Making A List, Checking It Twice

 Calm down, calm down, it's not Xmas and I'm not Santa. Not Mrs. Claus either, or even a workshop elf. But deadlines are approaching, some passing, others threatening havoc if skipped. Lists become a necessity.

The daffodil bulbs are finally planted. They're covered with hardware cloth held down by stones and stray lumber pieces. All but three of them that is. I just finished filling a large patch with bulbs this morning, large enough to start with a shovel instead of a trowel, and filling the space I'd made back in to cover the bulbs, when a neighbor walked by. I still had three bulbs needing a hole, matched by a hole needing a location, but my locations were full. Why not offer the last 3 to the neighbor? She's also a gardener, and in fact received a 1//3 section of the big old bleeding heart I split to make room for daffodils. She willingly took these off my hands despite my guarantee that they were from a batch of totally mixed bulbs, so no guarantee of color, numbers of petals, trumpet shape, or anything except being daffodils.

I thanked her for saving me some work.

Last part of that list item was watering them in where I'd planted, which would include spraying the remainder of the dirt pile down flat to match the rest of the bed. I hooked up the new hose to the old hose, after using the short old one to water the circle garden next to it. When I say I hooked them together, I mean I tried. Several times, thus: Twist, twist... flop apart. Twist, twist... repeat. Repeat. Go inside, check out exactly which brand the new one was since I'd helpfully put the cardboard label in the recycling bin a few hours after it got picked up, weeks ago. As one does. Once locating the brand and choosing the size, putting my order in. Theoretically it will be delivered late in the week. Put hand/bucket watering back on the to-do list. Finally, decide whether I really meant tonight or tomorrow for that last one. Those arms are progressively getting more sore as the day passes. Water in buckets is heavy.  (Sorry - you did know that, right?)

While I made that order, I added some food items getting low, along with a note to self to pick up my pharmacy refills. Once that was completed, with no time left to add to the order, I remembered we need some blue ice. Or canned ice.  Or call it by whatever name works, because for sure the store doesn't sell it under those names anyway. Once at the pharmacy, even though my order is ready, it's not actually ready. The pharmacist hasn't looked it over yet. Maybe they know where the canned ice is while I wait. Well, they are fully confident that the (wrong) set of aisles they sent me to in order to locate it was right... because it was in Tupperware. Uh, riiiighhhtttt. Uh huh. Staffers working in one of those aisles have a better idea... actually showing me the location. How many did I want?  They even pulled them down from the high shelf I can't reach. Of course, since they were standing still, other customers got in line for some rare personal  help. I still don't know if they got back to their original job. One trusts their boss is happy with them, since we all are.

Next Steve put in an order before I left home... with me... kitty corner across that huge box store from pharmacy, pushing a no-longer-empty cart, hunting up and down two long grocery aisles with more blank spots than merchandise for sale. I'm sure one of those blanks used to hold what he wanted. Make another note to suggest to him putting his own order in for some sudden impulse order. Let the hired help go find it. Worst case it might be delivered along with the needed hose in a few days right to our door.

I returned to the pharmacy, having gotten the phone call that it was ready now, checked out, and drove around the corner of the store to pick up the order I'd called in hours earlier. On the drive back I recalled a place Steve had bought what he wanted in years past and gave them a go. My shoulder allowed me to carry two out to the car and in to the house. In return he put the canned ice packs into the freezer top shelf for me.

Tomorrow I'll be getting the cooler back which was on loan to somebody. They don't need it any more. We will, since people have heard we'll be up north at Betty's Pies on the North Shore in a bit, and have placed orders with us. (They have turtle pie? Maybe I'll pick one up for me.) At any rate, we need to keep them cool for the drive back, hence the cooler and canned ice. In addition to cool, they need to stay flat. The loaned out cooler is large. And Steve is even now going through their online menu for his pie choices. So on the list goes "Eat Stuff Out Of The Freezer To Make Room!" Come to think of it, some of that ought to be turkey frozen after last year's holidays for indeterminate use later. This is definitely LATER. Hmmm, sandwiches for the trip?

