A Deep River Year - 2017

This has been the year of the Chipmunks. Perhaps because of last year's mild winter, the chipmunk population is booming in this corner of New England. Friends also have reported the little creatures scurrying around their homes and gardens. And many of us have found that the tomatoes and peppers we planted so expectantly last May have been discovered by chipmunks who, able to reach the low-hanging produce, have eaten the bottoms off our vegetables. We love to begin our day with coffee on the brick patio under our pergola, and often we have a quiet lunch there, too. Inevitably our presence does not go unnoticed. The little "chippies" show up looking for handouts, and my wife does not disappoint them. Usually we have on the table a container of raw peanuts to disperse to the chipmunks and squirrels that call our place home. And often the chipmunks jump right up on the table or crawl up Phyllis' leg and onto her shoulder to claim their bounty. It's amazing to watch one of those little guys stash three or four big peanuts in his cheeks before running off to dump them in its storage unit before hurrying back for more.

My father used to carry on a perpetual battle with chipmunks because they dug endless tunnels among his flower beds and beloved rose bushes. He tried to drown them out with the garden hose, to no avail. He could never fill the tunnels up. We don't even try. Quite to the contrary, we actually enjoy these small rodents, who allow us, for just a moment, to bridge the gap between two alien species. We gladly spread our largesse among the songbirds and crows, the squirrels and the chipmunks. The gift they give us in return is not a thank-you, but the joy of having open hands, open hearts.

Chipmunk

Little one,
you come into our world
for something simple.
You do not care about
our lovely personalities,
our engaging wit,
our entertaining stories.
You want food.
We give it.
But we hold out to you
more than peanuts
and sunflower seeds.
We offer you a truce
in a world that is red
in tooth and claw,
a kindness as the hawks
circle overhead, 
as winter's shadows stir
in your tiny bones.
We notice your courage,
see that we are not so different
from each other.
We live, each of us, a little life,
try to save something for tomorrow,
hide in fearsome times,
breathe summer's air with joy
before the end comes,
shake our tails with joy
at any gentle hand.
We are cousins
in this strange and wondrous
family.

--Timothy Haut