God's creature?

...or invasive species? More on this later.

Several days ago, as my husband and I were busily working outside--getting outdoor things ready for winter--we heard a thump, and then watched our dog, who was inside, go ballistic. My husband investigated, and then came to get me.

--There's a bird lying on its back on the patio, apparently having hit the window. And Tipper is going crazy. Can you come help?

So, with my gardening gloves already on, I went to see what had hit the window. Herewith.

A very stunned bird, lying on her back, little feet curled and in the air. She looked for all the world as though she were dead--or should be dead. But she was very much alive, and very stunned.

I picked her up, and held her, first on her back, and then gradually turned my hands so that she was upright. She seemed perfectly content to sit there in the warmth of my gloved hands.

As I held this bird, I kept thinking--this little sparrow is such a common bird. And it's considered to be a nuisance--an invasive species.

Yet I marveled at its unbearable lightness of being. So small, so fragile, so tough--to hit a window and survive. The bird blinked her bright eyes, turned her head this way and that--looking around. But she stayed put in my gloves. And I stayed put, holding her.




What makes something an invasive species? Understandably, it depends why you ask. Here's one definition you will find in the referenced Wikipedia article: "a non-indigenous species (e.g. plants or animals) that adversely affect the habitats they invade economically, environmentally or ecologically."

Well, now.

By that definition, humans are an invasive species. This thought is not original with me. But, we sure do fit the definition. Non-indigenous species--yup. Adversely affect the habitats they invade economically--yup. Environmentally--oh, yup yup. Or ecologically--triple yup.

So, here we sit, judge and jury pronouncing other species as invasive.

We would do well to recall the words of the psalmist--Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O Lord of hosts. (Psalm 84:3).



After a few minutes, I walked up into our backyard where the tall evergreen trees are. Perhaps seeing that greenery was inviting enough--suddenly, the little bird was stunned no more. Off she flew. God's creature.

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UPDATE: Julie Zickefoose in her recent blog entitled "We Eliminated Them" demonstrates how humans are the prime invasive species.

Road Kill

I hate road kill. Nothing makes me sadder when I am driving along any road than to see road kill. Frequently these flattened fauna are so indistinguishable as to be no longer recognizable as one of God’s creature. Of course, there is the occasional time when I see a deer along side the road, head drawn back in the rictus of death, belly bloated from lying there too long. Such a sight just makes me sad.

In some of our European travels, I have purposefully watched along roadside to see whether or not it is apparent that Europe has the same excess of animal highway deaths as we do. Once, when I didn’t see any dead animals, I asked in innocence—do you have any road kill. Oh, yes—we do. But I wasn’t convinced. Then it occurred to me that, given how long Europe has been inhabited by humans, by now many of the wild animals have been driven away, thereby reducing the numbers that could be killed.

One of the reasons I so hate road kill is that unbridled growth in our part of the country has meant that more and more open fields and farm lands are being converted to sprawling suburban development. When my husband and I first moved to this part of Pennsylvania, the magnificent rolling mountain just to the north of where we live was open space. Albeit forested. Now, there are bare patches creeping up the mountain as more and more individual houses have been constructed. Recently a farm wonderfully named Whispering Winds was sold piecemeal to several developers. I can’t help but wonder when the houses begin to be built there where will the small creatures go? Displaced yet again, they will wander out on to local roads and get smooshed.

There is another aspect of road kill, of course: the sudden and inadvertent convergence of car and deer. My brother recently wrote of an experience he had, along with his wife and another passenger. Thankfully, they were all OK, though the car was a bit worse for wear.

One of my favorite poems is about road kill, in a way.

Traveling Through The Dark
by
William Stafford

Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.

My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.

The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all—my only swerving—,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
------------

I have used this poem in the composition course I teach—I ask the students, how many of you have hit an animal while you are driving? Usually many hands go up. Then I ask—did the experience make you think about the human condition, about mortality? No hands. Or, I ask, did any of you go right home and write a poem after the experience? Again, no hands.

Well, I still don’t like road kill. But I draw deep sustenance from the sentiment of William Stafford’s poem.

“I thought had for us all—my only swerving.”

All Things Bright and Beautiful

To continue that wonderful hymn--All Things Bright and Beautiful/All creatures great and small/All things wise and wonderful/The Lord God made them all. I always thought this hymn such a quintessential English hymn. I grew up singing this, and thought the melody I knew to be the only one. Imagine my surprise when I returned to the United States to hear a different melody being used! Just didn't sound right.

Anyway, the other day I wrote about finding a dove's nest in the arbor vita by our front door. I have been greeting the dove each time I go out. Since we have had such un-spring like weather here--we have had days and days of rain, and temperatures about 20 degrees (Fahrenheit) lower than normal averages for mid-May, I have been obsessing over the health of this poor bird. There she (or he) sits, hour in hour out every day. When we had a terrific downpour the other day, I marched out with an umbrella and stuck it on the top of the arbor vita. After all, I had removed a fair bit of the cover the wise doves had factored into their decision to build their flimsy nest in my tree.