Since we'll not be here to mind the traps with a check every few hours, either relocate them inside the shed or spring them closed sans squirrels. To be decided. The one bar that the coon kicked loose has been replaced... by me. It was an excellent job requiring a needed sit-down during planting. I hadn't the heart yesterday to pile that one on my son's list, especially after he helped with my car  (see below) and swapped out the furnace filter which some highly able-bodied whippersnapper had designed to go way on top of a narrow but vertical furnace. I simply choose not to subject my shoulders to that. It takes my son all of two minutes, but still, it's a great help.

Another item knocked off the list was doing dishes, by hand, not in the machine. My finger nails were black after hand digging the hole bottoms for the bulbs. The only dependable way to clean them is by doing dishes. Problem tends to be Steve, who is gung ho on using the dishwasher instead of leaving me a bunch of things easily done by hand to do. I can give my hands a good soak and some swipes with the nail brush sitting above the sink in the soap dish.  This time I got to them first, a side benefit of which is that the counters now have also all been washed down. Dishwashers don't offer that service. Somebody might make a fortune if they got those kind of improvements the way smart phones get new stuff every year in them. (It wouldn't be the consumer, of course.)

Because of impending travel, there's packing to manage. Change of clothes in case of weather, medications including extra sets just in case, trip food, maps, phone numbers... all the usual, just much less than for a multi-day snowbirding excursion. An additional item knocked off the list months ago was getting the state parks sticker for inside the windshield. There are a lot of them where we're going, but it's been getting more local use. Needed event reservations have been made and paid. A couple adjustments on the car interior have been made, thanks to my son stopping by and not just showing me how to do them, but blessing me with the news after 12 years that such things were even available. My seat has been sitting very low, for example. I don't know where/when  it happened or who did it, but it turns out there a little lever that pumps the seat higher.  It also lowers it. I thought maybe my spine was curving, or the seat springs had worn out. But now I can actually see out over the steering wheel again instead of between the top of it and the dash. It makes a difference!

While he was at it, and due to prompting from Steve who's heard me complain that when I turn the car lights on I lose the dash lights completely, he showed me another thing. It used to be they'd just be very dim in the daytime but still visible in day, brighter at night. There's a fix for that too that nobody ever told me about, and now I know where it is and what to do with it... in a good way. The car didn't come with those issues. Somebody changed something. It's not old age (mine) or something burned out in the car like a fuse. Since I so seldom do any night driving, and only recently again am in a place with plenty of rain, requiring headlights to be on in the day, I hadn't had quite the issue until recently. 

I'm sure there's more to go on the list. But right now I think the top item should be supper. Mmmmm, Pad Thai! 

Where are those extra peanuts....?

Oh wait: Chargers! How could I fail to list chargers???????

So-o-o-o Not A Squirrel!

I poked my head out this morning to check the traps and they were both moved, with one still rattling because my nearness had scared the occupant. OK, so 1 squirrel or 2? It didn't seem likely a critter that small could move both traps. Maybe there really were that many stupid squirrels which would enter an empty trap next to its duplicate with a scared occupant, just to get some nuts. It had happened once....

I didn't like the pictures I'd gotten previously  of one of the trapped squirrels, so I popped back inside and grabbed my camera.  Since whatever occupant(s) I had kept rattling the traps, I decided to try one from the porch deck rather than approaching on the ground. I wasn't planning to torture them with fright, just relocate them.  I first got a shot of how kittywampus the traps were, having been left last night lined up flush with the side of the house, open at opposite ends.

I later decided their corners had tangled together, as the picture plainly showed one door still up. Whatever was literally rattling the cages had some bulk, more than a single squirrel. I decided to zoom in from the same vantage point, and pop the files into my laptop, cropping even more away so I could see what I'd caught.

Boy, did I!

The ball of fur resolved on the near end into two pointed ears, dark top of the head, a tan forehead, black band across the eyes, tan muzzle, and black nose. We had ourselves a racoon!

This was going to be interesting. I had already planned that if I got a squirrel I'd keep it till mid afternoon when two granddaughters were coming over with their mom. If they were interested, I'd invite them to come along and witness the release. I emailed the mom to let her know what was up, since we'd already talked about squirrels.

The sun was beginning to hit the trap so I decided to move it into the shade. Uff Da! I'd thought it was a young coon with a fluffy coat. Turns out this had a short coat with a whole lot of coon inside it. This was a full grown critter, about four times the expected weight even allowing for the change in species, easily capable of unpredictable damage, especially to curious small fingers. Time to call Mom back and share my decision to cancel the adventure, to which she readily agreed.

It would be cruel to keep it caged with so little room to move inside, especially compared to a squirrel, so even having it around any longer then necessary was a no-go. I felt the cage's wire handle digging into my hand for the trip across the front yard to the car. That's it just above the coon's head in the photo, coming out of the plate and tucking back under. My hand still is not perfectly delighted with that particular task. Only one will fit. At least I had the car doors open and ready, also cooling the car down in a rapidly warming, wannabe-summer day in mid September.

I stopped in the usual spot, thinking the ponds around that area were even more of a bonus for the coon than they were for the squirrels. It too had calmed down for classical music on the trip. Schubert this time.  But hauling the trap out of the car required more tilting than when it carried a squirrel, and my caution was ramped up a couple notches. It wound up on end on the ground while my thickly gloved hands fiddled with the wires and bars to allow the door to open. I spoke softly to the coon, hoping to keep it calm during the unfortunately bumpy process, and once opened, out it rushed, away from me without a backward look or wasted motion, not only up the hill but partway up the tree at its top as well!

Hooray! I told it to have a good life here, which of course partly translates to don't come back. I had taken a few minutes with Google and found out that yes, they like even more of what's in my gardens than the squirrels do. So seriously, coon, have a happy life in your new home!

Sometime this weekend I'll have to ask my son if he has the time to pop over and put the trap back together. In all its thrashing around, the bar which goes through the trip plate and fastens to the door release got pushed loose and out of the trap by the coon. I left it on the ground during transport. Now it sits on top of the trap so as not to get lost. I'm sure my son can easily look at the intact trap and figure out exactly where it goes back. I might even think of another chore or two......

Imagine This

If you're lucky, this will stay only in your imagination, easily dropped into your vault of fading, disappearing memories.  But let's just give it a shot, shall we?

Imagine being in a favorite restaurant with a favorite person, having an absolutely wonderful meal, great conversation, and no place in the world you'd rather be at that particular moment. For no really important reason you reach across the table to move something on it closer to you. What it is doesn't matter, except to know it is small, mildly desired, but just a bit inconvenient in its present location. The reach is a very routine action, nothing special in it either.

Or at least until you feel your shoulder dislocate as you start to bring your arm back.

It's not the first time it's happened, but usually it happens with a hug. There's something about that particular angle and motion that finds a particular vulnerability. Mostly you haven't noticed it before, except when the person hugging you withdraws abruptly in shock, announcing, "I just felt your shoulder pop!". It usually hasn't been painful, or at least not like this, though some level of pain has become normal, the wallpaper to your daily life, and usually quite unwelcomed, even when it doesn't radiate down into the elbow, then down to the fingertips. Because it will do that too.

It disrupts normal life, the kinds of actions one does routinely without giving thought. You think about it and it gets done, like toweling the back of your head after a shampoo, or scratching that itch on your back, or opening a cabinet door the height of your head. Suddenly you need help dressing, pulling that tight elastic waistband up to your actual waist in back, or tugging that long-sleeved top over your head, up past your shoulders and down your back. If a sleeve twists you can't reach over to untwist it without more effort and pain than you'd like to start your day with, especially when it's fresh from the laundry and shrunk back into its original shape and size. Day 2 or 3 it usually eases out, and day 4 it hits the laundry basket just on principle while you start over with another top. There's no bothering to give the old one the sniff test, since your sniffer no longer works, you just make the assumption.

By now you think you're used to it as part of daily life. Every day you are grateful you don't live alone and have somebody who's happy to assist you in getting ready to face the world, tugging that top into place. They can easily reach high shelves and get things down or put them back up. The medical visits are so frequent now that's it's only a matter of day and time each week when you see the physical therapist.  Or occasionally somebody else as well. And you're studying what surgery would be like, what restrictions it would place on your life before they finally lift, like being unable to drive (legally) for weeks.

