October: No longer Indian summer

October 4, 2012: A strange, sad sign that we have become residents of a new place: I opened up my email this morning to read that a member of Sequim Bible Church has died of a heart attack. Less than two months ago, I had never met him. Now I am grieving the loss.

The Indian Summer of September is gone, and it is chilly.  But it can still get hot in the sun. I may start out in the morning in a medium-weight jacket, and then take it off, go to a sweater as the sun comes out, and if the sun stays out, I'm in short sleeves by afternoon. This is so different from the maritime climate I experienced in London. Flowers bloom lushly, like they did in England, but in gray, sandy soil of the American West.

Mike planted some tubular flowers, and a little hummingbird found them. I expect that soon the hummingbirds will fly south. The coming of the juncos, what we used to call "snow birds" in Missouri signal winter is approaching. They are the Oregon race--more colorful than the Missouri juncos. Stellar’s jays and mourning doves will stay all winter; they are the most abundant birds at the feeder. A few chickadees and nuthatches, and a sparrow or two I can’t identify.

Red squirrels are also frequent visitors, especially one. I have watched him chase away birds—even the jays that are bigger than he is—and the little Townsend chipmunks. Another squirrel came last week, and the first squirrel sat under the feeder screaming at the intruder, until it finally left. He isn’t afraid of human, either, or of the cat we let out on a leash. (Outside cats become coyote food.) The birds and squirrels used to let out a warning when they saw her, but they learned she is no more of a threat than we are.

“Our” squirrel thinks our feeder is his winter stash, and he buries seed all over the yard. The seeds germinate and sprout, so we have a crop of sunflower seedlings among Mike’s plantings. The brazen little rodent soon figured out that we kept the sunflower seed bag in a bin on our kitchen porch. He ran up the steps to look for spilled seed, and tried to chew a hole in the plastic bin. So we moved the seed off the porch and put it in a more secure container.

Hope springs eternal. The squirrel kept coming to the porch, and when I left the door open for a minute, he scurried into the kitchen. Jubilee, our inside cat, immediately took chase. They dashed around the living room, and I tried to guide the squirrel back to the door, making sure he didn’t run up the stairs. He couldn’t find it, jumping into mirrors and windows instead. He climbed onto the kitchen table and ran along the window sill. I figured the only way to get him out was to open that window. Window now open; the squirrel had disappeared. I searched around the room. No squirrel. He must have exited unnoticed. Jubilee searched the room, crying.

It has been quieter at the feeder. “The squirrel was taken down a peg by our attack cat,” I said to my husband. Notice he’s not bothering the others any more.” He laughed as Brazen Rodent suddenly lit into a jay. Well, not reformed, but a little more scared. Kitty is a threat after all!