(Wo)man vs. Nature

Three minor skirmishes to remind me that nature and people can’t live in the same place at the same time.  I really don’t like to kill living creatures.  I cannot put a lobster in a pot, I will cup insects in my hand to throw them outside, and probably wouldn’t survive in the wild (except as a vegetarian).

I draw the line at mice.  They are messy and reproduce fast.  This year, they had the audacity to pee all over my cleaning supplies under the sink.  I have my weapon of choice — the good old fashioned mouse trap and have little remorse when I hear the snap.  But when I came upon a tiny new born mouse crawling over my kitchen floor a few days ago, I had a dilemma.  In the end, I couldn’t kill it myself, so I put it outside.  Round one to house holder.

Round two:  The cedar shingled wall next to my cottage front door faces north and never gets any sun.  I have a small lantern light attached to the shingles and I leave it on at night.  Right before I go to bed, I go outside to inspect my night visitors attracted by the light.  I have seen enormous click-beetles and a gorgeous moth the size of two handspans.  This year, however, I came across this:

Did some research online and thought they looked most like a satin moth. Pretty and happy to leave them be.  Until one of my Maine friends told me to beware the brown-tailed moth.  [As an aside, who named this “brown tail?”  I mean, sure, the body underneath is brown but seriously, who looks at that moth and says “brown?”]

Turns out, this little creature is a scourge in the caterpillar phase.  Brown-tail moth caterpillar hairs break off the caterpillar and circulate in the air. Those hairs are tiny fishhooks, sticking into the skin and let loose an irritating chemical that does not break down for years.  Symptoms include asthma and poison-ivy blisters all over the body.  They strip an oak tree of its leaves in no time flat and have infested Southern Maine.

I just missed the caterpillar phase.  Yesterday my power washer took out about 500 of next year’s reproducers.  And I didn’t hesitate for a second.  [note: the water doesn’t kill them.  Feet do.]  Round two to householder.

Round three: Battle to begin.  Pest identified:  Red squirrels.  I can hear them scrabbling up behind the shower wall.  They run out from under the house, run halfway up the pine tree, and loudly berate me as I sit on the deck.  Cheeky monsters.  Which means they have the dreaded babies somewhere in my wall.  I can’t crawl under the cottage to block up the hole until those rat babies are gone.  Grey squirrels are content to live in trees, chipmunks in woodpiles, but red squirrels want to live in your house and trash it.

This isn’t news to me.  It’s right out of one of my favorite books, Miss Suzy, by Miriam Young.

Caption: Miss Suzy is a little gray squirrel who lives happily in her oak-tree home until she is chased away by some mean red squirrels. Poor Miss Suzy is very sad. But soon she finds a beautiful dollhouse and meets a band of brave toy soldiers. 

I don’t have any tin soldiers but I have a have-a-heart trap ready with apple and peanut butter.  It’s going to be a protracted fight.