Things are getting biblical around our pond. The frogs and toads were delighted to find a permanent water source for breeding, so it’s swirling with tadpoles. And now the tadpoles are emerging in large numbers, starting with the toads, who were the first to host an orgy at the pond this spring.
No, not the Thomas Pynchon novel. Nor the movie. I needed a vise for my workbench and with images of my grandfather’s vise in mind I found one I liked and ordered it. Before attaching it to the bench, I glanced at the directions, which turned out to be a word salad that resulted from a feeble attempt to translate Mandarin into English. Needless to say, I followed them to the letter.
Our first snow was little more than a dusting, but I used it as excuse to light the fireplace for the first time this season. My wood stove is out of commission and I’m awaiting the install of a new Jøtol stove. The fireplace is great for ambiance but crap for heating the cabin … though Althea wasn’t complaining.
And the colder weather brought my squatters back with a vengeance. I woke up around 3:30 a.m. to the sound of something gnawing. I keep a flashlight by the bed, but it revealed nothing. The gnawing continued for the next hour until I got out of bed to go to the bathroom, where I found a southern flying squirrel (Glaucomys volans) on the window, apparently trying to figure out how to escape while his buddies partied like rock stars up in the ceiling. I used a hand towel to nab him and put him in a plastic container. The next morning, Althea and I drove him a few miles away to Strouds Run, where I released him and hoped he wouldn’t find his way back.