My Battles with Neighborhood Critters

 

 

When we purchased a Roscommon cottage 32 years ago, we began a hobby of feeding birds. It became a treat for us: watching the greedy little beggars just outside two windows as they jostled for position at each feeder. There seemed to be dozens of bright yellow goldfinches challenging one another for dominance and a chance to gorge on tiny thistle seeds. After we demolished the cottage and replaced it with our retirement home, it was time to build a new feeder some distance from the windows but close enough to watch the variety of birds that began visiting on a regular basis. I decided on a feeding station, the better to attract different species with different foods that appealed to a larger variety of birds.

I soon learned that the seeds I generously offered for birds became a hot news item that was somehow broadcast to a variety of other creatures who ventured from the forests to my bird feeding station. The largest and seemingly most hungry of these critters was a neighborhood bear. Soon, it became obvious that the bear was not interested in sharing his good fortune with the birds; he wanted it all. He proved his selfishness on one occasion by carrying off the entire feeding station. I found some portions of it scattered about at the edge of the forest. I took his wanton destruction of my hand-built feeding station as a challenge that led me to building a new station, this one sturdier and beyond his reach by constructing the new station at the top of a tall pipe that I buried in the ground. Of course, it was something of a nuisance to refill the feeders as I had to use a ladder each time the avian beggars needed more seeds.

My success in foiling the bear didn’t last long. One morning I awoke to find the sturdy pole bent into an L shape. The enterprising bear had bent my carefully buried pole completely to the ground where he must have calmly wrestled the feeder from the pole and carried the entire station to the woods. This time, I never found just where he carried it. Perhaps he took it to his friend’s house and they all chortled at their cleverness and my inadequate design. I dug the pole out of the ground to try again, but, lacking a pipe straightener, I was unable to straighten the bent pipe. I went back to the hardware store yet again for new supplies. This time I came home with an even sturdier pipe, a 1- and 1/2-inch black iron pipe and bags of cement. I buried the heavy pipe, again establishing a new feeding station to be beyond the reach of bears even if they stood on their toes. I had a temporary set-back with the new pole when I learned that bears are smart enough to shake loose an unattached feeder from the top of even the highest of poles. After that experience,  I was careful to secure the feeding station to the top of the pole by a plumber’s attachment threaded onto the pipe. So far, the attachment has proven to be bear-proof.

Fast forward 30 years. I have continued feeding birds with fewer interruptions from bears as I finally learned to stop feeding birds in the early spring when bears have emerged from their dens and are powerfully hungry. This strategy has helped, but not eliminated the bear problem as the occasional bear wanderer sometimes stops by for a snack. More recently the critter problem has been from the smaller denizens of the forest: raccoons, 3 species of squirrels, and the annoying little chipmunks who aren’t afraid of humans: my chipmunks seem to enjoy chattering at me while I replenish the seeds.

My introduction to the raccoon problem occurred in a peculiar fashion. I had refilled the feeders after a long day and I mistakenly left my stepladder in place at the feeder. The next morning, I found the raccoon had discovered my ladder and climbed to the top step and made the tiny step onto the feeding platform where I found him calmy munching on sunflower seeds. Thereafter, he became a regular at the feeder – most times consigned to the leftovers that the birds scattered to the ground.

As the prices for feed increased this year, I decided to mount an all-out attack against the marauders stealing from the birds. Of course, I consulted Dr. Google for advice about foiling the most recent thief, the oversized raccoon. Following Google advice, I made a hasty trip to the hardware store and came home with an oversized plastic pipe whose purpose was to cover the steel pole. Google explained that raccoon hands are not large enough to gain a purchase on the oversized plastic pipe, thus preventing them from climbing to the feeder at the top. It worked. I haven’t seen a raccoon since the installation of the large pipe. Although, in all honesty, it could be a result of the feeder being empty most of the time since squirrels and chipmunks seem undeterred by the plastic pipe. I can verify this since I watched a red squirrel climb from the ground to the top and then open the door of the feeder and sit on the mound of sunflower seeds contained therein. As a consequence of this bit of red-squirrel gymnastics, I decided to concentrate my efforts in squirrel -proofing by installing a squirrel guard on the steel pole. Since none of the squirrel guards at the hardware would fit my oversized steel pipe, I was forced to improvise.

I found an old child’s sled in the barn (a roundy plastic thing that skids down a snow-covered hill, inevitably going backwards eliciting screams from the children – it’s a hoot to watch). I sawed the plastic doo-hickey to fit my over-sized pipe. I placed it at the top of the plastic pipe to which I added a plastic cap at the bottom and top to the plastic pipe, attached with plastic tie straps. The finishing touch was the addition of boards on the top of feeder to prevent the red squirrel from climbing inside. The entire assembly was secured to the pipe with an automotive exhaust pipe clamp (not visible in the photo). The entire feeder became a Rube Goldberg sort of assembly designed to prevent bears, raccoons and squirrels from stealing the seeds. I could hardly wait until the critters tried to steal my seeds again. Here is an embarrassing photo of my new invention.

The following morning, I looked at the bird feeding assembly to insure it was free from squirrels, bears, raccoons and miscellaneous other creatures, thus working as intended. To my consternation there was a red squirrel sitting on the platform happily munching seeds. I said a few bad words as I examined the evidence. All of the plastic tie straps had been chewed in two pieces and were laying on ground, and the lower cap had also been chewed but it still remained in place. There was no other damage to the contraption, nor any clue how the critter had climbed around the flexible yellow guard-shroud to reach the platform.

So that’s where I am today. I intend to take a break from my squirrel war for the time being, following the old adage that some things just aren’t worth fighting over, especially a few seeds that seem to fatten up the red squirrels in my neighborhood. I’ll keep you up to date if any other developments in the squirrel wars demand my attention. 