But this simple little reach across the table is qualitatively different. The pain flashes instantly, and in pulling your arm back you have to try various wiggles to get it back tucked in the shoulder. That doesn't ease the pain, of course. You walk out at the end of the meal with everything you need in a bag... in your other hand. The popped one hangs, straight and still. You're still driving. You can grasp the steering wheel to hold it steady while the good hand grabs a new position to turn it. But another person has to fasten your seat belt, and unfasten it when you're home. When you finish the task of putting everything in it's place, whether it's the refrigerator, the counter, or kicked off onto the floor near the door or your chair, and you can sit down, you have to stop yourself from taking a pain pill. The ones you're on already are strong, and only taken in the morning, with coffee and food. Somehow you have to tough this out until then. You wonder if this could possibly be the rare night you can find a comfortable way to lie on your bed so you don't wake in two hours and  return to your recliner because it lets your shoulder hang rather than you rolling on it as you turn in your sleep.

Your own favorite chair gives you pause. You wish your feet up, but there's a lever on the side of your chair that raises and drops your foot rest. The wrong side! A minute or two are wasted in deciding whether it's worth what it's going to take to  get that footrest up, knowing it will have to be reversed in order to go to bed later, or even just the bathroom.

Somehow your night passes. The morning pill is taken with gratitude, as on every morning these days, even though you note that the pain from the day before has somewhat eased. The fingers don't tingle, the elbow isn't stabbing you. Your chair is a great place to do your range of motion exercise to get the joint ready for its day. You refer to is as doing your windmills, sitting and leaning down over your knees, and circling both arms in larger and larger circles in both directions, forward and reverse, trying to get those circles at least as wide as last time, if not wider, which is the point. While the pain of the night before has eased off, for the first time now in the quiet house you can hear your right arm moving as it bumps into your shoulder several times with each rotation.

Soon you are going to have to get dressed again for the day... with help for sure.  You have commitments to meet, errands to run, and your day starts with another session of physical therapy. You muse on whether that's going to be an "interesting" conversation about last night with the therapist. Will she be able to hear that joint the way you can? Will you even ask?

Squirrel Stunts In Silly-Stan

 Last count was 4 squirrels caught and released in a new home. Note that in each case only one trap was tripped at a time, even though one day both were tripped, hours apart, requiring two trips to the release point.

After that were several days with no captures. I won't say no action, since nuts were disappearing from inside and around the traps, wherever they fell as I dropped them through the wire top. Just no tripping of the lever that brought the door firmly down. I knew there was at least one in the area, since we'd seen it from the car as we passed a neighbor's home. And, I'll repeat, nuts were going away.

I decided not to renew the nuts for a bit. I picked up the trap in the garden planting section and moved it over next to the other one alongside the house, back-to-back, with each opening on opposite ends. Both had the few nuts I'd picked out of the dirt scattered inside, and the doors were left open. My plan was only ambitious enough to keep an eye on how much interest there was in the area to gather peanuts. Before combining the traps in a single area I had renewed the peanut butter in the one, and noted that it too had disappeared without triggering the door. 

Sigh.

I made the assumption that the squirrels had a learning curve. Although... how did they learn without tripping the trap?  No penalty, what's to learn?

It's been rainy off and on, and the chill from last week was slowly giving way to typically warmer early fall temperatures. Very slowly. I'd give the traps a quick glance as I passed them, either to move garbage cans to the street, or go in and out of the house. Whatever squirrels remained nearby just weren't interested.

A bit before lunchtime, I headed out to get stuff out of the shed for another round of bulb planting. My list includes the bulbs, of course, in a plastic bag, with a trowel, a clippers to cut rhubarb stalks as well as last years plastic hardware cloth into new configurations for this year's plantings, and finally a folding chair to keep me steady for the task. I spend less energy from that vantage point, as well as having less risk of falling. 

I barely passed the porch before noting that both traps had their doors down. BOTH of them! All those days of being pretty well ignored, and suddenly both were sprung.

The immediate question, of course, as soon as I noted both were full, was just which one of them was the stupid one that went in their trap after the first one was tripped. The two were touching, for Pete's sake! Did one not notice their fellow squirrel in distress? Or did their tiny brains think this meant they could get all the nuts to themself?

Second move was to let Steve know my plans had changed a bit since I had two squirrels to relocate and release.

The minute I'd noticed them, they started wildly scrambling in their respective traps in a panic. It continued as I picked them up to place on the back seat, side-by side so neither would tumble in a fast stop. The back of the passenger seat was in the perfect spot to prevent a tumble. The scrambling didn't stop until I turned the radio on to classical music, It seems to calm them... just like it calms me. Earlier ones liked Mozart or Beethoven, which happened to be playing during their release trips. Today we started with the triumphant end to the William Tell Overture, aka The Lone Ranger theme to a lot of us, not that the squirrels would care. They immediately settled down, and stayed that way for some Bach.

