East Ridge, Where I Live

It is apparent I live in a preserve of my own doing. A 1.49 acre, one heavily forested 

preserve. Raccoons, crow, opossum, groundhog are digging nightly holes in the tiny yard, 

carpenter bees are boring holes into my porch ceiling, 5 Carolina wren eggs were laid in a 

nest on the porch by the front door, a chipmunk in the garage, a warbler who was sick and 

passed yesterday in front of me on the ground, now a rat stuck somewhere in the

garage. And this is just this week. I suppose they know it is safe here. Yes, I have checked 

my animal totems. Yowzer.


So I didn't catch the rat last night. Yes, it was a rat to my major disappointment.  In truth, I 

was majorly creeped out.  Majorly. Still, this is the mountains.  In the past I had two fox and 

their three kits on the ridge above me.  Year after year, before the saws and construction 

crews arrived, they would visit with me outside.  A safe distance.  All five of them.  I know I 

have mentioned this before.


Then there was the red wolf in August of 2011.  A bear on the side porch, raccoons in the 

birdfeeders taking one after another down.  A dead baby opossum in the backyard.  All in

all, I have felt honored they trusted me.  They know this is their safe haven.  Their grub 

feeding ground.  But not after tomorrow.  Assuming any rain holds off for twenty-four hours

Milky Spore will be put down.  


Soon it is off to visit my daughter in New Hampshire. It has been too long since I last saw 

her.  Since Christmas. The animals will have to fare well without me.


East Ridge, that is where I live. Thrive.  And love.  It doesn't get any better than this.  Cept 

of course, to see the rough Maine coast where another part of my heart lives.  Soon.