Please don't feed the babies

We're starting to see the summer babies:  raccoons, birds, woodchucks and deer so far.  These mini-versions of their adult counterparts just melt my heart.  That awkwardness...the unsteady gait on those shaky legs is so endearing.  I long to get my hands on that silky fur and those bright feathers, so clean and still unmarred by life's inevitable trials and tribulations.  And there's that look of innocence and wonderment on those little mugs, where every experience is new and exciting and a genuine adventure. There must be something in our human DNA that makes us want to cuddle and kiss and nurture each of these tykes as though they were our own.

Of course, that's the same DNA that compels some of us to feed these adorable wild babies. We humans bond and communicate with each other through food-sharing at meals, so it seems only natural that we would attempt to connect with our wild cousins in the same way.  Alas, this heartfelt activity makes us feel good while often resulting in devastating outcomes for our wild friends. 

In Africa, humans and wildlife do a better job of sharing habitat than we do here in North America.  But the lessons there have been learned the hard way.  Baboons are intelligent, engaging, human-like creatures, so humans like to feed them.  But feeding the baboons doesn't do anything to help the baboons; in fact, feeding them transforms them into annoying, aggressive, and dangerous pests that ultimately must be managed (read:  "exterminated").  So to remind humans of the consequences of their well-intentioned but uninformed actions, there are signs posted everywhere that say, "You feed the baboons, we shoot the baboons".

I think about those signs often, especially whenever I am tempted to toss a morsel to one of my lovable wild babies, and I force my head to tell my heart that it's always best for everyone involved to let the wildlife be wild.

An oldie but a goodie

 We've got a worn out maple tree sitting just off the patio, with loads and loads of character (and by "character", I mean it is mostly dead).  It is a haven for woodpeckers, owls and bats and we have loved chronicling the wildlife activity that occurs in and around this wizened old boy.

We have so many woodpeckers, including the rarely-seen pileateds and red-headeds, because of the abundant habitat in the form of dead or dying trees around our property.  And the cavities that our woodpeckers create make lovely homes for many other birds, bats and mammals.  Regrettably, all that character was sitting just a little too close to our house and we were in danger of having one of its heavy limbs come crashing down on us during one of our frequent windstorms.

It has always been our philosophy to let Nature do what Nature does and just stay out of the way as much as possible. So we decided not to take the whole tree down, but to try only to remove certain branches that were a threat to our own abode.

The task of lopping off certain branches at certain places so they will fall in a certain direction is a complicated and dangerous one, and could not be attempted by a couple of tree-hugging amateurs like ourselves.  So we called upon a team of logging professionals to help save our home as well as that of the birds and bats.

Logging is not a job for the faint of heart, and it is one that is only mastered after years of hands-on experience (and that's only if one's hands remain firmly attached to the ends of one's arms).

The first step in the process of removing only the deadest of the limbs is to accurately throw ropes around the targeted branches so they can be pulled away from the house during the cutting.

 The next step is for the "climber" to strap on some tree climbing spikes and a special belt, and then precariously make his way toward the top of the tree.

Next, the man on the ground hoists a chainsaw up to our climber who then performs a variety of Cirque du Soleil style maneuvers to reach just the right place at just the right angle.

Finally, in a cloud of 2-cycle exhaust and sawdust the offending branch goes crashing to the forest floor with a deafening thud! 

And voila!  Here's the finished product.  Almost as good as what Nature could have done herself.