All the ways Maine is wicked good
This fellow was on the patio this morning, under the green plastic chair, which is my excuse for such a poor photo. The Eastern American toad (Anaxyrus americanus) is the only toad native to Maine. They’re pretty common all over New England. Females are generally larger then males (egg-laying necessities) and males usually have a darker colored throat than females. I always liked American toads because, while you can’t see it in the photo below, American toads have gold eyelids. Honest!
I missed seeing the fox I’d been seeing last summer and fall; not a single sighting all winter, and I didn’t hear the fox much either. But people had been seeing one on the grounds in May, and finally, a saw a young fox trotting across the patio. I was looking up at the trees with a scope trying to see the crows my mom spotted, when I saw the fox out of the corner of my eye. He trotted across the patio, then along the gravel between apartments to our neighbors patio, where he paused to devour what the neighbor reported as a possible chipmunk.
Since then, I’ve seen very brief glimpses of another young fox/the same fox.
ETA: At least one the young foxes frequenting the campus has been hit by a car. I’m hoping that others will thrive.
I first saw the fox in early July; its appearance heralded by a cacophony of crows and jay complaining. I saw only the fox’s back at first, and the color, more blonde than red, made me think I was seeing a straying dog. But then I saw the fox’s head, and his brushy tail. It was trotting, and I glimpsed it only for a moment before it disappeared from view. Later, I again heard the crows and jays proclaiming their displeasure, and saw the fox making his return trip. His fur was dense and healthy, the white of his tail and chest gleaming and clean, and his black socks strikingly dark.
Since then, I‘ve seen that first fox, and a smaller, slightly darker and thinner fox together. I’ve also realized the odd, almost feline sounding cry I’ve heard several times late at night is not the Bob cat or Lynx I suspected, but a fox bark. I’ve made two very bad recordings with my phone; I’ve linked to them below, and to a much better YouTube clip for comparison.
I saw a red squirrel (Tamiasciurus hudsonicus) a few times during the winter in 2017, but it disappeared before spring. Recently a red squirrel has been gleaning on the ground near the bird feeders. The red squirrel is a reddish-orange with a white belly, smaller than the numerous (and greedy) Eastern grey squirrels. In late summer and early fall there’s a dark grey to black stripe between the red squirrel’s red-brown body fur and the white belly. That fades as winter nears, as does the bright orange-red body color of the squirrel.
A few days ago I noticed a tiny spring peeper clinging to the window screen, on the inside of the window. I have no idea how the peeper got there; the screen has been in place all summer on that window, so I’m guessing it came inside via the cracks around the air conditioner in the neighboring window. He was less than an inch in size. This is a terrible picture, taken after I escorted him to the patio and a potted plant.
This year I heard the first Spring peepers in March; there was still snow on the ground. Locally, they’re regarded as the true heralds of Spring, and I had numerous people tell me with large smiles that they’d heard peepers (or peepahs) and so Spring was definitely sprung.
Here’s the University of Maine Fact Sheet on Spring Peepers.
I’ve seen possums (or Opossum) before; we have them in Washington, though we keep them away from horses and equine food because of concerns about Equine Protozoal Myeloencephaliti (EPM) caused by the protozoa Sarcocystis neurona, commonly carried by possums. But I’ve never seen a possum carrying her babies on her back.
Until today.
She sauntered across the patio, then down the side of the building before cutting across the lawn and under the split-rail fence towards the woods.
Possums (technically the Virginia opossum, or Didelphis virginiana is North America’s only marsupial. When the babies are born (via a temporary secondary birth canal and vagina), they claw their sightless way to mom’s pouch and remain there for until emerging with open eyes, thereupon they cling to mom’s back as she roams, eventually descending to make their own way.
Opossums were named by Captain John Smith who coined the name from opassum, an Algonquian word that means “white animal.” Smith writing in Virginia in 1608 describes Opussums thus:
An Opassom hath an head like a Swine, and a taile like a Rat, and is of the bignes of a Cat. Under her belly she hath a bagge, wherein shee lodgeth, carrieth, and sucketh her young.
Maine is not the best territory for possums; they do not hibernate, and winter can be very cruel. As their native habit has been denuded and developed, they’ve been moving north, and as climate change progresses they’ve moved more rapidly. They were deliberately introduced to the West coast of the U.S. in the early 1900s, and have moved from coastal California to Washington, and up into British Columbia.
I kinda like possums. They have opposable thumbs on their feet, which makes them great at climbing. Their tails are prehensile. They have an amazing immune systems, so are generally not bothered by, for instance, snake venom. They’re rarely rabid, and they are very efficient tick predators, which is particularly good news for Maine. This poor mom has had her hair pulled out by her babies as they clamber on and around her, but when less stressed, she has thick hair that’s strikingly white around her face.
Rana sylvatica, a Maine Wood frog
This little guy (or gal) is a Wood frog, Rana sylvatica. They’re one of the first Spring thaw denizens, quite literally, since they can withstand freezing temperatures and live, to thaw out with the arrival of warm Spring rains. They breed very early, sometimes even in late February or early March, in those temporary “vernal pools” that crop up in in the woods every Spring. This one would have been entirely invisible against the left-over leaves if it hadn’t moved.
This morning, as soon as the sun rose enough to see, there was a lovely Maine mist filling the trees. I had to wait for enough light to take a picture, but you can still see the mist cloaking the top branches of the trees. You can also see last year’s squirrel nest (sometimes called a dray).
There are two species of squirrels pillaging the bird feeders. The Eastern Gray squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis/i>) and the American Red squirrel (Tamiasciurus hudsonicus). The Red squirrel is generally viewed as a pest by local home owners because they’re notorious for invading homes and feasting on insulation (which they also use for nest materials) and the coating on wires (which often results in destroying home wiring systems).
The Eastern gray is the one that’s particularly greedy about bird seed; there are at least six individuals who regularly patrol, and I’ve seen as many as six at a time attempting to raid the feeders. They can’t really reach the seeds effectively because of the nature of the tube feeders.
But they’re perfectly willing to try. 
There’s also a single American Red squirrel visiting the feeders, though it usually spends most of its time on the ground, gleaning, it’s not above attempting the suet.
There are, by the way, mutated Gray squirrels, that, via a mutation, exhibit melanism and appear black, in other parts of Maine. They have black squirrels in Lincoln county, ME. We have black squirrels in Western Washington too.