Rites of Spring

We've been leaving unshelled peanuts in the ravine on our daily walks for quite some time now. Along with whole-wheat-type bread bits, baked in our own kitchen, when we've got too much to deal with. And since I also began cleaning out the kitchen cupboards for the usual spring cleaning ritual, I isolated a bag of wheat puffs, and another of cheese-flavoured corn chips, meaning to take them along as well; sprinkle them along the rails of the bridges in the ravine, and leave them in niches and crannies here and there.

I always peer into those places the following day where the offerings have been left to assure myself that I haven't scattered these little delicacies in vain. Invariably, by next day they're gone, taken by birds, squirrels, chipmunks and the occasional raccoon happening by them. In the winter I occasionally take a bagel out and hang it on a bare branch. Bagels last about two or three days; first the top portion is nibbled at, and next day I turn it around, revealing the opposite side for the delectation of the takers.

When we first descend into the ravine there's a huge old pine at the intersection of the trail, which veers off either to the left or the right. A tiny red squirrel is resident there in the pine, in a series of openings he escapes into. It would appear he has become accustomed to our daily visits, for he sits up on a branch calmly observing us, not resorting to the usual scolding they keep in reserve for interlopers to their territory.

That little squirrel knows that when he hears our voices, or sees us, he will invariably discover the presence of peanuts under his tree, directly beside one of the lower entrance holes. So fearless has he become that we've seen him prowl around the back of the tree to wait until we've gone past, then stealthily steal the peanut lying nearest to him, and haul it back up to the lowest branch to eat.

On occasion, just as we're descending into the ravine, approaching that huge old pine, we'll see the squirrel hurrying over to his tree, anxious to gain its fastness just as we're coming abreast of it, to then sit patiently above, waiting for his daily reward. He's obviously been off somewhere, and checked his timer to ensure he won't miss our arrival, hurrying to meet and greet.

He's even gone down below to the base of the tree to begin feasting when we've only gone a dozen feet from the area, and we stand and watch him. A beautiful little creature of the woods. Our two dogs have become accustomed to this, and they stand quietly with us, not reacting as they so often do, to the piquant presence of squirrels demanding to be chased.

Since my husband has begun demolition work on the deck in our backyard outside our breakfast room, he has taken to leaving small piles of shelled blanched peanuts on the deck. We've been amply rewarded. A tiny resident chipmunk often comes to visit and we watch in awe as he stuffs an unbelievable number of peanuts into his suddenly-capacious maw, to spirit them away to his lair.

We've noticed lately the presence of chickadees, become aware of the cache of peanuts to be taken advantage of, and watch as they too, avail themselves. Today we also observed a male cardinal cautiously sitting in wait on the weeping mulberry tree beside the deck before finally making his audacious move onto the deck, to take for himself one of the peanuts, fly with it to the back fence, and enjoy it.

Black squirrels and a red squirrel quite bit larger than our tiny friend in the ravine also come to visit. We give preferential treatment to the red squirrel, and that makes me feel rather guilty. But we'd watched, annoyed, when the black squirrel - the one with the bushy tail, not the ratty tail - chased our tiny chipmunk away from the peanuts, earning our enmity.

There are so many rites of spring, and we have ours.