ecospirit

I built my house in 1979. During the first few years, I would often hear a loud thump against the south dormer wall within which we slept. Whap, thump, whap. It happened night after night. Finally, I went outside just after hearing the sound, inspecting the wall illuminated by moonlight. There clung a flying squirrel, eyeing me with casual interest. Our house was the nearest tree in this newly-configured section of Southern Appalachian forest.

Around 1982, I realized that I had not cut enough trees to allow sufficient solar gain for my passive solar house. I cut another section of them to the south, mostly hickory. After this, no more whaps and thumps. The flying squirrel had lost its habitat.

A few weeks ago, I was sitting at the dinner table and saw, from the corner of my eye, something that looked like a mid-sized rodent jump from the tube in our chimney in which our hot water pipes run to the floor, and scamper to the far end of the living room. Whatever it was, it was clearly too big for a mousetrap, but smaller than a rat. I called Geeta to find out where she had put the mouse poison.

About a week later, the two of us were standing in the dining room and the critter appeared at the opening of the chimney plumbing tube. We froze, but when we took a step towards it, the squirrel sailed through the air, and scampered again to the west wall of the house.

We have had several encounters since. Given our tree habitat, I suspect it is the southern flying squirrel, and it likes peanut butter and honey, which it finds in the little packets you pick up at motel restaurants. It regularly knocks over the container of almond butter, but has yet to find a way in. I have followed it to a tiny whole in the west block wall more than once, but I have no idea how it gets into the house. It has yet to venture inside the have-a-heart trap baited with one of those peanut butter packets. I'm not really sure how to get rid of it, but I definitely mean it no harm.

So the cycle is complete. After 35 years, the descendant of the original squirrel is back, and it has made a home inside my intrusive house. I'd call that poetic justice.