The Hunt Is On

Hunting season is approaching rapidly in Wisconsin. Gun hunting that is, bow hunting season is long underway. I joined my husband, father-in-law, and brother-in-law in the woods for the first time in 2011. From sunrise on Saturday morning until sunset on Sunday evening, I would sit in a tiny deer blind with my gun and a little heater, fighting off boredom, trying to stay warm. Some years it was easier than others. But despite diligently going out every year, I have yet to see a buck, let alone shoot one.

This means the question whether or not I can actually shoot a deer has remained unanswered. We hunted in Forest County, where the bucks are few and far between. We saw plenty of does the last couple of years, but nothing with horns. One year I saw a little buck with spikes at dawn, but not worth shooting, even if I could have gotten off a shot.

The buckless hunting frustrated my husband to no end. So last year he embarked on a search for better hunting grounds. Armed with a spreadsheet filled with DNR data, he located the Walhalla of Wisconsin deer hunting land: Buffalo County, where the bucks are plentiful and the racks worthy of mounting. The eighty acres and cabin in Forest County were sold, and the search for new land began. 

We found a beautiful forty acres tucked in between Durand and Mondovi, and spent the summer creating a spot for the future cabin, a driveway, and hunting stands for everyone. Mine is the last one to be built. I have a platform but will be spending my ten-year-sitting-in-the-woods-with-a-gun anniversary in a tent. And it looks like this year might actually be THE year. Bow hunting season was off to a good start as you can see.

Flying Solo

As I looked out my kitchen window yesterday, I noticed a baby bird in the grass, under the big ole’ pine tree in our backyard. It appeared to have fallen out of its nest. While I looked on, its parents, a pair of common grackles, flew in and fed it. Then mama bird, or papa bird, moved back a few feet and called out. The baby bird hopped up in response, flapping its little wings. I watched in amazement at this family effort to teach the fledgling the basics of flight.

The baby grackle wasn’t the only one unfolding its wings yesterday. Earlier this week Lola announced out of the blue that she wanted her training wheels removed from her bike. She was ready to ride without them. Dressed in full-on protective gear, we set out to teach our girl how to ride. She didn’t realize it, but she caught on within seconds. Turning her bike was a little tricky though, and our little perfectionist was ready to quit when she didn’t get it right on her first try.

I remember my first bike ride. It was my sixth birthday and when I entered the living room there was a shiny red bicycle waiting for me. A friend taught me how to ride it that same day. She held on to my saddle for a minute or two and then let go. That was all there was to it. I can still picture the look of surprise on my mother’s face when I raced by. I had told Lola about this a few weeks ago, and I suspect that’s where her desire came from. But her experience wasn’t as rewarding as she thought it would be.

“I thought dad would hold on for two minutes and then it would be perfect,” she said to me, tears rolling down her cheeks.



Poor kid, blessed with her parents’ perfectionist genes. I don’t know why her first solo ride disappointed her so much she wanted to give up; it looked just about perfect to me. With a little prodding she was willing to get back on her bike and give a few more tries. And lo and behold, she did it. Racing up and down the street, she gave us a big grin. We still have to work a little bit on her right turn, but she mastered the basics yesterday.

When we returned to the house, I walked into the backyard to see how the baby grackle was getting along. He was nowhere to be found. I guess he mastered the basics, too.

Of Porcupines And Salty Cars

The Reverend B. and his lovely wife and daughter were in the neighborhood this week, and since we haven’t seen them in over three years, we went to visit them, of course. He is not really a reverend; we call him that because he married us. And they weren't really in the neighborhood either; we met them in Wilderness State Park in the lower peninsula of Michigan, well over four hours away. But it is a lot closer than Seattle so we happily crossed the scary bridge and ventured downstate to spend the night in a cabin with no electricity and no plumbing. We felt right at home. We could have done without the Washington weather, though.

Outside the cabin, next to the outhouse, was a strange rectangular box, about two and a half feet high, with swinging doors on one end but no cover. It looked like a small hockey rink that could hold one car. We all wondered what it was. On the way back home, when we dropped off the key at the park’s headquarters, Ryan asked about it. It turned out to be a porcupine protection box. The creatures come out in the spring and are attracted to the salt on the undercarriage of parked cars. They can do quite a bit of damage we were told. We just laughed and drove away.

But then the car maintenance light suddenly came on.

Followed by the cruise control failing.

The left headlight no longer works.

Neither does the right rear light. 

Coincidences? We don’t think so. We made it home safely despite the car slowly coming undone. But we are not laughing anymore. @#$%^&* porcupines! 