Release point: dirt road, marsh & pond on left, hill full of trees on right.

The release today was a bit interesting. When I set them  side-by-side in the car, some piece of wire stuck out in a bend and snared the other trap. I had to lift one so the opening pointed down to freedom, but the other trap came along for the ride.  Squirrel #1 zoomed out, just like the 4 previous ones. When it was #2's turn, it climbed to the high end if it's trap despite freedom beckoning below. (Hey, maybe this was the stupid one?) I shook it gently and it finally decided to exit.

First oak tree up the hill, more beyond.

A little fussing with the two joined traps persuaded me to try it later after getting home, planting some bulbs as intended originally.  A fresh approach could be tried. If necessary, my son would be over during the weekend and I could rely on his eye to find the fix. I didn't care right then if any more squirrels were around, I had other things to do.

Current tally: 6.

When A Gamble Pays Off

I had a picture I needed to take. Ever felt that?  The photo contest was well over, I'd seen a bunch of duplicates where everybody shot the same thing with minor details of variety, and decided I needed to do something in the same category but with a different idea. I'd always been busy with birds with my camera. This needed some study.

So I came up with two ideas, of course. Both are primarily sky photos, and per contest rules, shot in their location, but primarily night shots, or at least night-ish. I'd love to catch lightning over a lake. Any of a dozen different varieties would do, clouds or ground strikes, but with a reflection would be best.  Then there was the full moon, again with a lake reflection. 

Ahhh, if only the lakes there had layouts that would cooperate. A moon has to be either rising or setting, low enough over the water for a long trail of reflection. That mandates either shooting across some lake west to east, or east to west. I knew the camera would catch it since a couple years ago I'd gotten it perfectly over Lake Mille Lacs when Steve did  some night fishing. That full moon was a bonus for me. All I'd planned for was taking care of the dog on shore for a couple or three hours. The camera was for documenting three generations of family out doing the family pastime.

The problem I had for either idea was the lakes in the qualifying area were aligned with their long axis north-to-south. Most of the roads looked over them from the north or south, or the lake surfaces were covered with plants and birds. Lovely, of course, but not helpful for my goals. I returned to the visitor center, got more maps of areas I hadn't yet visited in my years going there, and spent a day exploring new territory. Two lakes looked likely, but one didn't have the right angle allowing close access to the lake. The second was perfect, a boat launch on the west shore and a wide expanse of water before a low ridge of trees on the east.

Now I just need weather and/or the calendar to cooperate. There was a lot of rain all summer, and some thunder showers, but the timing was off or I was otherwise committed or it was too wet and cold. I decided to wait until fall and try for full moons when the skies were otherwise cooperative. Saturday, September 6th was the corn moon. I know, most think of it as the harvest moon, but this year the October full moon rises closer to the fall equinox and gets the honors. 

There were issues. All September had been extra cold so far. It kept raining. I stayed busy trapping squirrels, releasing them well away, baiting the traps again, and checking to see what was in them. Mostly not in them as it turned out, but still, 4 seemed like a good start. It was becoming a miserable job, releasing them in the cold rain, but I couldn't leave them stuck in the trap with no shelter. Still, I kept an eye on the calendar and the weather, hoping it would start to warm up as promised and the clouds would clear - which wasn't promised. I checked the times given for sunset and moonrise, and waited, planning, just in case.n

A decision had to be made by a certain time since the location is a fair drive. Even ten minutes before I needed to start preparing, I didn't think I'd go. Another shower had just arrived, but clouds seemed to be getting lighter in the direction I needed to go. Suddenly, BOOM! I decided to go just like that, and Steve, knowing how long I'd been planning, all but kicked me out the door when he heard I was going to do it. 

I had barely cleared the driveway when I saw my first shot.

It seemed like a sign it would be a good day to try for my photo, so after pulling over to get a couple shots, off I went. This still wasn't the weather 35 miles north, but if I didn't try I'd never get the imagined shot.

I cross the state line, headed north, and kept an eye on one particular cloud as I got closer. It was an eastward moving storm cloud, fairly compact, sky slowly clearing around it offering hope that it wouldn't block the moon as it rose. The closer I got, the pinker it got, lit by the lowering sun. Small straggling streamers of cloud stayed low in the sky, leaving me to wonder if I'd even see the moon before it got too high for a lake reflection.

