Another Autumn in Exile

The former "Stump Henge," now filled in to create "Woody's Garden"

As I watch the fuzz-tailed tree rats rummaging in our newly installed raised bed (we filled up "Stump Henge" with compost and mulch, and have planted a few things therein), I realize just how not-cute squirrels really are. They eat our pears before they're anywhere near ripe, and nibble on baby pecans and spit out what they don't like, littering the ground with sticky crumbles of unripe nuts.  They bury more mature nuts and acorns all over the yard, necessitating difficult (for me) removal after the infant trees have sprouted (said squirrels having forgotten where they planted they're winter stores).

Yes, they do also dance and frolic and have amusing sex, but they're essentially a general nuisance. Not, perhaps as much as are the mice we still haven't completely eradicated, despite the elaborate treats The Beloved Spouse baits our Havahart traps with (peanut butter and bananas, or almond butter and cat kibbles). Although actually mice, these critters are the size of small Chicago rats. We've exiled quite a few, to a forested area several miles away, but some have evaded capture. Mrs. Peel, the resident mouser, seems not to frighten them in the least, and has been known to watch them scurry by without a twitch on her part. I did, however, observe her making a lame attempt at chasing a squirrel a few days ago, which accomplished nothing but did afford her a bit of exercise. What backyard wildlife advocates don't always tell you is that feeding birds often attracts other varmints, and unless you confine your feeding to specific species with diets unattractive to rodents (finches who like niger seed, for example), placing feeders near one's house is not recommended for tender-hearted folk like us who are ethically unable to poison cute, furry little mammals, no matter how annoying they are.

As I've mentioned before, our "House Clock" marks the Autumnal Equinox when the sunrise no longer sheds direct light through the east-facing dining room window (although it took a day longer than it should), and this year I noticed for the first time that for a few days around the equinox sunlight reaches all the way from the front door, through the sitting room, central hallway, and study onto my William Morris-focused bookshelf at the very back of the house--thus illuminating Morris and the Pre-raphaelites nicely.

Upon researching the answer to a question that came up at tennis practice (TBS is the assistant coach at his college, and some of the players are from the southern hemisphere), I discovered that contrary to popular belief around here, equinoxes and solstices do not necessarily mark the beginnings of seasons in the rest of the world. In fact,  Cecil Adams, in a column for The Straight Dope, notes that even in the northern hemisphere we don't all agree on when seasons begin and end.  But regardless of what measure we use, by October in North Texas, as my father would say, "fall has fell." Stuff is turning brown, hundred-degree days are gone, the Monarchs are migrating, fall flowers are blooming (attracting the Monarchs), and the quality of daylight is beginning to change. For reasons I don't quite understand daylight savings time is lasting an extra week this year, but I wish they'd just keep it year round.

The weather is also co-operating, with pleasant temperatures, occasionally crisp air, and just the right amount of rain. I mow the lawn in front to keep up appearances, but will probably let the back go until the leaves are down and ready to be mulched in. The mozzies are still around, though, which means that I have to spray down if I want to sit out with the animals, but I'll have to wait until the first freeze before I can do without the Deet. As awful as I know that stuff is, it's the only thing besides Picaridin that will keep the blood-suckers off me. Picaridin is the lesser of evils, but hard to find. I found one unscented brand that only comes in a pump spray--and is thus difficult to apply where I need it. I forgot to check the label of another brand I found recently, and bought it before I realized that it smelled like the cologne of a former colleague. The plant-oil based repellents don't work very well, and smell to high heaven of eucalyptus and other lingering odors.

But fall is filled with a kind of promise--not just of dark, frigid winter days, but of cozy fires, soup, bread-baking, and if I get my planting done, a better garden next spring. Now that I don't have my compressed academic calendar to regulate my days, I can pay closer attention to phenological information (such as the Monarch migration, which I'm not sure I've ever noticed before). And because I'm not teaching, I can enjoy the fact that the Cubs are in the playoffs without keeping MLB At Bat open on my phone during lectures. Last night's Full Hunter's Moon, and next month's Full Beaver Moon (November 14) promise celestial entertainment that even the glaring white light from the new house in back, or the so-called "soft lighting" in the trees next door will do much to diminish.

And even as I ponder the possibility of leaving for better weather, fewer trees, and fewer squirrels, the probability of permanent exile doesn't feel quite as oppressive as it once did. If the election doesn't bring on the apocalypse, a few well-planted trees along the back fence and a couple of trips to the desert might well obliterate the neighbor-instigated irritations, if not the squirrels.

Nature Red in Beak and Claw, Part Two

My Thursday afternoon ride on my stationary recumbent bike presented me with an interesting conundrum. I've been using the iPad to read Juliet Schor's new book, Plenitude, while I ride, but am easily distracted because the bike is on our screened-in porch, and I've got a nice view of a large pecan tree upon which all manner of activity takes place.

I guess one can tell I'm not a real photographer, or I might have slipped off the bike and tiptoed into my study to get the camera when a nearly full-grown red-tailed hawk alit on a nearly horizonal branch of said tree. I thought he was just resting, and kept an eye on him, but kept riding. By this time my dogs had settled down next to me to watch as well.

We soon discovered just why the hawk had chosen this particular perch. A young squirrel was making his way up the tree, and the hawk sat watching, patiently. The little guy got closer and closer, and turned his back on the bird for a moment. The hawk crept down his branch rather noisily, but the squirrel seemed not to notice. The next time he turned around, however, was his last, because the hawk gracefully lifted his big body up and down onto the tree rat, flew back to his perch, and then down onto the grass, prey between his claws.

The only camera handy was my iPhone, so I tried to snap him on the grass, but he was hidden by some cannas (dash those big leaves!). I got up off the bike for a better shot, but spooked him, so no picture to accompany text. I also lost .10 mile off my workout. Fortunately, Wikimedia Commons came through with a rather lovely shot of a similar event.

