Basketball size bee hive, left, and its location in the tree. (photos by Roland D. Hallee)

by Roland D. Hallee

OK, it’s mid-September and time for me to go out on a limb, stick my neck out, walk the tightrope – take your pick of the risk I’m about to take.

It’s my annual attempt at reading Mother Nature’s warnings, and predict the upcoming winter. I know…I know, it’s only September, but that season will be here before we know it.

I have been watching signs over the past couple of weeks, and I have to admit, I’m getting mixed messages.

My first observation are onions. If the skin is thin, we can expect a mild winter. The onions I have been peeling lately have had thin skins, thus that would indicate a mild winter. Another sign of a mild winter has been squirrels. They don’t seem to be in a hurry to gather nuts for the winter, another sign of a mild winter.

However, another farmer’s folklore signal is the squirrel’s tail. A bushy tail indicates a tough winter, and a skinny tail means a mild season. I have seen both. One day I noticed a squirrel with a really bushy tail, and later in the day, saw one with a less bushy one.

How about berries and nuts. Let’s examine that. I have wild berries growing in my backyard, black raspberries and choke cherries. My crop of black raspberries this year was minimal, and I have way fewer choke cherries than usual. Both signs of a mild winter.

Now, there are other signs for which to look. Are cornhusks thicker than normal? If so, a rough winter. I have not noticed much of a difference this year. Flowers blooming in late autumn are another sign of a tough winter. I don’t know if this qualifies, but when my rhubarb patch was pretty much finished in late July, I cleared the area, getting it ready for winter. While I was checking on my squash garden this past weekend, I noticed a new crop of rhubarb coming in. I have never seen that before. Also, the abundance of acorns at camp seems to be way down this year. Not as many as we’ve seen in recent years.

Let’s talk bees. Actually yellow jackets.

The old folklore states that bee hives constructed high indicates heavy snow fall. Closer to the ground means mild winter, snow-wise.

This past weekend, while camping with my family in Solon, we noticed plenty of yellow jackets around. On Sunday morning, we finally located the hive. It hung from a tree along the Kennebec River, it was the size of a basketball, and must have been a good 30 feet above ground, hanging over the river. Not a good sign, unless, of course, you’re a skier or a snowmobile enthusiast.

Another is leaves on a tree. If the leaves fall early, it signals a mild winter, but if they fall late, winter will be severe. Upon our return to camp from the camping trip, my wife and I noticed a large number of leaves on the ground. It seems, at least to me, that it’s a little early for that.

Finally, the wooly bear caterpillar. This one I can’t help you with. It is mid-September and I have yet to see one. I will keep a vigil on this, and perhaps report to you later. Remember, the wider the rust colored band on the caterpillar, the milder the winter.

According to the Old Farmers Almanac, weather folklore warnings of a harsh winter are based on La Nina. La Nina conditions for North America tend to be dry in summer and cold in winter, so if birds leave early, the leaves fall quickly, onions and apple skins are tough, and caterpillars are short, it may be due to the La Nina drought. A miserable winter will follow.

So, let’s review. I have presented 12 conditions on which to base my prediction. The score is: Mild winter 7, tough winter 3, and two undecided. It looks like a relatively mild winter. However, all the “weather experts” seem to say a rough winter. Maybe I’m just trying to justify a mild winter in my mind.

So, here is my recommendation. You’d better polish the shovels, and tune up the snowblowers, because to be a true Mainer is to be ready for anything. And we’ve all heard the old saying, “If you don’t like the weather in Maine, wait a minute.”

Roland’s trivia question of the week:

How many years did it take for Bill Belichick to win a Super Bowl as head coach with the New England Patriots?

Answer can be found here.

by Roland D. Hallee

Well, we are approaching that sad time of year when my wife and I are readying to shutter camp for the winter. It’s with mixed emotions because we really enjoy camp (we live there from May to October), but it’s football season, and we are both avid New England Patriots fans, and home is where we like to be for Sunday afternoon kickoffs.

The big question that comes to mind is which do we prefer, the sounds of the loons’ eerie calls in the night, the barred owls caterwauling at each other in the early morning hours, peepers in the spring and all the other wonderful sounds of nature, or… the sounds of ridiculously large pickup trucks revving their oversized engines with the loud exhaust belching fumes and smoke into the air, squealing tires, police sirens blaring at all hours of the night, barking dogs, arguing neighbors, etc? Living in the middle of Waterville, those sounds always make me think, “Welcome home.” I think the answer to my question is a no-brainer.

With that in mind, here are some of the more memorable things that I witnessed this past summer at camp.

First, we’ll talk about the bald eagles consistently seen circling over Webber Pond in search of food. On two occasions this past summer, while fishing, we witnessed bald eagles come swooping down from a high perch in the trees, to scoop up fish from the surface of the water with their sharp, deadly talons. One time the bird came as close as 20 yards from our boat. The second time, it was a little further away, but still as magnificent.

Then, there was the morning when, on my way to work on the Seaward Mills Road, in Vassalboro, I saw a rafter of geese crossing the road in front of me. I had to come to a standstill because one of the adult turkeys was stationed smack in the middle of the road while the rest of the brood crossed, in single file, with an adult leading the way. That turkey resembled a school crossing guard as he stopped traffic for the kids to cross.

Not two long after, on the same road, I saw another flock of turkeys crossing the road, but this time they were accompanied by a house cat, who showed all the techniques of a border collie herding sheep. It would move around the flock to keep the young ones in line as they navigated the asphalt. Quite something to see. The cat showed no interest in harming any of the fowl.

There was also the night, which I mentioned before in this column, of the barred owls as they caterwauled to each other late one night. They started quite innocently as you would expect to hear an owl. These, being barred owls, would call out “who cooks for you, who cooks for you, all.” However, the calling began to intensify and before long the calls began to sound like barking dogs, something I had never heard before from barred owls.

Finally, in mid-May, there was the night we heard noises off in the distance that sounded like a small dog wailing from discomfort. It was a yelping sound, followed by a whine. “An injured dog,” was the first thought. However, as the sound persisted, it became clear that the calling was from red foxes calling out to each other during the mating season. The foxes have been around all summer, but the callings have stopped.

Nature has sounds of its own, and even though they can be loud at times, still trump (Oops, there’s that word, again) the sounds of the city.

Every year, the weekend after Labor Day, we make a fishing trip to Nesowadnehunk Lake, in a remote area abutting Baxter Park to the west, where we can lay in our cots in the tent, and listen to the coyotes howl in the distance. Ah, the wonderful sounds to which to fall asleep.

Roland’s trivia question of the week:

What was the name of the fictitious former Boston Red Sox relief pitcher played by Ted Danson in the hit TV comedy Cheers?

Answer can be found here.