It is just another beautiful sunny, summer
afternoon. One of many we have had this year. How many more
will there be before summer is over?
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A gentle breeze comes off the lake. Birch
leaves flutter, quiet waves lap upon the shore. A single
nuthatch flitters overhead, sometimes poking its beak into the
red pine cones, sometimes hanging upside down from a branch
above my head.
A little red squirrel bounces here and there.
Climbs up on my chair, climbs my jeans up to knee height, then
runs down again.
We never feed these little critters, nor
their cousins the chipmunks. There are enough of them around
just naturally without us encouraging them with food.
In fact, I am inclined to believe there are
far too many chipmunks this year. And I am not too sure what
can be done to correct this problem.
Way back at the beginning of June we had a
nice, big crop of strawberries coming along. Kate would find
two or three ripe berries each day, and pick them to share with
us. Just as the berries began ripening in some decent quantity,
they all disappeared. Three fat little chipmunks took their
place.
Next it was the wild raspberries. I got to
eat six of them before the rest went missing. The black current
crop was scanty this year, so by the time Allan got out there
to pick them, they were gone. Chipmunks were everywhere.
Some people have trouble with bears getting
into their yards, we have trouble with chipmunks. When I set
the compost bucket outside the kitchen door, the little chippes
are into it within the minute. Corncobs, cherry pits, lemon
rinds - they love it all!
I watch them in the yard nibbling on the
plantain seed stalks, and I think, "This is good!"
We have more weeds growing in our lawn than
grass, let the chipmunks dine! But then I go out to the garden
to check on the tomatoes, and all I can find are bits and
pieces of tomato skins on the ground. I started picking the
tomatoes as soon as they show signs of colour. There will be no
vine-
ripened homegrown tomatoes for us this year.
I start to plot on how to get rid of the little furry
fiends.
As I sit here grumbling about loss of fruits
from the garden, a little chipmunk comes skittering by. It
climbs the leg of the chair, and looks at me with those bright
chippie eyes. Its perfect fur runs in light and dark stripes
along its back. Another climbs the other side, and the two of
them gleam with life and joy.
They are so cute I just want to cuddle them
in my hand, but I don't. I'm sure they would bite. But maybe if
I just had a little talk with them, we could negotiate shares
of the garden, if only they would leave some of the bush beans
for me.
Viki Mather lives by a lake near Sudbury.
