ENHS Nature Trails September 2005 Article 5

More Nature Notes
by Melody Clarkson

From the Editor: Those who know me know how lucky I feel to have found a little bit of wild Oregon on our 6 acres after having lived in the often plastic world of South Florida for 26 years, a place where my friends surround themselves in Disneyworld topiaries, consider all matter of leaves and seed pods messy after they fall and thrill with rapture when one of the alien parakeets or cockatiels lands in an equally exotic bit of tropical foliage--their eyes would glaze over if I mentioned that I'd seen a redstart in the sand pine or watched a giant spider dance the Congo line amongst the saw palmettos. It's still incomprehensible when I think back how we could not get one of those friends to ever go with us to Everglades National Park, canoe the Peace River, or explore the Mangrove Swamps in nearby Matheson Hammock. So now, entrenched in Eugene, I am eager to share my nature encounters with those who know so much more than I do, but are still willing to listen and nod and smile. And this summer, those encounters brought tales of joy and tales of sobriety.

The most exciting moment came one evening when, picking raspberries from our garden, I happened to look down towards an area of tall, mostly alien grasses and noticed a fox trotting along, definitely on a path that would take him close by the opening to our berry garden. I crouched behind the tall canes and watched his progress; he stopped exactly at the entrance, not 6 feet from my compressed form. Our eyes bore into one another and neither of us flinched. After what seemed like at least a few minutes, I won the stare-down. He trotted unconcernedly on. I've not seen him since, but I treasure his calling cards often deposited on the path we share.

The saddest moment came this summer when my neighbor recounted to me the birth of fawns not far from her kitchen window. She didn't see the actual birth but saw the doe afterwards, nudging her new fawns to stand. The one did with little effort; the other had difficulty and collapsed into its resting spot more than once. The mother left the fawns alone for a short period of time and foraged at the edge of the nearby woods. My friend felt the doe knew she was there and that they shared a mutual watchfulness over the newborns. When the doe returned, the one fawn stood eagerly, the other was quickly pummeled to death by its mother, who repeatedly kicked with her front hooves, determined, like a prize fighter, until the fawn appeared lifeless. The doe and surviving fawn then moved away together, and the doe began to browse.

Some of you may remember I mentioned once my single chipmunk who lived nearby. This year two chipmunks appeared and then five, remember those babies naked at the window? When we returned from a week and a half trip this summer, we found we had new residents, two cats that apparently had been dumped on or near our property. We saw one for weeks frequenting the same spots the chipmunks had frequented, special places where I would leave seeds and nuts for the chipmunks to find before the squirrels found them--that's not easy to do. We have not seen a chipmunk since our return. However, we have learned that the gray squirrels are not the cats' friends. When incessant squirrel chatter awakens us in the morning, we know that a feline reprobate is very close by.

On a happier note, I had two more face to face encounters this summer. One occurred when I was returning the hummingbird feeder to its spot after cleaning and refilling. As usual, the impatient rufous swooshed close by and sounded his annoyance with my encroachment into his territory; then, as I aligned the "S" hook into the ring, he could wait no more and began drinking within 6 inches of my eyes and we looked at each other as he fed and fed, I suspect filling up before the "big" flight.

My last face to face this summer involved a large buck near our front steps--he was a handsome devil. Stopping just 10 feet from him, I looked thoughtfully into his eyes, and he stared back, quite sure of himself. I noticed he sported freshly cleaned forks atop his head, so I proceeded to speak to him kindly but firmly; he wasn't the least interested in anything I had to say about his earlier bad manners: a six year old paper bark maple, and a nine year old small-leafed rhododendron, have perhaps lost their lives this year due to his vanity. Oh the wiles of nature. My soul feeds on them.

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