SoBoCoMo Springtime

Each morning I peek through the window to see if any stragglers are heading home after a late night. Then I check the cameras on my phone. No, it’s not neighbors I’m watching. Its nature’s nightshift in Southern Boone County, Missouri.

The evening parade usually begins at dusk. The opossum that sleeps daylight away under our back deck emerges, peeking through the glass doors oblivious to light emanating from our flat screen as we watch some drama about the CIA fighting for freedom, although, for the life of me, I can’t figure out who the good guys are.

Then of course there’s the troupe of racoons marching though the yard, checking to see if there’s anything available in the garden yet, I’m sure. The skunk and armadillo usually make an appearance, mostly unwanted, but if they stay far off from me and the house, I’m okay.

Lately a fox has been making the evening and daytime rounds, I’m sure its feeding kits. We’ve kept grocery prices down and stocks high on our property by not declaring war and mowing everything under the sun, but working moms must still work hard to make ends meet. The coyote follows the same path as the fox, probably living under the same domestic orders and necessities, except with an attitude. The coyote worries me for reasons I’ll explain in a moment.

If it lives in Missouri, it’s probably passed through the yard at some point, although no bear, elk or mountain lions have arrived yet, as far as I know.

Morning brings a shift change and more evidence. A paw print on the porch cushions, probably one of the local feral cats. A dead mouse in the trap. Bingo! The nest in my BBQ grill is now vacant.

When I opened the front door and stepped on to the porch, coffee in hand, a rabbit looked at me curiously and, perceiving no threat, continued munching on the clover patch in my species diverse lawn. The hummingbirds see me as a mild annoyance. Undeterred they buzz me on the way to and from the feeders. The chickadees tending a nest in the wren house hanging on the other side of the porch are polite but would rather see me go away. It’s interesting to see the hummers and chickadees occupy the same branch on the red bud tree, completely civil to one another, despite extreme differences in appearance and lifestyle. Probably has something to do with having both a left wing and right wing, with a functioning brain in between.

The blue gray gnatcatcher was unfazed. The Bewick wren wouldn’t show itself, so I cannot attest to its state of mind, the blue birds are minding young in the back deck wren house so they don’t give a hoot. They, too, are busy. And the second phase of our war with the phoebe rages on – plastic deterrents hanging, flailing in the breeze from nest locations rejected by us. If nothing else, they are persistent and very messy. All of this while still in my slippers, my feet never having touched the morning dew.

Through the bedroom window one recent evening I saw the doe, plump with the next generation, moving a little differently, slowly, deliberately. Then the camera in the woods showed a blurry image at 1:00 a.m. The doe with a tiny fawn.

We’ve seen newborns on the property many times over the years and it’s always a treat. My theory is the does have come to recognize us as not a threat, so stashing fawns nearby perhaps offers some security and a babysitting service. Our garden area is often used as a place for mothers to hide their young; this is not favorable imprinting for the gardeners but so be it.

With everything that is going on in the night, it is inevitable some fawns don’t make it. Several years ago a fawn only lasted a couple of days. I discovered the brutal crime scene next to the driveway. Coyotes. For the next couple of weeks I watched and wondered as the doe wandered the yard alone.

A few years later I discovered a dead fawn along the back fence, a limb fell from a tree and broke its neck. And just a couple of years ago, mama dropped triplets. Cam pictures showed three together but only a pair a couple of days later. Hard to raise a big family in the wild. The other two lived on and one may be the mother of the fawn now living on the edge of a very sharp blade.

Last year we were treated to a fun show when a fawn encountered a hen turkey for the first time in the yard. They got pretty close, within a few feet, until the turkey said no and the fawn backed off.

Just a few yards down the driveway I found this year’s newborn curled up at the base of a cedar tree. I took a couple pictures and backed away. When I drove down the drive an hour later the fawn raised its head to look but did not leave. Fewer than a dozen hours old and its brain is being bombarded. Smells, sounds, urges. Darkness then light. The smell of cedar and dirt. A human within a few feet. The barking of the neighbor’s hounds. A large white pickup truck. A noisy green lawn tractor. Flies and ticks. Thunder, lightning, and torrential rain. Welcome to the world.

The next day I saw the fawn close to the house again, laying still for hours. This time he watched me working around the yard but remained in place waiting for his mother to return. Ten days later the fawn lay curled in tall grass and wilting May apples unfazed as my wife worked in the garden nearby. We have too many deer around, yet I’m rooting for survival. If the coyote gets it, well, that’s how it goes, although I’m hoping their palate prefers stray cats.

As the calendar page has turned to June, things are shifting once again. Turtles, sliders, are crawling out of the lagoon to lay eggs. I watch for nests and hope to install defenses before the racoons come in the night, and that’s all it takes. Come the first darkness, the racoons hit those nests fast. It’s a wonder any turtle nests ever go undisturbed. Most birds are feeding young and bluebirds are preparing a second nest in the garden box. Several patches of ragged fringe orchids are blooming as are coneflowers and butterfly weed. Clumps of gamagrass are preparing seed.

The hot weather of summer hasn’t settled in yet and I’m hopeful maybe this year everyone gets a reprieve, but that’s not likely to happen here during a SoBoCoMo summer. Guess we'll just wait and see what happens next.