Gray day. Looked like rain. Grabbed my umbrella and took off toward Delta College along my usual route -- south two miles along Four Mile Road, through Delta woods, around the perimeter of Delta, back the same route home. Maybe six miles in all.
Two miles out, I crossed the ditch at the back entrance of Delta Woods. I heard a quiet stir and chatter where the drive joins the ditch and looked back over my shoulder. And there he stood on his haunches: my Delta Woods woodchuck-buddy, Delbert.
I hadn't seen him since early spring. But I could see he's had a good season so far. He leaned back all plump and proud, his dark-damp coat glistening in the sun. Prior to greeting me, he may've been fish-tailing in the deeper water of the ditch, rootin' around among the tall cat-tails, tryna find some tender roots for a mid-afternoon meal. He cocked his head at me, plumped down spraddle-legged on his tail-end, and began munching busily on the soft, wet end of broken-off cat-tail.
Still, I could see he wanted to talk. So, I sat down on a large round rock about ten feet from him where he perched warily between the water's edge and the tight entrance to his burrow. I watched him awhile, then pressed my tongue against my upper teeth and made soft clicking sounds.
He wiggled his head about, as if assuring himself he was in no immediate danger, then fixed me with his dark-black eyes and chattered back amiably. A few quick chews and some chatters. . .chews and chatters. . .chews and chatters.
Clearly, he thought we had some catchin'-up to do.
I reached over quietly, slid a tall stalk of rye-grass out of its socket, chopped off the long end between two incisors, and stuck the sweet end into my mouth. A few chews. . .some clicks and chatters. . .chomps, clicks and chatters. I'm solitary mostly, but I feel obliged to accept all invitations to chat.
Notwithstanding all woodchucks look alike, notwithstanding I hadn't seen him for several weeks, I was immediately certain this was my old buddy Del. First of all, he remembered me. He'd chattered to get my attention, when it would've been his habit to quickly hide at the approach of another large animal. But for three springs and summers we've always chatted quietly. He trusts me.
More accurately, perhaps he always remembers the shelled walnuts I carry in the front pocket of my hood -- just in case I should encounter him. I don't know: do marmots have memories? Could be. (I like to think so.) I slipped a walnut scrap free of my pocket and slooooow-pitched it underhand in his direction. It landed close-by, between his right hind-foot and the ditch-water. Immediately he paused, darted his head about, drew the moist stalk from his mouth, leaned over and sniffed the walnut. A quick, darting chomp, some chews, a wiggling raised-head swallow, and it was gone.
Don't dare think woodchucks're ungrateful. Del executed a quick 360, sat back lazily on his rump and quick-chattered a clear thank-you. He raised his head, sniffed the air in sheer delight. So I flipped him another half-walnut, which he quickly retrieved and gobbled. Dumb animal? Not much. Consider which one of us was getting fed.
Woodchucks're worth knowing. You may disagree. . .as you wish. Three summers ago, when I first spotted Del, I did a little research. I wasn't immediately certain what he was. Some sort of marmot to be sure. Friendship always starts like that. You get interested enough, you start paying attention. Maybe ask around some. Though I didn't go beyond Webster, I learned enough to identify him. This is what a guy gets when one of his first books was The Wind in the Willows.
Here's what I learned from Webster:
marmot: a stout-bodied, short-legged,
burrowing rodent with coarse fur, a
burrowing rodent with coarse fur, a
short bushy tail, and very small ears.
woodchuck: a grizzled, thick-set marmot
of northeastern U.S. and Canada. Called
also, groundhog.
groundhog: woodchuck
of northeastern U.S. and Canada. Called
also, groundhog.
groundhog: woodchuck
Typically circular, but sufficient.
Of course, I'd already learned during my early childhood three very important truths:
First, small woodland animals inhabit a community very like the one you and I do. I mean: they socialize and share. I sense your cynicism. But I remain unmoved. I may be crazy, but a few walnuts shared, and Del and I always enjoy a chat.
Second, it remains uncertain exactly how much wood a woodchuck chucks -- if, indeed, a woodchuck could chuck wood. Del remains silent on the issue. And I never press him.
Third, by any other name, woodchucks have magical powers.
