Got Seeds?

We have spent years training out human neighbors to feed us sunflower seeds. It was working so well that our best scientists believed we had genetically imprinted this behavior on to them. When we returned from Paradise Island, we anticipated things would go back to “normal.” I am afraid we were in for a big surprise. In just a short few months, the humans had completely forgotten all of their training. How humans have survived as a species is beyond comprehension. Without us critters to constantly refresh their memories they forget everything. We had to spend the past few weeks scrounging for seeds like primitive cave-munks. 

Things get worse. The humans have developed an “attitude problem.” They think they are “liberated”!!!! My dear fellow critters, I am not making any of this up. These human have become delusional. If you have a cure for this human disease please contact us immediately.

The mayor of the Woodpile declared a state of emergency. The Woodpile Council convened to consider our options. After many hours of debate and discussion, we decided to send a chipmunk representative (me) to talk to the human representative Mom. I have a lot of experience as a negotiator, I promised to get things back to normal in no time at all. Since Mom was no longer coming out to feed us three square meals a day, I had to go to her place.

 

These human doors look very intimidating when you are this close to them.

“Hello, anyone home? Its Chippy, we need to talk.

I can hear someone walking around inside, but. they are not coming to the door.

I forget, humans have this strange social custom called “knocking on the door.”
I will give it a try with my nose.

 
How did the negotiations go? Things started off well. Mom served up some sunflower seeds. But, then she proceeded to “lay down the law” so to speak. Mom said from here on out, no more “free lunches.” That’s a human expression which translates as no more free seeds. I tried to explain that is not how things work around here. She said things are going to change. Us chipmunks would have to “earn” our sunflower seeds, as in like having a job.

I owed her two hours work for all the seeds I just ate during our negotiations. My first project was to clean up the sunflower seed shells under the yellow flowers.

Wow, I never realized how much of a litter bug us critters had become. There were shells everyplace. It took an hour just to clean everything up.

I spent another hour weeding Mom’s pansy garden bed.

 

One perk of the job, Mom provides free snack breaks.

 

What am I going to tell the Woodpile Council? The negotiations didn’t work out in our favor? Well let’s see, I can announce the Woodpile has one pet to adore and serve us: it’s a pet rock.

 

Paradise Lost

The Woodpilers are settling back into their normal routines. Sunflower gardens are being planted, burrows cleaned out to be filled with seeds for next winter and humans are being retrained to deliver food on command. We have a lot of retraining to do.

The blog mail bag this week has been full of letters from my adoring fans wanting know why we ever left Paradise Island. Whatever critter gave that island the name “Paradise” had a real sense of humor. I must admit, at first the place really did seem like paradise. For the first few weeks, I assisted my cousin Vinnie with his archaeology project. The locals were happy to act as our guide to rock art locations for a small fee. We documented all sorts of ancient rock art.

Ancient rock with his strange geometric shapes

Vinnie thought it was  language, we spent days trying to decipher it.

The archaeology project was a real bust. Bit of a practical joke on the part of the locals. Turns out the lines are slime trails left by snails with some sand stuck to them!

We complained to the mayor of the island and his assistant but all he did was laugh and stick his tongue out at us. How rude!

Next I decided to become a beach bum. I staked out a bit of beach for myself found a lounge chair and umbrella and idled the days away. It was wonderful. Well, that didn’t last. Some human conservation agents showed up and fenced off the beach and kicked everyone out. The beach was designated critical habitat for nesting Piping Plovers.

The beach became the exclusive domain for plovers.

The rules were strictly enforced. This plover accidentally wandered into someone else’s nesting territory and spent a day in jail. (The jail was an old lobster trap).

One day I was participating in a trash cleanup day on the Island. I came across a discarded menu for the Undersea Café. I was horrified to see the delicacy of the month – chipmunk deep fried in a secret batter recipe. After that I began to notice how some of the local “wild” life were watching me like I was an appetizer.

This sea monster followed me around for hours. I finally lost him but I did not sleep a wink that night. I didn’t know it at the time but this was another one of the locals practical jokes.

After a storm eroded part of the sand away, the jaw bone of this fearsome looking sea predator was exposed. I thought this was another practical joke until I noticed how terrified the local looked. Vinnie was all excited because he thought it was some new species of dinosaur that died millions of years ago. I wasn’t so convinced.

The number one reason we abandoned Paradise Island, was there were no sunflower seeds.

The Race Home (Part 4)

As reported last week, poor Vinnie lost the Race Home by a mere three minutes. Who won? What sort of brilliant mode of transportation did the winner come up with?