But I kept worrying about food for her. So, I got the bright idea--maybe I could slowly sneak a small dish of seeds in to see if the dove would eat. I know, I know--don't mess with nature. Of course, she freaked and flew out. Immediately, the other dove came fluttering in--I think he--based on size. The two of them put on quite a display--she doing the broken wing routine, and he strutting around giving me dirty looks.

Of course, I quickly peeked into the nest. TWO CHICKS. Really looks like a pile of fluff to me. But there they are. I am not a dove expert--nor even a bird expert--but I have read that mourning doves will raise several broods in a season, usually laying one or two eggs.

I learned my lesson--I have left the nest completely alone now.

Speaking of things beautiful, I did check out the rhododendron--what a blooming bush this year. All the rain, the cool weather--not sure what--but the blooms are massive. This is one bush.

And Alex the squirrel is back--one paw held curled to his chest, Napolean fashion, coming up on the small deck to ask for peanuts.

Hand Work

When my husband and I bought our first house, we were drawn to the house because of its flowering trees and shrubs. The backyard had lovely forsythia blooming, there was a flowering cherry tree on one side of the house, and a weeping cherry tree on the other. Once we moved in we discovered a pear tree that bore the sweetest wondrous pears.

However, all that greenery meant trimming and clipping. So, the first time we needed to trim hedges and such, we asked a man who helped tend the grounds at the college where I was teaching at the time. He came out to our place equipped only with a hand held hedge shears. I was astounded. I offered him our electric hedge trimmer, but he politely declined. I always trim by hand, he said. So I watched, and learned. He had an unerring eye, and in short order had the place in great shape.

Since then, we have moved to another house where I do all the hedge and shrub trimming. But I kept the lesson I learned from that long ago event. I prefer to trim greenery by hand, using just large garden shears. Occasionally, in a hurry, I will resort to electric trimmers, but I enjoy trimming much more when I do it by hand.

Yesterday was a lovely cool spring day, so I headed out to trim an arbor vita next to our front door. A couple of weeks ago, as I walked past this arbor vita, a mourning dove came fluttering out, making a great show of flapping around, falling to the ground, hopping a bit, dragging a wing, and of course leading me away from the tree. I presumed she had a nest in there, but when I looked into the untrimmed tree, I could not see anything.

Well, after I got done trimming the arbor vita, I spotted a mourning dove carefully watching me from nearby on the driveway. She kept close, waiting. As soon as I was done, she flew to the tree, crawled in and settled down. Aha! I had found her nest. So I tried to keep my distance not disturbing her too much. I did sneak up, of course, to get her photo.

More inspections out and around my grounds, and I see the miniature rose is getting ready to bloom. This was a gift from my daughter several years ago, for Mother's Day. It has bloomed each year since.

Equally tenacious, but less beautiful, is the wild rose stock that keeps growing back every year. When we first moved to this house, I grew three rose bushes. They did well for a while, but since roses take so

much work, I gave them up and dug them out. However, I must have missed some of the root of the wild rose stock which grows back every year. No flowers, of course, just the thorny hardy root stock.

I finally got to see my neighbor's bunny again--Hoppy. He is a carmel colored dwarf rabbit that they keep year round in a hutch. It bothers me to see him confined so, so I visit him and bring him an occasional carrot stick to eat. From his hutch, he watches the wild rabbits cavort. It always puts me in mind of "The Velveteen Rabbit"--which I will not think about too much, or I will start crying! (I confessed to my tendency to weep when I read touching children's books, here.)

Oh, the flowers at the beginning of the post? Some of my dianthus, blooming. I love the deep purple pink of the flowers.

UPDATE:

Alex, the squirrel, has not been seen now for 3 days. I did find this. . .

Looks like a dirty window, you say? Well, yes it is, but the "dirt" is on the outside. Paw marks--streaking down the window on the sunporch. Actually, on two of the sliding glass door windows. Methinks a squirrel was trying to get in. When I saw my neighbor yesterday, she said she saw a crow (her identification) grab a squirrel and fly up to the roof. Oh, no, hope it wasn't Alex. I will keep looking, but I don't hold out too much hope.

All Creatures Great and Small

When PBS began running the series "All Creatures Great and Small," I was an immediate fan. I just loved this charming series, gleaned from tales of a Yorkshire country veterinarian, James Herriot. Each week, we were treated to a new animal story intertwined with the human stories of Herriot, the two Farnon brothers--Siegfried and Tristan--with whom he worked, and the people of Yorkshire. I was so taken by these stories that I even tried to read the books on which they were based. I must confess Herriot's rendering of the thick Yorkshire accented English completely did me in, and I don't think I finished the book.



Lately, I feel as though I am living in an "all creatures" zone. It is completely of my own doing. All except the deer, of course. They have wandered in, bashed my one spruce tree, and sheered by hostas off to the ground. The other creatures have been invited into the space around our house by my feeding them. We even had our annual visit from the ducks who think our pool, with winter cover, is in fact a pond. The local guard dog is dispatched to dissuade them.


