Fox in the Garden
Last edited Mon Jun 4, 2012, 09:55 PM - Edit history (1)
THERE'S a fox in my garden.
There's a young, small brown fox who has decided that my cottage/woodland garden yard is its new home. I found it curled up asleep on top of the stone wall where the powder-blue star-shaped flowers of the campanula are now in full bloom and spilling over the edge in the morning sun to mingle with the dark-green blades of lirope at the bottom.
It was such an iconic and natural sight that I waited several minutes -- studying this 'wild' resident of our wooded community with fondness and admiration -- until I woke the sleeping beauty with a 'hey!' and a finger pointing in the direction I wanted it to leave. The small, summer resident woodpeckers had already been chattering away like mad. They looked to have decided that I'd gotten a new pet and were arguing their birdie case to me; as much as they were chastising my slumbering visitor.
My fox woke up without the ability to see, as the sunny spot it had chosen put a glare of light between us. It squinted at me at first through one open eye; the other shut as if it intended to snooze just a little bit longer. Then it leapt up and made as quick an exit as it could out of the back of the yard; loping along as fast as its sleep-interrupted instincts could manage.
I'd seen the fox for a few successive years at the back of the yard, sunning itself along the ridge separating the properties. I'd long suspected it had made a temporary home back where I'd dumped a few Christmas trees over the years and may have made a small shelter there.
I've had the lids lifted, carefully, from my trash cans -- and although I suspected it had been a raccoon, I had only seen the fox (and smelled his markings, as well). The other night, I called my wife to the front window in the middle of the night to see our fox weaving in and out of the daylilies, hunting for mice and stuff; barely making itself seen above the dense growth. The next morning I found it had peed on almost every bush in the yard to mark its space.
I wasn't too thrilled to see it taking advantage of the center of my yard, though; even less happy to find its making a regular bed right where I'm trying to naturalize several flowering plants.
I had a beautiful doe with a white rump and splotched coat who had also adopted my yard as her own, and had nibbled a couple of my Asian lilies from the buds right down to the stem. I went out to shoo it away in person one morning, but the sight of this gorgeous deer floored me so much that I froze in place and just went back inside without shooing it away.
I have hoped, to myself, that the fox pee would keep the doe from eating my lilies.
I'm concerned about the potential dangerousness of this beauty of nature, though. I'm worried about it becoming too comfortable being so close to humans (our own, esp.) and the prospect that someone will get bitten. I'd have the same concerns about any stray dog who had gone to ground.
Yet, I'm a bit sad that we can't enjoy this beautiful and bountiful yard on the same terms. It is, after all, meant to be a refuge for nature's offspring. We do need to maintain our respect for our established boundaries, though. Even our birds knew that, instinctively, as they raised the alarm at the opportunistic intruder who, very likely, has made a meal out of some of their offspring.
I'd like to be able to interact and live compatibly with nature and its creatures; great and small. I want to help preserve and create, if possible, as much species habitat as I'm able. Heaven knows how much road and housing development has eliminated and reduced that habitat over the decades. The least we can do it to try and maintain as much as we can; helping to preserve the woodland's denizens as we work to preserve their macro and micro environments.
We have it pretty good where I live. Our community was planned to incorporate nature with the development. We have foot and bike trails which lead almost everywhere you want to go in town. We have trees, galore, and a few small lakes within walking distance. I live in a cu-de-sac neighborhood with minimal traffic. It's really a suburban paradise.
Like most residential areas near large cities, we are feeling the pressure to develop more and further reduce our greenways and other open spaces
We have a county executive who is relatively young, but has risen to the top of our local political establishment. He's also a longtime resident, having grown up right here in town; attended the local schools; knows the community. He's a Democrat, as well.
I first met Ken Ullman when he was making his first run for office. He was going door to door in the neighborhood and I almost missed him as he came by my door. I ran up the street and caught him; shook his hand. He was an affable young man who had an appearance like he had just graduated high school that summer.
He was easily elected in our 'deep blue' community. I had a short conversation about our community with Mr. Ullman when we met. I told him of my concern that we keep and maintain our numerous community centers, and, at least, keep them 'community' centers. He quickly agreed, and he immediately got my vote.
Shortly after he took office, however, Mr. Ullman pushed the local board to reduce the density requirements for our town to allow developers to site buildings and homes closer together. It was a betrayal of what he had represented to me. How did this fresh-faced young man get into the developer's corner so fast?
Since then, I've taken to looking for a Democratic challenger to unseat him; one who promises to halt or slow the development. The shopping center/community center where the natural food store is that my wife works at is at risk of being completely torn down and replaced with a high-rise and office spaces. Naturally, Mr. Ullamn is a strong proponent of the changes. the approval, though, while moving steadily forward, has been predictably slow in winning over our civic-environment-inclined community leaders and advocates.
I imagine he'll eventually get his way and there will be some sort of compromise development which preserves the decades-old natural food store and the handful of other merchants who haven't yet left in the face of fast-increasing cost of leasing their space and bankrupted by the faltering local economy.
We're not optimistic.
Mr. Ullman is personally well liked around here, though. He's probably a good fit for this community; a lifetime resident, he's a natural part of our community landscape. We voted him in; we embraced him. Now he's so familiar and entrenched, I don't think we'll ever rid our selves of him.
Like other parts of the country, we've seen a massive reduction in the number of bees which visit our garden. So, when a wood-boring bumblebee came around last year and ate a perfect little hole into my wooden bench beside my back door and made a home for its mate, I hesitated to immediately look for a way to kill it. I've been without a pet for a while now, and I'm missing that companionship a bit. So, it wasn't really a surprise for my wife to find me downstairs this winter trying to get the plants we rescued from the cold to sit up and bark for me.
Likewise, it wasn't surprising that I made an uneasy truce with this aggressive bee (locust family, I think) and we had somehow learned to keep our distance from each other without the need for me to kill it or without provoking its need to sting someone here. We learned to live with it and added yet another legend to tell of our close relationship with another of nature's creatures.
This year, however, another bee came to the same spot and began work on its own hole. I found some natural insecticide and I coated the bench; spraying a bit on the bee when it returned. that seemed to do the trick. Unfortunately, the bee wasn't dissuaded from making its temporary home there. I went out a couple of days later and found the largest pile of bee-generated sawdust yet, and I knew I had failed to turn this bee around.
I had been pretty proud of myself for the restraint I had shown up until then, but, I was now thinking of all nature's creatures who had shown up last summer to invade the hive hole; most notably a trio of large wasps. I went inside and got a bottle of ant insecticide and started pumping it into the hole. I could hear desperate buzzing inside, so I knew I had it trapped. After a minute, or so of this mournful buzz and my bee fell out of the hole . . . and I smashed her immediately. I felt terrible. My wife says I did the right thing, but I still feel like I betrayed something basic and good inside of me. Oh, well . . .
I carefully checked my back yard this morning for any sign of my fox. I quietly sneaked around the side of the house and I didn't see it anywhere. However, when I went inside and looked out back through the window, my fox was back in its spot; curled up nicely and fast asleep in the morning's warm sun.
I sneaked out the door and crept up slowly and quietly to stand right above my handsome guest . . . I clapped my hands, loudly and shouted, 'Out!' at the top of my lungs.
I miss my fox, already. I'm certain I'll make even more of a fuss if it returns again.
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[/IMG]much appreciated
My feeling . . . good to have it around, sure, but maybe best to make it skittish around us humans.
My buddy is soooo relaxed! It came back around and curled up again in the same sunny spot, less than a half-hour after I chased it away. No more sign so far though, this time.
I figure they have so much adversity in their lives, what with overdevelopment and overzealous property owners afraid or annoyed by their presence, that they are free to consider my little space their oasis. They are welcome to eat any vegetation they like and sleep in any nook or cranny they can discover. I only ask that they take it easy on each other -- no predatory killing, at least in my presence.
That last bit was tongue-in-cheek of course, but my main point is not. Humans have taken over practically every green space, and bulldozing more and more of it each year. The creatures have learned and are learning to adapt to living closer to us than they would prefer all things being equal, but we make it extremely difficult for them.
Your yard is lovely. Knowing that the local fauna is welcome there magnifies its beauty, imo. I hope you'll take it easy on the little fox. He has a hard life and could use a break from someone with a heart. 
On edit:
I wanted to add that we also have carpenter bee(s). We're currently pondering the same dilemma you have addressed, and so far have let it/them alone. My research indicates that the males are unable to sting, they just hover around looking menacing. The ladies though can pack a wallup so it's best not to antangonize them. If they decide to nest in a structure other than a dilapidated shed we'll probably rethink our decision.