The winner was a ‘munk named Howie. You probably know this type, Howie is one of those critters who slides through life with the least amount effort required. Before, the Woodpilers were transported to Paradise Island, Howie was living in the basement of his parent's burrow. He spent his days playing video games and his nights drinking with his buddies. The slow laid back pace of Paradise Island suited him just fine. He had no plans to return to the Woodpile and the constant insistence of parents to get a job. (The only job he was qualified for was bagging seeds at the local seedmart.) He finally felt like he had gained his freedom here on the island. He could do as he wished which amounted to spending his days lounging on the beach and his nights drinking fermented coconut water. One night he emerged from the nightclub to find a cold hard rain pelting the island. Shivering he sought shelter in a tin can lying on the beach. He curled up inside and fell fast asleep despite the howling wind and the sound of the waves getting closer and closer.

He woke up two days later with the world’s worst hangover (or at least that is what he thought his problem was.) His body felt like it was bobbling up and down and side to side. He had heard stories from his buddies about hangovers that made you think the world was spinning around. He decided may be it was time quit drinking. First order of business was to find a large cup of strong black coffee. He climbed out of his tin can and was met with a spray of salt water in his face. He thought it must be one his buddies throwing a bucket of water on him. He turned around in a complete circle looking for the culprit but there was no one there. In fact, he wasn’t on the beach anymore. He was surrounded by a an endless and vast expanse of sea. He slipped back down to the bottom of his tin can in shock and disbelief.

By some miracle, Howie’s tin can drifted into the gulf stream current and was swept along at a rapid pace. After a bit of experimenting, Howie discovered he could used the lid of the tin as a sail.

Within a few days, Howie floated up the pond near the Woodpile. He realized no one would believe his crazy story, so, he dragged the tin can along with him to the Woodpile as proof. He was a bit surprised to be met with cheers and congratulations from the gathered onlookers. He asked what all the fuss was about. Some one clued him to the fact he had won the race home from Paradise Island! (Howie did not let on he had never even heard about the race.) His tin boat was decorated with flowers, and a feast of real sunflowers was served.

Bushy the Squirrel steps back to see if the flower arrangement is perfect.

Howie stares dumbfounded. He can’t believe all this fuss is about him!

This was a life changing moment for Howie. He decided he wanted to do something meaningful with his life. But, first things first …

After days at sea, Howie was starving. He wolfed down the seeds and was even licking the plate clean.

 
After polishing off the first dish, he politely asks for seconds.

 

Howie who is normally a bit of a chatter box, was left speechless when the editor of National Geographic stepped out of the crowd and offered him a job traveling to exotic places for the magazine. He finally stammered "You want to give me a real job??"

 

When he could eat not a single seed more, he stopped to tell his fantastic tale to the crowd.

 

The Race Home (Part 3)

Where in the World is Vinnie?

Vinnie set sail over two weeks ago from Paradise Island on his homemade raft. Everyone has been waiting for any news of his progress. We have reached out to our network of critter spotters across the globe. Some of them are uninvited guests aboard various sailing vessels and some are unofficial lighthouse keepers. Yes, officially the Coast Guard has “automated” the lighthouses but who do you think keeps the automation working properly? A very dedicated crew of critters.

The first spotting of Vinnie was a bit delayed. Apparently there was a bit of a translation problem. Vinnie was seen off of the coast of Spain by a Spanish Galleon. This can’t be good. Vinnie still has to cross the Atlantic ocean as well as come forward 400 years in time. Lets face it, Vinnie is the only one who could get himself into these conundrums!

Well a bit of progress. He was spotted by the schooner Alabama. He has at least progressed to the 1800s.

A short time later, we got a report from the schooner Adventure. So, it looks like he is still stuck in the 1800s.

He got blown a bit off course by an Atlantic storm. He was spotted off the Mohegan Bluffs on Block Island (southern coast of New England).

His raft was in need of repairs, so the crew of the Block Island lighthouse gave him directions to the nearest port.

He found a safe harbor at Mystic Seaport. You’re not seeing things, Vinnie is still stuck in the 1800s.

The good news is they had the skilled craftsman to repair his raft.

Vinnie must have been relieved to see this pile of rocks. It is the quarry at Halibut Point on Cape Ann. Less than 30 nautical miles from home. (Although we are not sure what century he is in. This quarry opened up in the 1800s.)

A local boater recommended a shortcut. Hmmm, is that modern wind turbine in the background? By some miracle Vinnie has returned to the 21^st century!

The drawbridge operator is so accustomed to raising the bridge for every boat, he automatically raised it for Vinnie’s five inch raft.

Fives miles from the Woodpile. This is the jetty at the mouth of the Merrimack River.

Look, a small group of fans showed up to cheer him on. No wait a second, they are trying to warn him about the rough conditions.

This can’t be good. A Coast Guard helicopter.

 

Who are they rescuing from the river? Imagine traveling over a thousand of miles across an open ocean just be sunk in your home port? This is the stuff the ancient seafaring tales are made of.

“A priceless moment” – The shocked looked as Vinnie found out he came in second in the race home. He lost by a mere three minutes. Who was the winner? The chipmunk and the duck? Nope, the last we heard the duck found the perfect spot in Rhode Island to spend the summer and refused to fly any further north.