A better person than I might have tried to save the squirrel, but as I've mentioned, they're currently the bane of my little domestic world: plants dug up, fruit devoured, pecans wasted (this will be our third year with no yield at all). So I watched silently as nature had its way.

I'm not sure how I would have felt if the little squirrel had screamed in pain, but it didn't. The hawk did his work quietly and efficiently before he flew off to enjoy his meal.

Image credit: Hawk eating prey by Steve Jurvetson. Be sure to read his description of the event he caught on film. Even if I'd had the camera I couldn't have captured anything nearly as amazing. (The link is to his Flickr page, but I found the image on Wikimedia Commons.)

Skywatch Friday: Squirrels!!

One of my favorite bits in the wonderful animated film, Up! has to do with talking dogs.

These dogs can actually carry on a technologically mediated "conversation"--at least until one of their tiny little brains is distracted by passing vermin. "Squirrel!" is a signal for all talking dogs to forget what they're talking about and attend, if only momentarily, to a passing distraction.

Now, my yard is heavily populated by fuzz-tailed tree rats who seem to have great fun distracting my own dogs. But the other night (the same one mentioned in my previous post) I caught them having fun amongst themselves, running hither and thither through the branches of overhead trees.

The waxing gibbous moon provided a nice backdrop to their antics.

It's now much colder, and even snowed briefly yesterday morning. More snow is in the forecast for tomorrow. Maybe I can catch the little monsters running through the snow for next week.

Happy Skywatch Friday, and thanks once again to our best-beloved team for gathering us all together to share skies.

A Hint of Fall

It's not quite September yet, but we're getting our first taste of fall. A cold front drifted through yesterday, and the overnight temperature dropped to 65F: blanket weather! We haven't had the window units on for a couple of days already. I'm not sure how much money that actually saves, since the animals shed more in the heat, and I expend a measurable amount of electricity hoovering up. Great mounds of hair came off of Woody (a tall, elegant mutt with an undercoat like a Huskie) when I used the furminator on him, and I need to repeat the exercise today, unless I can convince both dogs to spend most of the day out of doors, shedding into the grass.








If it weren't for the mozzies, this would be perfect gardening weather. I am, in fact, going to suck it up and dowse myself in repellant later, so I can execute some cleanup. We attempted to sip our wine out under the trees last night, but despite my new herbal spray bug-off stuff, I was bitten eight times in five minutes, so we quickly retreated. It's back to the Cutters today, I'm afraid. But the chives are in bloom, the tomatoes have finally set fruit, and the mexi-bell peppers are beginning to ripen, so it's time to tidy up and plant a few fall things (beans, squash) and splash some nourishment around.

A couple of weeks ago, when we were feeling particularly flush, we visited Elliott's Hardware (a real, old-fashioned hardware store that reminds me of Gwen Gardner's store on Main Street in Lone Pine, even though the merchandise is spread out over much larger area and is rather easier to locate) and bought a rain barrel and some Garrett Juice. The rain butt hasn't been installed yet, partly because it's so butt-ugly (sorry) that we can't decide where to put it; it's just like the one on this how-to video, so at least we'll know exactly how to do it when we figure out where it goes.

The Garrett Juice is the ready-made version of a concoction invented by local organic gardner, Howard Garrett (better known around here as the Dirt Doctor), who offers instructions on how to make your own on his website (He also explained how to make your own rain barrel in a recent Dallas Morning News column). But since I'm never that organized, I bought a couple of gallons of the concentrate, and smaller jugs of the special versions for tomatoes and veg. Those go on the garden today, although the front-porch pots have already been given their treat and are much the better for it.

Even though I know this lovely, cool weather (it'll only get to around 88F today, and the humidity's so low that it won't feel any warmer than that) won't last longer than a few days, I'm ready to enjoy it. I experienced one of those smell-related floods of nostalgia this morning when I cut open a peach and was transported back to my grandmother's kitchen. The sheer dryness of the morning, combined with the rich, ripe fragrance of the peach reminded me immediately of late-summer high-desert mornings in the kitchen of my grandparents' bungalow next to the LADWP power station at Cottonwood. I'm not sure how we got the peaches (I remember mostly blackberries and walnut trees, but there were probably fruit trees as well), but they were sweet and juicy and sticky and smelled fantastic. To this day I judge a peach by its potential to rise to that standard.

I was fortunate on my way home from class on Thursday to find fresh, local white peaches on sale at the grocery I'm frequenting until Whole Foods opens nearby. (No, I'm not boycotting Whole Foods Market; the CEO is entitled to his views and I'm not about to condemn the whole store because I disagree with him!) Anyway, I bought two huge peaches that smelled promising, and the Beloved Spouse and I shared one this morning.

I spent the rest of my morning-sitting-in-comfy-chair-reading time drifting back and forth between north Texas prairie and eastern California intermontane desert. Not a bad way at all to start the day.

This afternoon will be devoted to compost turning and sweeping up squirrel-dropped half-eaten unripe pecans, cast-off squirrel nests, and myriad broken branches that have come down as a result of the nice breeze blowing through. I'll also clear a spot for beans and squash, and maybe plant some amaranth in the border, where I've got some gaps left by Beloved Spouse's overly-enthusiastic "trimming of the verge" earlier in the summer. I just might then mosey over to the garden store for a new watering can to use with the Garrett Juice. Something purple or periwinkle blue would cheer me up no end when the weather goes back to being miserable, before fall really does set in.

Images: Blooming chives among fallen pecan leaves, baby yellow cluster tomatoes (not yet yellow), Mexi-bell pepper almost ripe, and a smirking fuzz-tailed tree rat.