Ed Robinson

The birds kept coming, swarming in numbers I had never seen, flitting around in search of food. It was so intense that I could not maintain an accurate count of the visitors for my reporting to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology via the eBird app. Having just filled the feeders that morning, it was clear that I would soon be refilling them.

In early morning light, I spotted another gray animal hunkered down in the Havahart live trap. Probably another raccoon like the rest of the family members caught in recent days. The masked marauders had been tearing up big swatches of our grass looking for grubs; shame on me for not treating the grubs! But this animal had different coloration and a thick, bushy tail.

In past columns we reviewed the benefits of protecting the amazing diversity of creatures found in the environment. Mother Nature is the most creative and persistent biochemist ever, as evidenced by the stunning array of life systems and chemical compounds that have evolved over eons, and evolution continues in ways that we may not always appreciate.

After three mild winters, this year we have cold, snowy weather to satisfy our recreational needs. Currently we have a foot of snow in the yard, with another foot predicted for the next few days.

It is not very impressive, even after several glances. It is 80 feet long and 60 feet wide, barely a tenth of an acre. As farm ponds go, it can only be called diminutive. But it is my favorite body of water, created when I bought the land and a derelict cabin 20 years ago, and it never ceases to surprise.

"Peace and quiet and open air / Wait for us, somewhere," say the poignant lyrics from the "West Side Story" song "Somewhere," by Stephen Sondheim and Leonard Bernstein. Talk about a genius collaboration!

What is in a name? Shakespeare wrote that "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." 1960s personality psychologist Gordon Allport stated that "the most important anchorage to our self-identity throughout life remains our own name."

Stuck at my desk, clearing the last to-dos so I can head to the cabin, I'm feeling the crushing weight of another Anchor deadline. The songbirds and gray squirrel feeding a few feet away are a diversion. The germ of an idea is in my head but undefined when BANG — something smashes into the sliding glass door! I look up in time to see the back end of a sharp-shinned hawk streaking from the scene and his feathers littering the ground.

It is time to feel a bit of optimism regarding the impaired river systems across our state. In the past I have described the problems associated with more than 1,100 dams in Maine, most of which are poorly maintained and serve no commercial purpose.