No doubt each of us has that morning routine that lets us prepare for the coming day. Perhaps it’s a steaming cup of coffee sipped leisurely by the front window; perhaps it’s a refreshing 5 km run around the neighbourhood (what, are you nuts?); or perhaps you spend some quality screen time perusing the news.
I get my day in order by sorting postage stamps. Thousands upon thousands of them. Dividing by country, piling by duplicate issues, dividing the stack by quality of cancelation mark on each little bit of coloured paper. At least an hour each morning is devoted to this little hobby. So relaxing.
At least it is until there comes a “skritch-skritch-skrichy-skritch” from the outside of the studio wall. Arrgh! Tree rats! So much for my Zen-like state of morning awareness.
The ‘tree rats’ are black squirrels, and my studio has been built within a 140 year-old barn. It may look like a barn from the outside, but we try to keep it snug and secure on the inside. Trouble is, squirrels have the same opinion.
We have both black and grey squirrels on our farm. Well, actually that’s not quite true, as black and grey squirrels are the same species, just different colour morphs. But we also have red and flying squirrels, so yeah, lots of interest in our property from the bushy-tailed tree rats. (Oh, c’mon ... just look at them ... a rat-like face if ever there was one!)
Over the last five decades there has been this annual war between the nice country folks and the invading squirrels. The outside barn boards are still the original hemlock and pine boards, and each is riddled with knotholes and weakened slivers. Squirrels think this is advantageous in finding a winter den.
While most of these entrance holes have now been patched over or stuffed with various anti-squirrel materials, they insist on checking every board in case a new gap has appeared. This is when I hear that morning-jarring “skritchy-skritch” on the outside boards.
My retaliation is to dash to the deck door, grab my wooden walking stick, go out onto the deck (sometimes I even remember footwear, but not always), and bang the stick against the old and derelict TV tower! Bang! Bang! This is followed by a pronounced hissing sound that I feel imitates a terrorized squirrel about to meet its demise.
This banging, clanging and hissing usually sends the squirrels leaping off the outer wall and scampering back to the woodlot. I feel somewhat satisfied, but know that the squirrels are really saying, “Wow, we really got old man Hawke going today, didn’t we? So, what do you wanna do until we come back later?”
In a way I can’t really blame them. This is the season for den finding, food storing and mate selections. So like any young, enthusiastic, amorous couple, they search the countryside for that perfect winter home. My barn is just one of many sites they have under consideration.
I don’t feel too sorry for them, as their summer homes are still intact and numerous in the woods. These are the bunches of leaves that have been tucked and arranged within the treetop branches. Called dreys, these leafy shelters are quite suitable for warm summer evenings, and some, if built with a bit of care, can withstand the odd autumn shower and chilly night.
Before things get really nasty out there, this young couple has to find a wind-proof, chill-proof, rain-proof shelter, one big enough to accommodate them and the soon to be arriving ‘squirrelets’. Oh, and the occasional brother who drops in but forgets to leave.
But I feel there are enough choices available to them in the great outdoors to live happily ever after, they don’t need my attic when there are numerous hollow beech and maple trees all up and down the fenceline.
I suppose that when we set up our bird feeders in the next couple of weeks, the squirrels will mistake that action as a goodwill gesture on my part, and come traipsing back for not only free food, but an open invite to re-explore the barn wall!
But for today I put the run on them, reset the walking stick just outside the door, and have returned to my stamp sorting. It’s an exciting morning as I am opening a new envelope of world-wide stamps that was given to me by a neighbour.
I reach the tongs inside and withdraw the first stamp ... it’s from Bulgaria! And, it has a squirrel on it! Really?
