… sadly becomes a reality.
How many times have you used the expression “it’s no walk in the park?” I know I have used it plenty of times through the years, whenever I mention something is not as easy or effortless as it appears to be.
Everyone has their “Happy Place” right? What is one person’s spot to woolgather peacefully, may not appeal to someone else. For some, it’s a place to view a perfect sunrise or sunset, an idyllic beach setting, or to amble along on a woodsy trail hoping to glimpse a little wildlife, the perfect escape from reality. I’m in that latter camp as you know.
Since April 2013, my “Happy Place” has been Council Point Park.
While I hate to bemoan the hapless state of my favorite nature nook AGAIN, this time I am not writing about the venue’s current lack of ambience, thanks to the ragged-looking shoreline.
Nor am I identifying with the plight of so many furry and feathered critters whose habitats and offspring were destroyed in a matter of minutes by huge, earth-moving machines.
Nor will I dwell on that amphibious bulldozer that scooped up turtles from their silty sleep, or rolled over them as they sweetly sunned on logs, tossing them to the wind.
No, this tale is even sadder – one that truly hurts my heart more than before.
This time, humans are not to blame; other predators were afoot.
Last week, my post alluded to the Siberian Polar Vortex and its aftermath, the two feet of ice that caused not only the Detroit River, but also every river, pond and creek around Michigan to freeze over and remain frozen for weeks. Although the City salted the roadways, the temps were too cold for the salt to be effective, so our City streets were icy for several weeks, thus, I didn’t attempt a walk to the Park. Even if I risked life and limb to get there, the Park stopped plowing/brushing the perimeter path at least a decade ago, so the icy ruts were dangerous, plus freezing rain had glazed over the snow. Trips to the Park leading up to the Polar Vortex were few and far between.
Yes, I wrestled with my conscience, but I just couldn’t go there. Riddled with guilt for my furry friends’ welfare, this time I considered my own welfare to forego walking until a warm-up occurred.
But a welcome “thaw” was not so welcome and even more problematic.
After two warm days in February, it was time to attempt a “Park run” where I was amazed to see the significant snow and ice melt and, with the still-frozen ground, there were huge pools of water everywhere, especially the places I usually leave food. No squirrels; one female Cardinal hung out around me, so I made her a pile of treats on the path. I left peanuts/seeds under park benches, but then we had more freezing rain and it was another week before I returned.
Finally, thanks to cooperative weather, I resumed my walking regimen, on the morning of March 3rd.
Upon my arrival at the Park, laden with peanuts, sunflower seeds, peanut chips and apologies, I walked along the pathway wondering where the “greeters” were.
As you know, if you’ve been following my blog for a while, at least 25 to 30, (sometimes more), squirrels descend on me, scurrying down trees and some, like Parker, boldly putting his paw or nose on my shoe to ensure I see him.
I saw three or four squirrels, none which came over to me, but instead cowered behind bushes or climbed up trees. I stood there, peanuts in my gloved palm, coaxing and cajoling to no avail.
I was mystified and left peanuts in the usual places, only to return the next day to find most of the peanuts, seeds and peanut chips still there.
I began to dwell on the worst scenarios.
Did my furry friends starve to death as they were dependent on me, their benefactor, as they couldn’t access their peanuts they had buried in the now-frozen, snowy ground? Tears stung my eyes – of course I felt guilty.
Did my furry friends freeze to death in their nests? I’ve read they curl together in the nest to preserve body heat. Surely the extra layer of fat and heavier fur Mother Nature provides them each Fall helped?
I dutifully left food for them; over the course of several more days, some of it was eaten, not all though.
Then Henry enlightened me.
There are two male walkers, in their late 70s, that meet daily at 10:00 a.m. sharp all year around. They walk no matter how much ice and snow there is on the perimeter path. One of the guys, Sam, had a knee replacement on Halloween, so he didn’t plan to return until Spring.
So Henry walked solo. I saw him in my few forays to the Park. On the fifth day of seeing so few squirrels I cornered Henry and asked “What happened to all the squirrels?” Henry and Sam have seen me interacting with the squirrels for years, so he likely wasn’t surprised by the question I posed.
Henry responded “you saw the Creek; it was frozen over – did you see the snow and the footprints – the coyotes crossed over!” I responded “yes, I was here one time when someone shoveled the ice for a makeshift skating rink and yes, I took photos of the prints, none were like pawprints and besides, pawprints could have been a dog!”
Henry assumes the coyotes crossed the frozen Creek – however, he didn’t see them stalk or catch any squirrels.
He then offered another explanation, i.e. a pair of Bald Eagles he saw at the Park, (most likely from nearby Dingell Park where the eagles fish off the ice floes), were snatching squirrels in their talons for food.
He saw the eagles and assumes they were preying on the squirrels – however he didn’t witness this.
I was upset at Henry’s explanation of the fate of my furry friends, leaving me in tears as I walked home and also once in the house. Yes, I “get” the Circle of Life and yes, I know the coyotes and eagles have to eat.
So did predators descend on the Park squirrels in the dead of Winter?
I’ve discussed Henry’s scenarios with a few nature lovers – they believe the squirrels went to a nearby neighborhood, like they did when their nests were destroyed along the shoreline last May. That’s a plausible theory too. I did see an influx of black squirrels, whose nests formerly occupied the shoreline trees, scurrying around the ‘hood since last Spring. In fact, I often chat it up with Shelley, a woman who lives near the Park and feeds many of those black squirrels on her porch daily.
Regrettably, I believe Henry is correct.
As March wore on, I am now interacting with about seven squirrels, who have resumed greeting me up close, begging and noshing on peanuts.
In retrospect, I remain conflicted … I don’t know if I am glad I asked Henry where the squirrels were. What fate is worse? Starving to death, freezing to death or becoming prey for a coyote or eagle? I am still trying not to blame myself at any rate.
There was a time, not so long ago, that I only dealt with petty annoyances like the geese chomping on in-the-shell peanuts …
… and the ducks helping themselves to the sunflower seeds.
Then there was the appearance of Cooper Hawks, like this one I photographed at the Park, often seen circling overhead – “our” nemesis. It was then I stopped feeding the squirrels along the path and tucked their food near a tree or bush for an easy escape.
Thankfully I’ve never seen a hawk grab a squirrel, but I saw an attempt. One time I was feeding “Stubby” …
… (aptly named for missing part of his tail and the new fur grew in white at the tip), when a Cooper’s Hawk swooped down aiming for my furry friend, talons extended. Thankfully, this was near the pavilion area, so Stubby beat a path to the picnic table where the hapless hawk could not follow him. Whew!
I hope there are enough squirrels to reproduce and replenish the population of furry friends that have made me smile and been the subject of so many blog posts.
I’ve sprinkled a few photos from my blog of my furry friends throughout this post.
But yes, the unspoken question remains: “Where is this guy?”
Nature is cruel sometimes.
I am joining Terri’s Sunday Stills Challenge: National Take a Walk in the Park Day (March 30th)
Linda Schaub
WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY 