2012 Photo Contest Winners!

Overall Best Photo and Grand Prize Winner – Olga Sobko “Majestic and Majesty”

(5 nights for up to two people at Spencer Pond Camps)

Top Photos in Each Category

Nature as Art :Anne Chapman – Loon Life the way it used to be – Cabin life and Campyard photos – Blair Cox – Writing in Camp Journal Out and About – Hiking, Fishing, Paddling, – Layne Kaler – “Gone Fishing” Experience Spencer Pond’s magic (light, connections with family, relaxation, be creative!) - Betty Williams – “Campyard Shore” Fish, feathers, fur, scales and tails – creatures of the North Woods -David Cavagnaro – Moose Eating

Top Photo Winner in Each of the Categories will receive $25 gift certificates to be used at Spencer Pond Camps

 

Vote for your favorite photo in the 2012 Spencer Pond Camps Photo Contest

Congratulations to our top five entrants! Now it is time for our loyal fans and followers to make the vote on their favorite photo for the 2012 Spencer Pond Camps photo contest. Winner will be announced by April 15th!

To view the top entrants photos- click on our Facebook Album link below!

https://www.facebook.com/#!/media/set/?set=a.10151105343665318.414159.181235065317&type=3

CAST YOUR VOTE BY CLICKING ONE OPTION BELOW!

Autumn in the Maine Woods: Marten, Moose and Caribou Moss

Swooshing through the woods green ferns are buried beneath piles of yellow beech leaves, the air is alive with the deep rich pungent freshness of autumn. The ruffed grouse have already retreated to the tops of the trees and can be found budding, which is somewhat perplexing this early in the season, because the evidence is also obvious they have been feeding on beech nuts. The fall migrants have arrived in droves, snow buntings can be found easily along the roads, Canada Jays escort some visitors down the driveway, Pine and Evening Grosbeaks along with Crossbills and Waxwings are visiting our feeders. Flocks of Pine Siskins and Gold and Purple finches also descend, the  siskin’s call twisting upwards into the air and filling the camp yard with sound. A northern Shrike arrived at the edge of the camp yard a week ago, luckily for the smaller birds he moved on or has been stealthy in his pursuit of prey as has not been glimpsed since. One of our guests traveling along a road that follows the shore of Northern Moosehead Lake reported Horned Larks in the road, not timid or shy, they remained long enough for a positive identification.

This is my favorite time of year in the North woods, perhaps because most two legged creatures have abandoned it, or maybe because the air is cooler and with the leaves gone you can see forever into the trunks of trees like a forested ocean in the woods. Either way, this is the season for donning the orange and setting off on hikes to see what can be spotted. The choice to bring camera or gun is often fraught with regret because undoubtedly whichever one is chosen the other one shall be needed. The small mobile phone  camera does not do the forest dwellers justice, so most sightings sans camera are etched forever within my mind’s eye. A few evenings ago while hunkered down to sit I heard a soft rustling in the leaves behind me, having experienced this countless times before and thinking perhaps a mouse was about I slowly adjusted my gaze. Peeping out through a pile of leaves was a pure white weasel, his curious and beady eyes perplexed at what this large stinky creature hunched down in a hummock of firs and twisted limbs could be. He ran in amongst the deep earth tunnels and popped up again by my side, then up a branch he went seeing if perhaps an aerial view would provide more clarity. Finally his curiosity subsided and he slipped softly away, tunneling through leaves  several yards below me.  As the sun began its descent, a shrill blood piercing shriek was heard just before the low call of the Barred Owls “who cooks for you, who cooks for you.”  On a purely assumptive basis, I guessed from the shriek the meal “cooked”  by the owl that evening was a snowshoe hare. The woods echoed with the drums and calls of Pileated Woodpeckers. I am not sure what their densities are here, but they are certainly abundant across the township.

