If you've just roamed more than 200 yards off shore in one of the year's most extreme low-tides, you might sit down and ask your self a philosophical question: Are my boots half-full (of sea water) or half-empty?
You have wandered (stepping carefully) through a world of clams, mussels, urchins, anemones, shrimp, crabs, starfish, rock weed and other forms of Maine sea life, much of it breathtakingly colorful, in lovely dawn light. Your feet are numb from the 44-degree ocean water. An adventurer might judge your boots half-empty—after all, you could have roamed a few yards farther out, gotten a little deeper, seen even more—but nothing about this morning feels the slightest bit empty.
We started seeing the red starfish (or sea stars) that seem to be here—or to be that color—only at certain times of the year.
By going far from shore we also saw blue sea stars. Pamelia was shooting new images for her low-tide photo series for The Naturalist’s Notebook. This shot wasn’t good enough to make the cut; you’ll see far cooler images if you come to the Notebook this year.
This mini-crustacean—a young shrimp?—faces a challenging life because of all the hungry predators in the bay.
A cluster of sea urchins.
You thought I was kidding about the boots full of water?
Back on Land... Spring life is popping out all around—in our case indoors as well as outdoors:
An indigo bunting showed up this week. Buntings are a type of finch and this one joined our massive and chatty flock of other finches: goldfinches, purple finches and pine siskins.
We planted our dozens of dahlias indoors to give them a jump start on the season. Within hours, tiny yellow spiders appeared. I’m guessing that they were dormant in the potting soil and came alive in the heat of the house. Within a few days their numbers had swelled to the hundreds and they had woven a six-foot-by-10-foot web. Before our house turned into an arachnophobe’s nightmare, we took the plants outside for an afternoon and set the spiders free. We think they might have been argiope aurantia, also known as black-and-yellow garden spiders or corn spiders.
Because the dahlias started growing fast, I put a ruler in one pot to measure the height. Notice that the highest point on this dahlia is nine-and-three-quarter inches. Check out the next picture.
This is the same dahlia two days later. I would estimate that the highest leaf is now about 15 inches. That’s more than five inches of growth in 48 hours. Which makes me wonder….
…whether last weekend’s so-called supermoon—the biggest full moon of the year because the moon is so close to the Earth right now—might be aiding the plants’ growth in some way. Farmers have planted by moon cycles for centuries, and some research has shown that in times of especially strong lunar gravity (such as now, causing the dramatic tides) water rises higher in the soil. Might that extra-strong pull also help lift water up into plants, speeding growth? Just a hypothesis. Maybe dahlias just like our living room.
On a walk, Pamelia and I spent time studying one of the many small blue moths that were flitting around. I say blue because the other side of this moth’s wings are strikingly blue. This side provides camouflage in the woods. The black-and-white striped legs and antennae reminded us of the color pattern made famous in the buildings of Siena in Italy (which in turn were inspired by the black-and-white horses belonging to that city’s mythological founders).
Our woods are blanketed with newly blossoming trout lilies, also known as dog-toothed violets. Notice the trout-like pattern on the foliage.
While driving nearby, we saw what we thought were three wild turkeys—perhaps part of the flock that has lived by our house all winter. Then we got closer and realized that they looked more like farm turkeys. Escapees, perhaps? We don’t know of any turkey farm within 20 miles of here.
Along the shore we found this maze design on a piece of our 500-million-year-old coastal schist. The rock is metamorphic, meaning it was transformed by tremendous heat and pressure under the ground.
I love maps, and a Notebook correspondent passed along a link to some beautiful map-collage work by artist Matthew Cusick. I'm not sure how well you can see it on this piece, called The Rachel's Wave, but this is entirely made from cut-up maps. Check out some of his other work at mattcusick.com
Nice Note
After our last blog post, on naturalist Bernd Heinrich's upcoming visit to the Notebook, we received many happy emails from people who have stopped by in seasons past and are eager to return. Here's just one:
"We visited your store last September on our first trip to Maine. Your store is one of my all time favorites of all the places I have traveled in the U.S. I taught biology in Ohio for 36 years and I always tried to do displays of biological themes and incorporated art as well. I am a nature collector and follower. I could have spent days in your store. I absolutely loved all that you have put together to educate everyone about the environment. I wish I lived closer to your store as I would gladly volunteer and help you in any way."
Speaking of...
I swapped emails with Bernd Heinrich, who said waves of migrating birds had just reached Burlington, Vt., this past weekend. While watching a woodpecker hole over the course of two days as part of his research, he either saw or heard 62 bird species.
Answers to the Last Puzzler
1) How many octopus species are there?
a) 28
b) 289
c) 2,890
Answer: b) 289
2) How tall is the tallest tree on Earth (a redwood)?
a) 298 feet
b) 379 feet
c) 415 feet
Answer: b) 379
Today's Puzzler
A riddle: How do rabbits keep their hair neat?