Who can doubt the power of Groundhog Day? Never mind science. Never mind the calendar. Never mind you count six weeks from February 2nd, and you wind up pretty close to March 21st -- traditionally the first day of spring. Never mind Del seeing the sun. Whether Del sees the sun or not, you still get spring in six-weeks' time.
I submit: the significant thing about February 2nd is that it gives us something worth thinking about. The idea of Groundhog Day is tied up with looking forward to the promise of spring after a long and taxing winter. It's delightful nonsense. Still, it's one more chance to celebrate.
I confess I love Bill Murray's film Groundhog Day, in which he's doomed to relive the holiday over and over, until. . .I can't remember what?! Still, we might all do well to get caught in his repetitive cycle. He does something good -- even heroic -- every day. He masters the piano. Despite the repetitive cycle of his days, he never gives-in to boredom. Instead, he celebrates each day. He grows. He loves his days, becomes lovable, wins the love he wishes.
All this he accomplishes with no access to his own personal groundhog.
By contrast, I have Del. A few shelled walnuts, and he's at my beck-and-call. Makes me feel lucky. Makes me know that something good can happen any day. Makes me wanna pay closer attention. Keeps me hopeful.
Anyway, Del and I chatted until shortly after I ran out of fat walnut halves. He disclosed he has no mate currently. Had one early spring. But she took off with their pups. He harbors no hard feelings, though. He loves this fat season, its unhurried pace, and his solitary life.
It appears Del and I have much in common.
When a soft misty rain began to fall, we chattered our good-byes. Del scoot-waddled off down the ditch, disappearing among the cat-tails. I continued my walk through the woods. By the time I crossed the covered bridge near East Campus Drive, the sun had reappeared.
I took another route home. Still, I'm sure I'll see Del again soon.
Of course, I'd already learned during my early childhood three very important truths:
First, small woodland animals inhabit a community very like the one you and I do. I mean: they socialize and share. I sense your cynicism. But I remain unmoved. I may be crazy, but a few walnuts shared, and Del and I always enjoy a chat.
Second, it remains uncertain exactly how much wood a woodchuck chucks -- if, indeed, a woodchuck could chuck wood. Del remains silent on the issue. And I never press him.
Third, by any other name, woodchucks have magical powers.
Who can doubt the power of Groundhog Day? Never mind science. Never mind the calendar. Never mind you count six weeks from February 2nd, and you wind up pretty close to March 21st -- traditionally the first day of spring. Never mind Del seeing the sun. Whether Del sees the sun or not, you still get spring in six-weeks' time.
I submit: the significant thing about February 2nd is that it gives us something worth thinking about. The idea of Groundhog Day is tied up with looking forward to the promise of spring after a long and taxing winter. It's delightful nonsense. Still, it's one more chance to celebrate.
I confess I love Bill Murray's film Groundhog Day, in which he's doomed to relive the holiday over and over, until. . .I can't remember what?! Still, we might all do well to get caught in his repetitive cycle. He does something good -- even heroic -- every day. He masters the piano. Despite the repetitive cycle of his days, he never gives-in to boredom. Instead, he celebrates each day. He grows. He loves his days, becomes lovable, wins the love he wishes.
All this he accomplishes with no access to his own personal groundhog.
By contrast, I have Del. A few shelled walnuts, and he's at my beck-and-call. Makes me feel lucky. Makes me know that something good can happen any day. Makes me wanna pay closer attention. Keeps me hopeful.
Anyway, Del and I chatted until shortly after I ran out of fat walnut halves. He disclosed he has no mate currently. Had one early spring. But she took off with their pups. He harbors no hard feelings, though. He loves this fat season, its unhurried pace, and his solitary life.
It appears Del and I have much in common.
When a soft misty rain began to fall, we chattered our good-byes. Del scoot-waddled off down the ditch, disappearing among the cat-tails. I continued my walk through the woods. By the time I crossed the covered bridge near East Campus Drive, the sun had reappeared.
I took another route home. Still, I'm sure I'll see Del again soon.
Friendship works better
when you don't crowd it.
And you have a few
shelled walnuts to share!
when you don't crowd it.
And you have a few
shelled walnuts to share!
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