Animal Planet LIVE

It’s Memorial Day weekend and we have all gathered at my parents-in-law’s house. The long, snowy winter has added some extra inches to the water level in the lake but it’s still a long way off from what it once was.

As usual Lola and her cousin L. were hunting for frogs down by the water. Despite the very loud croaking we hear at night, there were not that many frogs to be found yet, just dozens of ticks.

At long last the girls came back with one frog, a lovely green specimen.



What they also found was a garter snake. It was a decent sized one, about three feet long. After it was admired by all, the girls took their temporary pets around the house while the adults remained behind on the back deck to relax a little, enjoy the sun, and watch Ryan and his brother put the dock in the water.

Queue blood-curdling scream. The adults jumped up as one and ran to the front of the house, trying not to scrape their bare feet on the gravel path, fully expecting to find massive amounts of blood. Fortunately none of the children were injured. The same could not be said for the frog, however.

It seems the snake and the frog met, and the snake did not play nice.

It took the snake about ten minutes to devour the frog in its entirety. After recovering from her initial shock and horror, it was she who let out the ear-piercing scream, Lola returned to the scene of the carnage, curious and fascinated although still very upset.



“Thanks for the free lunch. See ya..!” And off it went, full belly and all, back into the woods.

First Sign Of Spring

Rumor has it it's spring. I have yet to see any proof. It's very cold outside, there is about a foot of snow and ice on the ground, and it only just stopped snowing. I planted bulbs last fall, but they have a long way to go. And not a single robin has been spotted in these parts, just a few geese earlier this week.

There is hope, though. I looked out the window a few moments ago, and noticed a little head sticking up from the snow. The chipmunks are up! He, or she, had dug a tunnel through the remains of the ice castle that Ryan and Lola built, and sat there, quietly looking around. He seemed somewhat confused by what he saw, and after a few minutes went back into his underground home.

I'll toss out some homegrown sunflower seeds for them. The birds are not too keen on them and it will be awhile before the grass is back.

Opening Day 2012

Aside from fleas, flies, ticks, mosquitoes, and the occasional wasp, I have never deliberately killed an animal. Yet this morning at sunrise I sat in the woods, for the second year in a row, waiting to shoot a buck. I am fairly certain this time, given the chance, I will pull that trigger. Last year I wasn't too sure if I would be able to do it, and since I never saw a buck, the question remained unanswered.

I am a meat-eater, however, and Ryan's buck fed us for a year. And it was guaranteed free range, organically fed, and artificial hormone free meat, which is more than I can say for the average anonymous slab of meat one finds in a supermarket nowadays. One must work for it, though, if you call sitting and waiting work.

So far I have seen no signs of animal life save for nuthatches, chickadees, woodpeckers of the downy, hairy, and pileated variety, and one lone blue jay. And there is a mouse that lives behind my stand. I have heard him squeak but he hasn't shown himself yet. The deer are out there, though. I have seen proof. Perhaps tomorrow.

Nothing Yet

It was snowing last night when I drove home from work. A couple of miles north of our town the snowflakes were sizable ones even, and the road was white, forcing me to slow down. I was hoping to wake up to a winter wonderland this morning but sadly no. Nothing. We are still looking at dying grass.

I really wanted some snow because this Saturday is Opening Day. The first day of gun hunting deer season. Ryan is getting more and more excited and I too am getting in the mood. Up in the UP where we work, the season is almost twice as long as in Wisconsin. "The Holy Season," they call it up there. I don't expect to see many people at work next week.

We spent last weekend tromping in the woods, getting our stands ready. I have been evicted from my spot by my husband but I was allowed to keep my stand, lovingly referred to as "the lemonade stand." It really is. I suppose if hunting doesn't work out for me, I could sell refreshments. I very much missed a beverage cart last year.

Ryan has taken back his spot. He is hoping for another big buck of course. So am I. Last year's deer fed us for a year. We are just about out of venison. Time to fill that empty spot in the freezer.

Fabulous Fall

Squeaky Toys

Before Sandman was introduced to Wisconsin winters, he was a year round outdoor cat and a formidable hunter. In his early years he was even made to wear a bell on his collar, to give the local birds a sporting chance. These days, he’s more of a comfort creature. He likes staying indoors when temperatures drop, even if that means using a litter box. And hunting? Not so much. Nowadays, he just likes to sit under a bush and watch the wildlife instead of running after it.

The other day I was sitting outside, enjoying the late summer sun, when Sandman came walking towards me. When I called his name, he seemed genuinely surprised to find me there and I wondered if his eyesight could possibly be starting to fail. Perhaps that’s why he’s stopped hunting. Lola immediately wanted to have his eyes tested and was very disappointed when I explained cats don’t read eye charts. When I mentioned it to Ryan, he was insulted on behalf of his boy. How dare I suggest such a thing?

