My father kept the bird feeder full and raged against the squirrels and chipmunks that assaulted its store of food. He had pellet guns and a twenty two pistol, but I haven't checked the ditch for skeletons. I'll admit I shot a chipmunk in cold blood once with a twenty two rifle, and it wasn't at this house. I was up north near Kalkaska, among the headwaters of the Manistee River. I hadn't turned 18 years old yet. Next month, I started college at Michigan State, September 1981. So it's been thirty years since I have killed an animal intentionally. I have some idea of going nose to snout with a wild boar but have no idea how I would field dress it or transport it out of a Michigan wild. I have heard no story of boar trouble around these parts. I still eat meat so I have assigned the "food processing" to hunters, farmers and meat packers. Killing a boar for meat to feed myself and hungry friend & kin would not be totally ignoble as shooting a squirrel for mischief. I don't think less of my father and don't encourage anyone to look at him askance. If only he had a plan to turn over the squirrel corpses for fur and meat to neighbors who could make use of both for chili and clothing or for sale. We still know these good, self-reliant people who only shop for staples. I have never confirmed his kills, but I am sure it is a low number. The four legged sunflower seed snatchers had a role in his daily routine. He would shout at them while he read News Max and his stack of conservative magazines. I don't think he compared these crumb snatchers to liberals though. No squirrel got monickered Obama.
Mom has yet to return from her treatment, and she has been away from the beginning of September. So she had filled the feeder mornings and brought it inside at night. She followed this routine for five weeks. It stands empty and the squirrels and birds have forgotten it.
Trees have meanings on this property. Two maples stand west of the feeder. Let's call them the grandfather maples. My daughter's paternal grandfather planted the one with yellow leaves, probably a Norway maple. My daughter's maternal grandfather gave me the red maple as a seedling before her birth and it took. There is still a patch of myrtle on the lawn where a sugar maple from the late 1800s stood. The bayberry is eradicated. The wife of the farmer we bought this farm from had a seriously landscaped yard. To the north of the birdfeeder is an old maple that has a perfect crotch for a treehouse and we often sat up there, like lions living in trees. We hung a tire swing from the south branch, and I used to swing my sister in it, singing "Early in the Morning as just the sun was rising, I saw a beautiful maiden a singing a song. Oh how I loved her ...." I will look up that madrigal.
No comments:
Post a Comment