For many years, we had bird feeders, which I gradually gave up on. The refuse on the ground of sunflower shells made me a less than enthusiastic bird feeder. Then last year, we bought a new bird feeder, then another, and began feeding birds again. Buying a sunflower mixture has attracted a different set of birds, and lessened the number of shells falling on the ground. The tree cover has helped to discourage the swoop through flying of the peregrine.

Predictably, the squirrels soon discovered the bird feeders. They regularly raid the newly filled feeders, and I have yet to buy baffles to try to keep them out. I have taken another route--buying peanuts. After seeing a peanut wreath on RuthieJ's blog, I found one and dutifully filled it with peanuts.


Enter "my" squirrel. Perhaps you remember this fellow. This squirrel (I am convinced) is the one who caught my mini-snowball. Anyway, after emptying the bird feeders, he has begun to venture up onto the small deck next to our sunporch. Maybe the strategic placement of peanuts has encouraged him. In fact, he (I know this because I have seen his. . .ahem. . .equipment) comes up on the deck, stands up, curls one paw into his chest, and looks in the window. "Is the nice lady there who puts out peanuts?"



So, when I got the peanut wreath, I placed it within easy reach. Within seconds, it seemed, Mr. Squirrel (for some reason, I call him Alex) found the peanuts and proceeded to empty the WHOLE wreath, trip after trip after trip. I even ran out of peanuts, so my husband and I went shopping on Mother's Day to buy new bags of peanuts.


Now, Mr. Squirrel is making regular trips for peanuts. Sometimes he eats them right where he stands, leaving behind quite a mess. The spent peanut shells and husks have in turn attracted rabbits and cardinals, who peck away at the detritus.




All of this activity provides much entertainment or frustration for the two cats and one dog inside the sun porch.

The Dilemma of Bushmeat

When I teach English 101, the reading text we use has a photograph that shows a young man in an outdoor market somewhere in Asia. He is holding up a puppy, looking at it critically. It is clear in this photo that he is not thinking future pet—he is thinking dinner. I ask students for their reactions. Frequently the first thing they say is---ewwwww! So, I ask them why, and they say—it’s just not right to eat dog. So I ask them why—and they are stumped.

Of course, I try to get them to explore the cultural ramifications of what we eat. Why do we eat cows, pigs, sheep, various fowl—and not dogs or cats? The discussion can go many directions—being vegan, eating meat during travels that one does not traditionally eat, having religious restrictions on what meats we eat.

I had sort of settled this question of the cultural influence on what meats we eat in my own mind until a recent post by Julie Zickefoose on agoutis got me thinking again. While you can read her post for yourself, one of the things she points out is that she had not seen an agouti in the wild because of the “edible–animal syndrome: anything big enough to roast on a spit is pretty much extirpated wherever people live.” So that’s what got me to thinking. Is there anything wrong with eating bushmeat? If you say yes—what? If you say no—why?

I struggle with the implications for survival of species if humans have no limit on killing bushmeat for food. While I was growing up in Rhodesia, Africa, we occasionally killed local animals. Mostly our meat supply came from livestock on the mission station, such as cattle or pigs, but there were also various antelope such as kudus that missionaries killed. Such meat was never a staple, but the meat could be eaten and was used. That was the extent of my exposure to bushmeat in Africa.

Bushmeat now means something altogether different. One of the websites dedicated to education about this issue states baldly that “In Africa, the unsustainable bushmeat trade is wiping out wildlife including gorillas, chimpanzees, antelopes and many other species.” (Bushmeat Crisis Task Force) It is the permanent loss of species that haunts me. The dilemma is how do we balance the needs of humans against the existence of other animals?

For desperate people in some parts of the world, Africa for example, eating bushmeat is the one available means to stave off starvation. Here is a thought-provoking piece on the role of bushmeat in Africa.

photo from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bushmeat

Of course, this practice is as old as humanity. Before humans domesticated animals, they killed game—this term is a far less objectionable one than bushmeat. Obviously, I am not opposed to humans killing and eating game that is plentiful. But I really shudder at some of the types of bushmeat that is now being sold in some African markets—for example, gorillas. The one photo that I include here is of an African porcupine being sold as bushmeat. There are far more graphic photos on the Internet of bushmeat for sale—particularly chilling are gorilla heads. The great apes are virtually our cousins, so how can we possibly eat them?

So, I wrestle with the problem—how can we humans co-exist with other animals on this earth. Humans eating other animals and in so doing possibly wiping out species is not the only way we threaten animals. There are so many ways that humans and animals clash. Another thoughtful blogger addressed one of these problems—humans encroaching more and more on habitat that displaces animals. Then when those animals come around where we live, we take action that sometimes harms them. See Natural Notes 3 thoughtful post on Birds or Bears.

We humans have to accept that we are part of all creation, that the destruction of habitat affects us, that the loss of species affects us, that the great web of creation sustains and supports us. Destroy it and we destroy ourselves.