To get where I was going, I had to turn west off the highway, or right into the very low sun. Compounding the driving fun, the pavement ended, changing to gravel with puddles along the sides, and shortly full of ground fog covering the details I needed to see to be safe. The sun was directly in my eyes, so I slowed to about 10 mph, fearing I was losing my shot before I got near. Other cars were on the same road, both behind me till they passed, or coming straight towards me out of the sun. Eventually I found my road for my next turn, and finally lost the sun in my eyes. Lots of trees were protecting me from the west side of the road, 

However, ground fog was getting heavier, thicker, and hiding several scattered restless deer from my sight until I was right upon them. Fortunately they stayed off the road until I passed, except a doe and fawn which decided - correctly - I was slow enough for them to run across ahead of me. I started to wonder if there would be light by the time I got to the boat landing for my shot. Or worse, once I found the road in, if I couldn't see it clearly enough in advance to avoid scraping my undercarriage along the high ridge between the well worn ruts for the half mile to the lake. I just kept going, musing on whether I was brave or foolish to keep going, just me, only Steve knowing - if he recalled the exact details - precisely where I was going in case of a problem. Not that he could do anything about it.

The sky beckoned, I caught glimpses of the moon, already up and clear of most of the scraggly little strips of grey. The remains of the storm cloud was lit from behind me by the setting sun, lowering in a compact lump of pink. I quickly parked the car, grabbed the camera, and hurried to see what was left to shoot.

There was this...

and this...

and this...

 

And even this:

Of course there are another couple dozen to pick from. I'll decide later. Right now I'm just going to enjoy them, even while continuing to cuss out the dozens of drivers who insist on tailgating me despite heavy ground fog with their piercing blue high beams stabbing my eyeballs for the entire drive back home. But I missed hitting the racoon, I'm safe, and pleased with the night. 

Now I just have to see what's going on when the official Harvest Moon rises next month.

A Correction For MPR This Morning

 It was cold this morning. Not super -cold, like frost warnings all over, but after a pretty warm summer, still a real chill. It prompted a news segment of records for cold temperatures in the state, for earliest snowfalls, both flurries and measurable amounts. The concluding comment was that July is the only month here with no snowfalls.

That's not true. I saw one.

When we were quite young, my parents owned a resort on Second Crow Wing lake, called Pleasant Ridge. We moved away when I was in third grade, so 1957 if my math still is correct. I wasn't there the year I was in kindergarten, since Mom was too sick that year and I went to stay with relatives on my Dad's side of the family. What happened was sometime in the years when I was in first through third grade.

My parents were very work-oriented people, passing those values on to us kids. Work didn't stop until it was done, or something very important happened. So any time they called us kids from what we'd been doing when they stopped what they were doing just to show us something, it left memories. There was the huge pine snake on the property, or the huge fall monarch butterfly migration heading southward across the lake. And there was the time it snowed in July.

It was a short flurry, not the kind of big thing, obviously, that made history, or even was noted over a large part of the state. We couldn't even go sledding on it because it disappeared as it landed. But summer was the time my parents made any money from the resort. People came to fish, and swim, and canoe, and even take trips to places like Itaska State Park, the headwaters of the Mississippi. But mostly fishing, of course. Warm sunny weather was not just expected, it was vital. Money was very tight, and eventually drove the sale of the resort as a financial necessity.

So it wasn't just come-out-and-see-this-snow, it was all the complaints and fears that accompanied this rare event. It was pretty cool to watch, but even better that it stopped quickly. It was rarely referred to in later years, more of an oddity than a potential disaster. Eventually other things took our attention.

But every once in a rare while, the memory returned. Especially when others say it never happened. We saw it. It snowed once in July in Minnesota, around 70 years ago.

First Squirrel Rehomed

If you read these regularly, you're aware I hate the local squirrels for digging up and eating the bulbs I plant in the fall. They are known to love tulips, lilies, crocus, even scilla bulbs. They are not known to eat daffodil bulbs but the local ones haven't read the manual on those and eat them anyway. Those manuals also state that smells deter them. Cinnamon? For a week maybe.  Coyote urine? Apparently they haven't met one they can't escape from by climbing trees with a couple large bulbs in their cheek pouches - and that stuff was really expensive!