Midges Attack Northern Michigan

 

Attack of the Midges

 

This past week we were camping with our granddaughters a few hundred yards from Lake Huron. To be more precise, we were at Bay City State Park, at the pre-eminent entrance to the Saginaw Bay, adjacent to the mouth of the Saginaw River where flows an average discharge of 4,827 cubic feet per second. All that water comes from Michigan highlands (including Roscommon) into Lake Huron via the Tittabawassee River that becomes the Saginaw River after it joins with the Shiawassee, Flint and other large rivers that drain much of the central area of mid-Michigan.

As you might have guessed, we spent a portion of our week before the 4^th of July at the Saginaw Bay Beach, adjacent to the Tobico wetlands. Tobico features several ponds, bogs, and an assortment of other-named wetland areas, all of which provide sought-after viewing of numerous birds. The birds are attracted to the wetlands because of the protein-filled bugs that inhabit the quiet waters. The bugs were of little interest to us while we soaked up BTU’s from the cloudless skies that flooded us with enough lumens to make our skins red.

We quit the beach early -- opting for the air--conditioned comfort of our camping trailer and a game of Sequence at the kitchen table. This, of course, was only permitted after the obligatory camp fire maintained by a grand-daughter. Of course, I offered tips on keeping the blaze at least four feet high by the generous application of fire-starter liquids. We roasted several hot dogs and pigged out on corn chips in a gooey, but tasty dip.

We let the fire finally burn down as the sun settled. By now we were all tired, but the game of Sequence beckoned. We climbed in the trailer, clicked on the lights and opened the windows and the trailer door to admit a welcome and cooling breeze that helped alleviate the strange burning sensation that we experienced from our afternoon sun exposure. The open windows, and open door and the lights became a terrifying mistake. (Insert here: the sound of the spectacular cadence from the movie JAWS). Fifteen-year-old grand-daughter Shana was the first to notice as she was sitting next to the screened window. “What is that?” she exclaimed with some urgency. Wait, make that terror in her voice.

We all looked to see a swarm of tiny insects, inches from Shana, on the opposite side of the thin window screen that was keeping a horde of nasty looking little bugs at bay. Maybe. The JAWS music was increasing in volume as we watched the horde getting bigger and bigger. I noticed that a few bugs had somehow found their way inside the trailer, maybe 50 or more that were gathering inside, most near the ceiling. I got up from my chair to investigate. There was a trail of bugs from the table to the entry door. The outside door was open and the ill-fitting screen door indicated their probable entry point.

I looked closer. There was another horde of bugs at the door, even larger than those gathered at the screened window where Shana first called them out. Maybe a thousand bugs were silently buzzing about, each following a light beam, each intent on having sex. It was a problem. The bugs had somehow found a small entrance at the screen door and several dozen were now beginning to explore the inside of our trailer.

The construction of our camping trailer is such that one must open the screen door to access and close the outer door that was now wide open. Opening the screen door would be like inviting the horde to come inside and attack those of us who were breathing. I pondered the situation. I was pretty sure that one of the three females in the trailer would taste better than me, thus diverting their attention while I would make a desperate lunge to reach and close the outside door. I developed the plan for one of the females to open the screen door, being ready to slam it shut after my heroic effort to close the outside door.

Since I calculated that Marjorie was the least likely to scream and alert other neighborhood bugs to the attack, I asked her to manage the screen door. She reluctantly agreed. At the call of three I steeled my nerves and we implemented the plan.

Here is a photo taken from inside the trailer showing the accumulated bugs on the screen immediately after I closed the outside door. My sudden lunge and closing of the outside door seemed to help decimate the bug population from a thousand or more to several dozen who were desperately searching and miraculously finding a way in.

The black dots in the photo are the approximate 100 little devils who remained on the outside of the screen door despite my effort to sweep them away as I was closing the outside door.

We discussed how best to remove the bugs that had managed to find their way inside. Then I remembered the vacuum cleaner that we carry inside the trailer. I plugged in the machine and began chasing the devils with the extended length plastic tube. I wore out after a few minutes and passed the vacuum on to Kylie, who went after the horde with a vengeance. After Shana’s turn with the sweeper, we had reduced the population inside the trailer to less than dozen so that everyone finally felt free to take a large breath and open their eyes when the bugs came near.

We continued taking turns with the vacuum and finally there were less than a dozen bugs –most in hiding. Sometime later we felt obliged to discuss our near miss with the horde of bugs. Mr. Google and I had a lengthy discussion and it was determined that our swarm of little bugs had come from the nearby waters, gathered in the fading sunlight, made a bee line for the lights in our trailer, and sought out us humans as they enjoy the smell of our carbon dioxide-rich exhalations. I assume that one hazard with the bugs would be sleeping with your mouth open. We further determined that the hordes assemble as the means for males and females to come together in the production of eggs for future generations. Apparently. their amorous behavior is so energy intensive that they die a few hours after a single massing of the horde.

The midges that attacked us are similar to the May Flies (also known as fish flies) that inhabit southeast Michigan and especially Lake St. Clair where nearby roads sometimes become slippery with the bodies of millions of fish flies. Midges, as the name implies, are much smaller that May Flies. A recent news report indicated that this year was a productive one for Midges as the critters swarmed Mackinaw Island and Mackinaw City, to the consternation of island visitors who returned to find their parked cars completely covered with dead bugs.

Here is a picture taken on the day following the attack. The photo is showing the base of our screen door, testimony to the one-day life of the Midges after their frontal attack at our trailer. 

I presume the Better Business folks and those involved in tourism have been working overtime in discouraging news reporters from announcing the recent bug outbreak.