Memorizing Nature

Squirrels, Keep Us Company

Memorizing Nature — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 01:09:55 +0000

Any wild species that lives so closely with humans – and has managed to survive – deserves some recognition. So it is with squirrels. Whippy and wily, with arresting eyes and cushioned claws, squirrels are taken for granted. But what do we know about them, except that they chew through wires and attics? (That behavior is apparently a necessity. Their incisors never stop growing, so they gnaw away to file them down.)

Photo by E. Medline

Recently, I visited a small urban park near the Ottawa River to watch black and grey tree squirrels (Sciurus carolinensis). There were more than half-dozen of them there, bouncing across the snow, scaling trunks, hanging upside-down, nibbling, and using their double-jointed hind feet to descend. Several approached me, no doubt thinking I had brought some junk food. When it was clear that wasn’t happening, they stared at me warily, or climbed higher to get away. Squirrels are friendly but cautious, although not too great with cars. Many a time have I risked a rear-ender by slamming on the brakes for some zig-zaggy squirrel jaywalker.

Photo by E. Medline

Really, the bushy tail makes all the difference. If rats had the same sort of tail, instead of the hairless variety, we’d probably find them adorable too. After all, they’re both rodents. Since we haven’t evolved with tails, we humans can’t appreciate the benefits of such an appendage. For squirrels, the tail helps them balance, but it also acts as a parachute when they slip. It’s a blanket in the cold, and a parasol in the heat. And there are other adaptations. Black squirrels are rare in most parts of the world, but appear in colder climates because the darker fur keeps them warmer. On the other hand, grey squirrels are thought to be less noticeable to predators such as birds of prey, so it’s a gamble either way.

Photo by E. Medline

During summer, I’m usually looking down, not up. I might examine the petals of wildflowers or hope to see a millipede. Now it’s winter, and the ground is cloaked in snow. But above, that’s where the interesting action is. Squirrels are grasping with their marvelous long claws, trapeze-swinging from branch to branch, tree to tree, seemingly from cloud to cloud. They are busy the same time we are, in daylight. They amuse us, but more importantly, they remind us that in this desolate season, we have a few neighbours, that we are not here alone.

Photo by E. Medline

Note to readers: I am pleased to report that Memorizing Nature took first prize in the 2011 Canadian Weblog Awards, nature category. Thank you for your support, and be sure to take a look at the other winners here.

Path of a Porcupine

Memorizing Nature — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 01:55:18 +0000

In our meadow lives a porcupine, a lone creature that chews on bark and descends into a rock crevice when the sun is up. I know he eats bark because some of our trees are stripped bare at the top, looking pale and smooth, and his tracks in fresh snow have made the location of his home obvious. He enters his hovel, exits, sometimes slides down a hill, and from time to time crosses the road. The little feet tell a story.

Photo by E. Medline

Porcupines are mostly nocturnal, so I don’t see our rodent neighbour often. The last time I ran into him was a couple of months ago, when I had to stop my car suddenly and wait while he stood blinking in the headlights, unsure. Eventually he moved along, disappearing into the dark ditch.

I like that he eats our trees. His presence reminds us that our land is not our own. Likely he was here before us, as porcupines last relatively long. That’s not surprising, given the medieval defense mechanism with its classic cruelty and evolved elegance. Despite their keratin quills, porcupines do have a few predators. Fishers are the vicious ones, tossing the prickly beings on their backs to attack the soft belly.

The porcupine’s resting breath warms the air above his humble tunnel. Lying there, he breathes in and out, next to hibernating groundhogs and iced-in frogs. He wakes at the gloaming and emerges. I want to follow, but don’t, fearing I will ruin his tracks, and disturb his calm wanderings.

*****

Notes to readers: Memorizing Nature has now been shortlisted for the juried Ninjamatics’ 2011 Canadian Weblog Awards in the nature category. Also, earlier I chose to black out this blog for 12 hours in solidarity with other WordPress bloggers and sites to protest proposed American legislation that would limit Internet freedom. It’s an important issue.

Pining For Tall Trees

Memorizing Nature — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 23:48:51 +0000

Here I am feeling badly for saying that trees are too boring to blog about. It’s true there are far more interesting nature subjects – spiders attacking beetles come to mind, or hibernating groundhogs with hearts that forget to beat for the winter. Nevertheless, I admit I was unfair, calling mundane the living things that exhale oxygen for our own greedy lungs. I have written about bulrushes with enthusiasm, but have neglected the pines.

Photo by E. Medline

We take them for granted. After all, half a dozen Eastern White Pines rise above the rocky outcrops near our meadow, framing the land with a calm presence. Especially in winter, when tufts of snow lounge on their boughs, these trees grow high and stand out, flaunting decorative cones. Nearby, hopeful offspring make a mark on the land, eventually sprouting a foot a year.

There was a time when white pines were felled to make masts for British naval ships. Now they’re manufactured into window trims and telephone poles and coffin boards. They do poorly in cities or beside highways, because they choke on air pollution and suffer in salt. However, left undisturbed, they can live hundreds of years. Pinus strobus, the provincial tree of Ontario. The most stately softwood, an empress of the conifers.

Photo by E. Medline

I believe I could live at the top of a white pine like an eagle. The branches are cushy and the view is full. Every day would smell like a winter holiday.

Five needles to a bundle, cones long and tapered – that’s how you can identify the Eastern White Pine. If they weren’t there, I think I would look out my window and feel bored.