Earlier in the day we had hiked to the summit of Eagle Mountain. Following a ravine and a young forest up onto the side of the saddle we emerged into an open cut. This was filled with raspberry thickets and provided perhaps one of the best views back towards Moosehead I have seen. As I plopped down on a pile of old wood chips the sun warmly danced across the ridge, my eyes felt sleepy, and between the warm sun and the fresh air, I was convinced it was the perfect opportunity for a nap (being the mother of two young children I think my last nap was at least five years ago ). My hiking partner full of enthusiasm and also wearing long johns did not share my delight in the warmth of the sun and insisted we retreat back into the forest.  I took a few deep breaths and pointed out the view: Kineo lay before me, to the right I could see Boundary Bald, Moose, and perhaps Burnt Jacket or Sally. So many mountains remaining to explore. Regretfully I got up from this refreshing view and followed an old skidder trail to the summit. A “happy flagger” had been there before us,  we soon picked up the trail of ribbons and saw some old flagging dispersed across competing paths before us. Being a fan of the compass and basic navigational sense we bypassed  the flagging and picked up an old game trail following a worn down path avoiding treading on the dense moss to the summit, the moss beside the trail was thick and the forest itself was a eerily beautiful sight of spruce- fir, lichen was everywhere. Coveted “Caribou” moss created a lacy blanket on top of the rich green carpeted floor. All around me there was a feast for the eyes, countless species of lichen were evident, British soldiers, finger lichens, all different varieties. Positive evidence that the health of this ecosystem is very much intact. I wished for a field guide and more time to leisurely peruse the species I was witnessing. I looked up across the rocky summit and for a moment was caught in a scene from the movie Bambi, where the glorious stag, king of the forest, stands on the mountain top. This surely was where Lightfoot lived, I wondered if the movie creators had been here, so magical and other worldly were my surroundings it was hard not to be caught up in the inspirational beauty of the moment. Redpolls flitted through the trees above me while a few Pine Grosbeaks could be heard calling from the rocks below. We moved onward following the edge of the  dramatically dropping sheer cliffs, pausing for a while to hang our legs over the side and listen to the water roar through a stream at the bottom of a ravine before gradually turning around. We placed another stone on the cairn that was placed on the northern side at the peak of the summit by old camp guest Dick Manson and retreated back down the side following yet another old trail, old stumps from wood cut decades ago lining its sides.

Earlier in the summer a young guest had spotted a pine marten climbing up a tree in front of the Maine Lodge  cabin. Unfortunately it was a spruce tree, so pictures were not obtained easily from this encounter. Much to my surprise we were traveling through the woods this past weekend when I spotted a marten at eye level scaling a tree. We watched with delight as he raced up a limb and then stuck his head (and teeth) out in his adorable stare. He apparently found my husband more threatening as he growled as he grew closer, but relaxed and curled up on the limb when left alone with me. Peeking over the side of the tree branch his fuzzy face softened and I felt  a surge of anthropomorphic feelings I counsel myself against.  With Dana’s repeat appearance he decided to come down the tree (Dana was making kissing noises that did not sound unlike the chatter of a red squirrel… I suggested he might want to be wary with this technique, to which my husband returned a “You are crazy this marten won’t hurt me stare”)  the marten plunged downward and retrieved a closer look and then maneuvered himself up into the limbs and up the trunk of another tree. With each lope up the tree a fearsome little growl shook his body.  We were blessed with probably 20 minutes of viewing time. That evening I recounted the tale to my grandfather, telling him I had advised Dana what a special occurrence that was. Gramp (a retired warden with years of foot travel in the woods) agreed, and I told Dana he wasn’t apt to see something like that again. Someone likes to prove me a fool, because the very next day while walking in a different section of woods, Dana had another marten run quickly in front of his path and scamper away across the forest floor. Three close marten sightings in less than two months, we feel pretty lucky here. Seeing the marten and weasel roaming free and wild in the woods leaves only one resident animal left for me to spot within the wilds of the north woods – the elusive Canadian Lynx. I think we are positioned well for this to occur, we had a group report /document with photos a midday sighting to us last year nearby, so I am hopeful some day with a little luck and a lot of miles the same luck will find me.

Across the township flocks of Boreal chickadees are easily found, they seem to always elude my camera so I have enlisted Dana in the task as well. He reports he had a flock of 20 near him this morning, but as soon as he could focus the little sprites would flit away. So this will be the challenge this fall.

It has been a warm autumn, a few evenings ago, black flies and mosquitoes were about, along with swooping bats preying on them. I am always hopeful if they emerge in the fall that the population will be reduced for spring. Another guest brought to my attention the “Purple Fairies” that float through the trees around camp at this time of year, my guess is that they are a type of fungus gnat, but their iridescent bodies with white flecks catch the sunlight perfectly completing an image of lacy little purple fairies floating through the air. The girls have been entranced with them after being shown how easily they can be caught and allowed to alight on ones hand. We have also spent some time encouraging the chickadees to fly into one’s hand by the office door to grab seed from young hands. This long time camp tradition makes me happy to see coming full circle with my young girls.

On the pond the loons are still calling and various waterfowl and migrating ducks are in abundance. We had a black bear visit the edge of the shore near camp a few weeks ago.  I am told by biologists it is an early hibernation year so I suspect that was the last sighting we will have. One of my biggest delights this time of year is seeing “moose families” we have noticed they are warier and seem a little jumpier than years past with mothers teaching the young to bolt at the sound of a vehicle. Still slipping up the edge of a clearing or beside a pond one can watch from a distance and enjoy the interaction. Bulls have yet to congregate in groups, but soon the icons of the north woods will be seen together in awe inspiring groups. I still believe the third week of October and into November is absolutely the best time of year to see these majestic giants in full regalia.

