game warden who had tramped by foot over half of northern maine) on this subject multiple times. I wanted to know if he had ever seen a bear in the woods, when he said he had, I was not comforted. Then he told me “You will be very very lucky to ever see a bear in the woods. If you do see a bear it will be more scared of you then you are of it and it will run away.” He must have known I would grow up to be a dilly dallying nature lover calling in birds and scaring deer, bear, coyote, and other animals away for miles around. But he was right, even when still hunting in the fall, I still have not been lucky enough to see a bear in all my years of traipsing the woods. My mind wanders and I think back to  years past when at one time I was lucky enough to come face to face with an Eastern Coyote, stealthily moving on an old deer path, I went up a small rise and met his intense eyes in a deep gaze. My heart pounding, I was delighted, they were not the mangy mutts I had been brought up to believe, this one was glorious and I was overcome with admiration. Eventually our eyes unlocked and he moved off first traveling away to the side, it was one of those moments you never quite losein your mind’s eye. Over time  my affection for coyotes has waned, they are ruthless opportunists adjusting litter size and food habits based on the current environment.  But today no bears will be seen, today is a day for exploring the land, looking for sheds, my mind wanders back slowly to my task. I hear Dana call “I found it, I found the other one.” Sure enough  he emerges triumphant, a matched antler pair in his hands, I casually ask “where” and he says “Exactly where I told you to go.” “Hmmph” I think, but I say “That’s great.” But then the competitive spark is awakened and I think, I  can’t let this ocean boy outsmart me, this is my turf. But today is not my day, I cover lots of ground but still can not completely focus, the moss on the log fascinates me, I am looking at an old beech burl, a red bird skims in front of me high in the trees and I lose all concentration and wish I had brought my hefty “cheap” binoculars (as one ever so kind birder pointed out- yeah well I know they are cheap, but I rely on sound more than visual cues, add it to the mental wishlist – light binoculars that I won’t mind traipsing around the woods with.) Spring just has too many distractions. We stop at the bridge, check the suckers running in the brook, I marvel at how high the skunk cabbage and fiddleheads have gotten. Overhead there is an immature bald eagle fishing, at first my heart skips a beat, thinking it might be a golden, but it is not, and I am not dismayed, an eagle is an eagle, and even though they are more common now, I can still remember  the joy and how special it was that they were nesting on the pond years ago, and it hasn’t become any less special as their numbers have increased and they have continued on.

Back at the pond, Dana throws in a line, fresh brook trout are now on the docket, and they are hungry, so hungry we catch them from the edge of the shore at this time of year, a nice supper, the perfect supper you might say, corn meal dredged and pan fried brook trout and fresh fiddleheads fried in bacon grease and garlic. May not be completely healthy for the arteries, but spring only comes once a year, so I am not overly concerned. Purple finches are swarming the feeders this year, intertwined with goldfinches, siskins, redpolls, chickadees and nuthatches, they have become our regular customers. No raiding raccoons have emerged at this point to trash our feeders and we are thankful for that. The merlins have quieted down, I suspect peacefully sitting on their nest, and they have had no marauding eagles or foolish hawks to contend with and defend their territory. Even the loons are back calling sporadically throughout the day and night, I listen for the soulful cry, the deep dark howling call I love so much, and take it all in, as I watch the waves lap up against the shore, and scan the softwood  edging along the bottom of the mountain. Then my eyes trace upwards and I am amazed at how fast the hard woods on  the mountain have sprung to life, the mid-section of the mountain is now tinged with pink and hints of green as the trees begin to open. The raucous call of the jays escort me as I walk around the campyard filling up the hummingbird feeders that were emptied in less than a week. The song sparrow calls from the edge of the pond, and the peepers begin to call, along with ongoing trill of the winter wrens as dusk settles across us like a blanket ..the wind has died down, and yet there still is a gently breeze making its way softly and whispering so sweetly through the branches of the tall pines. I breath in deeply soaking it all in, capturing this moment, and holding it in my mind, for recollection at some distant point in the future when I am far from the beauty of Spencer Pond.

Spencer Pond Camps Scouting Give Back Program

Spencer Pond Camps Scouting Give-Back program

Each year Christine Howe and Dana Black, the operators of  Spencer Pond Camps donate a free two night stay to a organized children’s scouting group in exchange for completion of various North Woods sporting camp projects needed at the camps. In 2011 we are looking for an interested Girl Scout Troop who can come either the weekend of May 20-22^nd or can come for an early mid-week stay June 20-22^nd. This is designed to be a learning experience where children can work over their stay on their environmental/nature oriented badges and projects, while also leaving the camps improved and with a lasting memento of their visit. Last year we were pleased to host Maine Boy Scout Pack 83 from the Blue Hill Pennisula.This pack came for the weekend, bringing several young enthusiastic cub scouts who cleared several trails, built and put up wood duck boxes, and helped clean up the campyard. This troop even donated several lifejackets that they collected so the camps would have a full range of quality life jackets for children to wear in the future! They rounded out the weekend singing by the campfire (after a demonstration of camp fire safety), passing out their badges, and going home with many new found skills and memories that will last a lifetime.We enjoyed watching some boys catch their first fish, paddle a canoe, or even take a walk in the woods and learn their trees for the first time ever!

Details:

The scout troop should plan on either camping in tents or bringing sleeping bags and bunking in the cabins, those staying in cabins should strive to leave them in better shape than when they arrived.(linen service will not be provided). Scout leaders should plan for an appropriate number of chaperones and chaperones are expected to “give back” to the camps to assist the children in their activities as well. We can accommodate a maximum of 25 total participants.

Potential Projects that the camp has on the list for 2011(we would provide materials):

• Trail bridges
• Window boxes
• Painting/new outhouse animal seats
• Bird houses and wooden bird feeders
• Trail clearing
• Garden maintenance/planting

Camp wishlist:

• Youth oriented books
• Field guides

 

Proposals:

Spencer Pond Camps will accept proposals through April 29^th. Proposals should be emailed to spc@spencerpond.com and include the following information

Name of Scout leader who will be the contact:

Email/phone  of Scout leader:

Location of Scout Troop:

Detailed Agenda of plans for two night stay:

What would be your chaperone to children ratio?

Projects that you could help the camps with?

What badges/girl scout projects would you work on?

2011 Photo Contest

Hello everyone -

As of today we are launching the 2011 Photo Contest for Spencer Pond Camps. My father “Chip” Howe an award winning photographer inspired us to create last year’s contest. He managed the contest and enjoyed all the correspondence and entries he received from guests throughout the year. So we have decided to start a new tradition and keep the photo contest running year after year and dedicate it to his memory.

We are fortunate this year  – at the end of December, Dad and I sat down together and HE came up with most of the categories for 2011. He was pretty creative when it came to the new categories. All except the last category – Mother Nature’s Weather and Stars. This category I created and it is dedicated to my Dad who had a life long love of weather and who also spent many evenings with me at the camps discussing the constellations of the night sky. This year as I watch Orion move across the skyline from dusk to dawn, I will remember him and his impact forever – love to my Dad, and good luck to this year’s photo contest participants!

Here are the links to the full contest details

http://www.spencerpond.com/contest.htm

And while we are discussing happy memories-  I have included this song from youtube, which was played and sung by many happy children and a crazy Dad on many road trips back from camp!

Announcing the 2010 photo contest winner – Monique Cote for Sunrise Beaver – see the photos on Facebook