Chip-Chip pokes his head out . . .
. . . and poses for a few photos. (Notice the pleasant smile.)
Since it's fair to infer from my earlier entries that I may on occasion inappropriately impose myself on the life of Chip-Chip and his cohorts, I thought I might as well reveal my daily support of the neighborhood critters. Then you can make of me what you'd like.
To begin, I routinely place small amounts of black sunflower seeds in several places near Chip-Chip's homes. Yes, he has several. The front step, which he has excavated into his main retreat, one with a side door and another side door, seems to be his home base. He has within five yards what I assume to be his winter burrow, dug into the rocks between the juniper bushes. It is, unfortunately, right out in the open--a major blunder for chipmunk burrows and, I hope, not a reflection on his overall intelligence. Chip-Chip also has homes behind another set of steps, inside the garage, and under the back deck, where he occasionally pokes out from a knot hole and proceeds to get his drink of water (see photo with first entry). (These many homes might be considered the reason a few disgruntled people find chipmunks to be pests and nuisances and vermin, or worse, and definitely worthy of the worst possible ends.)
Because I like to see Chip-Chip stretch his legs, I place small amounts of sunflower seeds in these other locations as well. The second reason I do this is that birds or squirrels will raid a pile or two, leaving little more than shells for Chip-Chip. I don't mind feeding the other critters. In fact, I also toss out peanuts for the squirrels or the blue jays--whichever can get to them first--and put out suet blocks for the nut hatches, downy woodpeckers, hairy woodpeckers, and even the blue jays.
How much does all this cost me? None of your business. But it does get to be expensive. Chip-Chip and his fellow critters are worth the expense. Among other things, they teach you to nurture a quiet soul, to breathe in the tiny details of seemingly inperceptible movements, and to discover the semi-invisible world of often ignored creatures. You can't really appreciate the subtleties, the sounds, the shapes embedded in their backgrounds, the largely overlooked, the seemingly obvious, unless you're willing to explore a world just outside the kitchen door.
At any rate, watching Chip-Chip is easily more entertaining and worthwhile than listening to prattling political speeches. (The more you watch a squirrel or a gopher or a chipmunk, the more you wish you could; the more you watch Hillary Clinton, you more you wish you hadn't.) I would also definitely prefer spending time outside photographing dramas playing themselves out in a maple tree to destroying my brain watching American Idol--the number 1 TV show, which only goes to show that people need to be involved in creating their own entertainment, not have it dumped on them like so many pails of moldy compost. One person's opinion. One person's second person: Folks should set aside the piffle in their lives and spend at least one day watching a chipmunk or a robin or a grey squirrel or a catbird or a swallowtail butterfly or a millipede or a box elder bug or a spider in the midst of silky construction.
One day will soon turn into two . . .
To begin, I routinely place small amounts of black sunflower seeds in several places near Chip-Chip's homes. Yes, he has several. The front step, which he has excavated into his main retreat, one with a side door and another side door, seems to be his home base. He has within five yards what I assume to be his winter burrow, dug into the rocks between the juniper bushes. It is, unfortunately, right out in the open--a major blunder for chipmunk burrows and, I hope, not a reflection on his overall intelligence. Chip-Chip also has homes behind another set of steps, inside the garage, and under the back deck, where he occasionally pokes out from a knot hole and proceeds to get his drink of water (see photo with first entry). (These many homes might be considered the reason a few disgruntled people find chipmunks to be pests and nuisances and vermin, or worse, and definitely worthy of the worst possible ends.)
Because I like to see Chip-Chip stretch his legs, I place small amounts of sunflower seeds in these other locations as well. The second reason I do this is that birds or squirrels will raid a pile or two, leaving little more than shells for Chip-Chip. I don't mind feeding the other critters. In fact, I also toss out peanuts for the squirrels or the blue jays--whichever can get to them first--and put out suet blocks for the nut hatches, downy woodpeckers, hairy woodpeckers, and even the blue jays.
How much does all this cost me? None of your business. But it does get to be expensive. Chip-Chip and his fellow critters are worth the expense. Among other things, they teach you to nurture a quiet soul, to breathe in the tiny details of seemingly inperceptible movements, and to discover the semi-invisible world of often ignored creatures. You can't really appreciate the subtleties, the sounds, the shapes embedded in their backgrounds, the largely overlooked, the seemingly obvious, unless you're willing to explore a world just outside the kitchen door.
At any rate, watching Chip-Chip is easily more entertaining and worthwhile than listening to prattling political speeches. (The more you watch a squirrel or a gopher or a chipmunk, the more you wish you could; the more you watch Hillary Clinton, you more you wish you hadn't.) I would also definitely prefer spending time outside photographing dramas playing themselves out in a maple tree to destroying my brain watching American Idol--the number 1 TV show, which only goes to show that people need to be involved in creating their own entertainment, not have it dumped on them like so many pails of moldy compost. One person's opinion. One person's second person: Folks should set aside the piffle in their lives and spend at least one day watching a chipmunk or a robin or a grey squirrel or a catbird or a swallowtail butterfly or a millipede or a box elder bug or a spider in the midst of silky construction.
One day will soon turn into two . . .
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