Inside the cabin the cooler weather has led to revival of fresh homemade donuts on Sunday mornings. The girls delight in mixing and rolling and cutting, and Dad has become an expert at navigating hot oil and frying. So far the favorite is the pumpkin-cranberry with berries fresh from the edge of Spencer Pond. However, my great grandmothers old recipes are getting a workout as molasses, yeast, buttermilk, and chocolate have also been made.  Bringing a piece of the history from my roots at the Shirley farmstead to Spencer is an incredible delight and a joy to share with our visitors and guests. Now if I could only find the perfect piece of old “barn” rope to redo the swing with, things would truly be connected. We have also found the simplistic joy of spending evenings by the fire playing chess or cribbage, relaxing in the company of friends and unwinding from the hectic work day. It’s these simple moments  that define the joy of the life we find here.

Wading white tails and Loon yodels

She was relentless in her endeavor, wings subtly outstretched, graceful lines of her neck arched, patiently waiting, ceaselessly, occasionally switching duties with her mate, the expectant pair. Few things in my life have been marked in my memory so much as that gentle July day when I rounded the corner and unexpectedly captured her on her nest. In the weeks that followed, I felt myself catching my breath each time a guest maneuvered out onto the pond near her domain. But my worry was for naught, for few were sharp enough to notice her abode, and for those few that did, they were equally respectful, joyfully enamored, and like me swept up in the magic and the mystery of Spencer Pond. Loon Magic. The haunting wail piercing the warm summer nights, yodels echoing off the cliffs of the mountain, this was their home, the place they had chosen to raise their young. No better decision had been made. On the nights of the full moon the expectant father would strike out directly in front of the camps, only a few feet from shore, and sing his ancient and distinctive call, echoing around , filling each cabin with sound, we would fall asleep to the melodic notes, sparking the memories of wilderness within, of solitude, of silence, of peace, of Spencer Pond. We waited over the ensuing weeks with bated breath, we had heard reports that there were two eggs, each day we wondered any babies? As rain threatened or we heard a distinctive or agitated tremolo our hearts would waiver, and we would wonder, shouldn’t they have hatched by now? And then sometime in the first week of August between a Sunday night and Tuesday the first reports came in, Mama had been seen toting two fluffy chicks along her back. Adorable little mascots, they instantly captured our hearts and minds. Shortly thereafter the news came in, only one chick was to be seen. Our minds puzzled over the possibilities, eagle? Turtle? In my mind I have settled upon eagle. Their nest is within close proximity of the nursery. So far this little one has survived and we are like proud grandparents overjoyed and anxiously awaiting future reports and remarks on the little one’s progress.

Herons have also been serenading the camp yard this summer in the late evening. We hear the harsh croak of Great Blue’s flying back to the rookery, and it is not uncommon to hear the wail of the loon in answer. Great Horned owls have also been reported this summer, their calls igniting the still summer air, piercing the silence of rustling pine boughs and waves gently lapping against the shore.

Most amusingly we have had a nest of Blue Jays outside our window. I have wondered if the parents actually raised this flock of defiant and precocious chicks or if some poor robin or large finch was suckered into feeding this batch of rambunctious little demons. They enjoy raiding our feeder, and the chickens love it when they visit, soaring down from the tree with raucous calls, eating birdseed like peasants at a medieval banquet. All the chickens have to do is wait and a smorgasbord of black oil seed drops into their path. Symbiotic, perhaps, the relationship seems to work, and it does provide entertainment.

Each passing year something new is revealed for us at Spencer Pond. Sights that will only be captured once in a lifetime appear. So it was when I walked quietly along the trail with two little girls, peeping at emerging fungi, searching for spotted slugs, analyzing bark and trees, hopping streamside to catch frogs. The girls were full of life, giggling, racing, and spotting treasure after treasure. Suddenly the air was pierced with a loud sneeze-like sound. The girls rapidly stopped eyes wide, they wondered and peered round, again it was heard and then the oldest spotted the movement, a white tail, the legs visible as two deer bounded away through tall grass. Hearts pounding they walked silently on, their mother slowly smiling in her pursuit. They drew up near the edge of the water, just in time to witness the pair wading across the water, fording the pond. A sight of ancient beauty, of remoteness, conveying an image that the goddess Diana herself would be proud of, two young girls stopped, transfixed, breathlessly watching, as their mom wordlessly snapped photos capturing the moment for the world to see.