This fall I'm replanting daffodils and scillas where the squirrel buffet was held last year. Before I finished the scilla row, they'd sneaked in overnight and started digging those up. Time to get the traps out. Live traps, that is. I'd gotten two last spring. My son came over, showed me how to set them up, and we left them sitting in the living room for when planting time came again.

You want to place any bets on whether either of us remembered how to reset them?  With high hopes I drove them over to his house, with specific and emphatic instructions on setting them up as soon as he figured it out again, but this time having me do it over and over until I felt fairly confident I knew how. The trick is starting with one squared U-shaped piece, grabbing it by the bottom bar of the U. Once I get that moving toward the inside of the trap, things fall into place, the hook stands out, and a finger wiggle sets it up.

Whew!

He thoughtfully unfastened them so I could practice once getting home. Fifteen minutes of something totally different could clear the mind just enough to forget the critical starting point. I got them set, spread peanut butter on the tilt tray by sticking the knife with it between the bars which were just wide enough. Then they went outside in two locations, neither visible to the other, where dry roasted peanuts were scattered just outside the open end and across the bottom, both to and past the tilt tray which springs it.

Nothing on day 1. Nor day 2.

Today was day 3, and I noticed the peanuts had been scarfed up from the closest trap, leaving the trap unsprung. I went around the corner to view the second trap and immediately noticed it too was unsprung but had a squirrel inside just finishing breakfast. It startled when I approached, but since the opening faced me it jumped on the tilt tray!

Yahoo!

I brought the tray up  on the porch to let it rest while I got ready for driving the car. Part of that was figuring out where my heavy hide gloves were, I'd just seen them, but where? In case the thing in its terror decided to turn and bite me, I wanted as little success from its endeavor as possible.

I put a sheet of cardboard across the car passenger seat before setting the trap on it - for obvious reasons to anybody who's handled a terrified animal. Or who wants a clean seat in the car next time they sit there. The trap and contents went on that, after photos of the critter were attempted on the porch. I wasn't sure how blurred they were, hadn't checked yet, deciding rehoming the thing took priority. 

I did get a little lucky, when I checked later. One of the three is clear enough one can guess it's actually a squirrel in a trap, on a porch inside its rails. But like most mug shots it's trying to hide its face to avoid identification. I wasn't going for perfection, the classic animal face pose with an eye clearly showing, or anything like that, I didn't even try to check for gender. But you may note a very full belly. Yes, I also love those dry roasted nuts!

 I knew just the place for it. I'd been scouting all summer. First requirement was a very low-traffic spot, fairly well hidden from anybody who might object to my releasing squirrels in the area. Second was having the release spot far enough from my gardens that it wouldn't be likely to return. Third, in order to aid the second, was a spot with ideal squirrel habitat.  I found a spot along a dirt road, off another road off a county road with little traffic. It's lined with oak trees on one side, a cattail swamp edging a small lake on the other, and nearby buildings out of view from where I stopped.

The squirrel stayed active while I drove, looking for that one magic spot where it could bite through the steel  and escape. I don't think it broke any teeth in the attempt, or at least nothing was left behind to indicate such a result.  I got my gloves on after parking, hauled the trap out without incident, got the door open and pointed the open end at the ground. Less that a second later there was a rustle of leaves in the grass, up the hill and straight on till morning... Oh wait, that's Peter Pan. It didn't take more than another full second till it was out of view, hearing, or any indication it was still in the area. It's direction of travel had been straight towards the tallest oak, which I'd parked under, so I imagine it's busy taking over its new territory now.

Rather than turning around I continued  down the gravel road and a couple turns later was parking at the local apple orchard store which just opened for the season. Currently both traps are reset with more peanuts, and an apple pie is finishing baking in the oven. Steve likes the apple caramel candies they sell there, while I like their plain caramels, so once the next squirrel gets rehomed, I'll be shopping there again. Probably even without any squirrels to rehome. It's the principle of the thing, doncha know.

I enjoy imagining family reunions as the local extended rehomed family explores a spot with more food, fewer cars, and miles of nearly continuous treetops for their aerobatics: "Hi Fred, Hey Larry". 

"Hello Sheila, what kept you? Didn't like the salt on the nuts? Need sea salt next time? You always were too fussy!"