And as if to prove Ryan right, that night Sandman brought home a little rabbit. The offspring of the rabbit we chased away earlier this year. Or so we thought. We had noticed her hopping around this summer but she didn’t bother with our vegetable garden so we didn’t bother with her. When I found the rabbit, it was already dead. Baby bunnies are so cute; I couldn’t help but feel sad, even though the last thing I want is an entire family of rabbits living in the backyard. Really, Sandman had done us a favor.

The next night, as I was putting Lola to bed, I heard a noise that sounded like a squeaky toy outside her bedroom door. We don’t have squeaky toys in our house. When I went to investigate, I found another baby rabbit sitting in the door opening to my bedroom. This present from Sandman was still alive. While I locked the cat in the closet, Ryan caught the rabbit and took it back to its home. Only to be caught again by Sandman the very next day. Two down. Could there be more?

Why yes. Of course there were more. We're talking rabbits after all. Yesterday Lola and I walked into the house and found bunny number three dead in the hallway. We had not told Lola about the other ones, but there was no hiding this one from her. She wasn’t as upset as I thought she would be, but she did want Sandman punished for this awful deed. I seized the opportunity to educate her on rudimentary Darwinism although I phrased it a little different.

And now we wait to see if there are even more bunnies. I really hope not. I'm done cleaning up little corpses.

The Journey Of A Seed

The squirrels have finally figured it out. After numerous attempts to get to the birdfeeder with the squirrel guard, they recently noticed there is another birdfeeder hanging in the ornamental cherry tree that has no such protection. So now the birdseed disappears even quicker. The chipmunks take care of the feeder outside the kitchen window and the squirrels empty the other one.

It's not all bad news, though. I don't know who is responsible but either the squirrels or the chipmunks, or both, buried a sunflower seed by the garage. That seed subsequently sprouted. Lola found it and asked us to transplant the seedling to her garden. I have done this before in Washington and while the sunflowers did bloom, it wasn't something to write home about. They grew less than a foot tall and had itty bitty flowers. I figured this would be the same thing.

It was not.

Impressive, no? Naturally we are saving the seeds of this one.

Murder In The Backyard

Lola and I were sitting on the front porch. It was shortly after 8 o'clock and it was already hot outside. She had just gotten up while I was sipping my third, and final, coffee of the day. We were quietly enjoying the morning when all of a sudden an explosion of sound came out of the yard. Something was clearly amiss.

Upon closer inspection the ruckus was taking place in the large pine tree in the middle of the yard. A dozen or so robins, mostly females, were frantically fluttering and screeching. The focus of their attention was a large black bird up high in the tree. A crow I assume, trying to rob one of their nests.

He, or she, succeeded despite the mama robins' attacks and made off with a baby bird in its beak while Lola and I helplessly looked on. Now I know why they call it a murder of crows. Bloody beasts. As if it's not enough that they empty my garbage bags every Monday morning, forcing me to collect my trash twice. Now they empty the robins' nests as well.

Build It And They Will Come

The beds are done! Ryan and his friend C. tilled the earth, built four lovely boxes, and put everything together last weekend in the blistering heat. Lola and I filled them up with tomatoes, strawberries, green and yellow onions, and beans in every color imaginable. All that is left to do is put up a fence to keep deer and rabbits out.

The fence is a necessity, believe me. No sooner had we finished planting our seeds and seedlings, or we spotted a rabbit hopping through the yard. Coincidence? I think not! She was building a bed of her own in a little mound on the north side of the yard. And while baby bunnies are undoubtedly cute, I do not want them in my garden. Don't worry though, we're on it.

Funny thing is, it worked!

You Can't Blame A Squirrel For Trying

When I took down all the window screens awhile back, it wasn't because Martha told me to do so. It was to have a better view of the bird feeder out the kitchen window. This house came with two battered bird feeders and a concrete squirrel statue. I fixed and cleaned them all up and put them to use again. Unlike the stuck up Rhinelander birds that wouldn't give my feeders the time of day, the birds here flock into my yard every day.

So does the squirrel. The big feeder has a squirrel guard and the chubby fellow knows it. He spends most of his time hanging out underneath the feeder on top of the statue, munching on dropped sunflower seeds. But every once in a while, he gives it a go. He climbs up the tree and tries to get his little paws in the feeder. It cracks me up every time I catch him hanging on the shepherd's hook, slowly sliding down the pole.