The Merlins like to remind us on occasion that they have not departed, the drama that ensues as they hunt mercilessly across the campyard is the height of entertainment to those of us who are lucky enough to watch. Songbirds are plucked mid-air while the screeching crescendo of the calls is heard as they fly over defending their territory. Summer is passing, days spent idle, soaking up the warm solar rays, and cooling off in the pond are quickly departing. The Moose still frequent the edges of the pond and feed throughout, sticking their heads underwater and emerging with vegetation hanging out of their mouths. Often this summer while providing a tour of the camp yard, or welcoming new guests and orienting them on the pond, moose could be seen browsing along the opposite shore. Soon the cool winds of fall will be blowing in their introductions, the welcome smell of wood smoke will waft on the cool evening air, and yet the days will remain warm and blissful, allowing plenty of time for hiking and new adventures.

Ragged Robin lined roads lead to moose versus squaretail and bouquets of luck

Daisies and lupine line the roadsides and a new flower “Ragged Robin” has also emerged this spring admidst the growing grasses and ripening berries.  It may have been present last year, but caught up in the drifts of vervain, Joe Pye Weed, and Pearly everlasting; I missed its brief yet colorful appearance. The wild turkeys have made their way to the northernmost part of the township and bears and baby ruffed grouse are among the contestants in a race to eat the sweet red  wild strawberries growing alongside the edge of the roads. I confess to also being an entrant, scrambling up and down the greening ditches to find the ripest berries, bucket in hand, hoping for enough to place on a piping hot shortcake laden with cream.

Ladyslippers have almost gone by in the sunny spots, a few still emerge from the deepest locales of shade. The early spring feathers of leaves have expanded converting  the forest into a dense canopy shrouded in a myriad of greens. The wind blows and sends ripples through the billowing limbs and it is almost as if one were out on the middle of the ocean, we are surrounded by a sea of greens of every hue.

Hatches of flies have kept our guests busy this spring, on our pond and others. My favorite fishing tale is from the gentleman who was here visiting us just recently, who decided to try his hand fly fishing one of the more remote ponds. With fly rod in hand he became entranced as a moose strode up beside him, on one side an enormous creature waded peacefully by, on the other side his arm tugged, and the spell was broken as his brother  cajoled to him – “fish fish!!!”  I do believe the fellow almost lost the squaretail tugging at his line, caught in the moment of being that close to one of greatest of the forest denizens, his attention diverted. It is a story that I have enjoyed immensely and plan to share with many others who enjoy such tales over the coming summer days.

Speaking of tales, we were pleased to host Steve Pinkham, author of “Old Tales of the Maine Woods” on a fine summer night, as he shared some of the stories he has assembled into his latest book around our campfire. Victorian drama and culture at its finest, the stories are from another era, a time when TV’s. Iphones, and portable laptops were not readily available. Entertainment was created through words, stories, and the greatest exaggerations of all. Living at camp, without many of the modern inconveniences, these are stories to which I can relate. Some may be flowery and more dramatic than what I would find in a more modern book, yet I find each story compelling and a fine read when heard aloud near a crackling fire, with much voice inflexion, and passion in carrying the tale forward to the audience.

We were lucky enough to have a group of birders visit us recently. They of course compiled a quite a list of species in their short visit: Scarlet Tanager, Yellow Bellied Sapsucker, Ovenbird, Hairy Woodpecker, Flicker, Merlins, Goldfinch, Purple Finch, a pair of Ring Necked Ducks, Mergansers, Downy Woodpeckers, Nuthatches, Alder Flycatcher, Solitary and Red-eyed Vireos, Swainsons and Hermit Thrush,Catbird, a variety of Warblers: Parula, Nashville, Black Throated Green, Pine, Chestnut Sided, Redstart, Magnolia, Myrtle, Black and White, Blackburnian, and Yellow. I know their list is much more extensive than my memory, but those were a few, and some of the more common sightings we have each year. Our pair of resident Canada Jays have found a new nesting place this year, and I am diligently on the prowl to find their locale, so far they have eluded me. However the eagles have not, as they have kept us quite occupied with the binoculars as we scan the opposite shore. One of the joys this group left, was pinpointing the exact locale of our nesting and now raucous Flicker fledglings. They squeak incessantly as food draws near, and the birch tree has become quite a lively place and visiting children have stood in wide eyed wonder as they watched the babies peep out of the tree to await the arrival of their mother.

We have also discovered our lawn is polka dotted with four leaf clovers, for those that do not know, Dana has a talent for finding these four pronged shamrocks of sorts. Recently, he showed a young lady one of his hot spots, (him thinking smugly to himself that would allow her to find one to take home) l think he was quite amazed to discover someone else who really had superior talent in her lucky spotting skills.  I believe she left our yard holding a bouquet of close to 15 four leaf clovers, she was finding them in places where Dana could see none. She explained her secret of success to us quite simply “The more you find, the luckier you get, so you get to find more.”

Our guests have enjoyed the early summer heat, basking in the sun spread out on the Adirondack chairs, swimming in the waters of the pond, hiking, or sleeping in the shade of a screened in porch with a gentle breeze cooling them down. The weather this week has turned slightly less friendly, but for us it is a chance to toast our bones beside the wood fire, take a break from watering the garden, read some neglected books, finish crocheting, write and generally tend to inside chores that often get neglected in the summer sun. Our guests have enjoyed this weather with rousing games of cribbage, tic tac toe, and yahtzee, some have used the opportunity to go hiking in the cooler air, or have taken the time to explore the township for wildlife which can be found throughout the day on  the miles of roads. Yesterday, albeit a gray sky  and sporadic rain, children went swimming,  we had three guests summit the mountain, and another  group of guests saw four bear: one adult and three cubs, their fuzzy and black fur eliciting glee from grownups and children alike. Showing that a trip “upta camp” is indeed what you make it, together or alone, active or sedentary, joy can be found.  Others have relished uninterrupted bouts of marathon reading, long talks, and generally remembering what it is like to spend quiet time with one another, parents have focused on their children, completely undistracted and without the stress of being pulled in a variety of directions. To me such mundane simplicity captures the essence of the slices of time and the moments of your life well lived in these rustic old cabins along the shore of Spencer Pond.

Spring is coming to Upside Down Kettle Mountain

The days are getting longer. The sun is shining, the birds are flying north, and the snow is rapidly melting away.  Soon the cabin doors to the camps will be open for the season, fiddleheads will be sprouting, and fishermen will be adding some fine squaretails to the bottom of their creels. In the meantime, while we wait for those last few weeks of Spring to whistle past, guests hungry for a taste of Spencer Pond Magic can get their craving satisfied with a book written by a dear friend and camp guest – John Long. It is called “Upside Down Kettle Mountain – Kokadjoweemgwasebemsis” and for all those who have wondered about the big iron kettle sitting outside the front door, the mystery is solved inside the cover of the first page. Enjoy!

Upside Down Kettle Mountain: Kokadjoweemgwasebemsis By John Long, written about the North Maine Woods and Spencer Pond Camps

The book can be purchased directly from the author on Lulu.com by clicking on one of the links below:

Black&White http://www.lulu.com/shop/john-long/upside-down-kettle-mountain/paperback/product-20000348.html

Color http://www.lulu.com/shop/john-long/upside-down-kettle-mountain-color/paperback/product-20017148.html

eBook http://www.lulu.com/shop/john-long/upside-down-kettle-mountain/ebook/product-20017203.html

Winner Announced in the 2011 Spencer Pond Camps Photo Contest

We are excited to announce this year’s 2011 Photo Contest Winner.

Woman fishing, sleeping dog – Kenny Browning

All the 2011 photo contest entries can be viewed online on our Facebook page

This photo contest was created by the late Chip Howe, Christine’s father and is continued in his memory. We have enjoyed seeing the camps through the lens of our guests eyes over the last two years – we are lucky to have so many talented photographers and special people who visit the camps each year. The Grand Prize – one week for 2 at Spencer Pond Camps in 2012.

Thank you to our talented judges – many professional photographers themselves who helped us narrow down the field of entries.

Jade McGuire- Chip’s grandaughter and a talented photographer herself

Rebecca Lebel – Chip’s daughter, who has an observant and photographic eye

John Major- previous UM Grad Student who lives at the camps, long time guest, and Howe Family friend

Elizabeth Ashe Snow – Christine’s mother who grew up in Northern Maine and who has a critical eye and love for the natural world.

Mildred Kennedy – long time Howe family friend, and a talented North Woods visual artist  -http://www.mildredkennedy.com/

Kelly Grant – a family friend and talented photographer from Houlton Maine who loves visiting Spencer Pond Camps https://www.facebook.com/pages/Redsup-Photography/164834683477

James Margolis – an amazing photographer who took one of the best sunrise photos at Spencer Pond we have ever seen http://www.margolisphoto.com/photo.php?id=44&gallery=naturalworlds

Bob Delaney – a great professional photographer and previous camp guest <http://www.d2gallery.com/>

Jake Wyman – a talented corporate photographer who visits the camps as scheduling allows http://www.jakewyman.com/

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.