Folks were apparently surprised by yesterday’s post. It got shared by our friends in the Netherlands and commented on by our buddies in Idaho.  I guess it’s surprising to see it laid out in black and white, which explains why CDFW doesn’t do it themselves. Easier to keep granting permission for endless killing one at a time. I thought you might all need comforting this morning, which works out because everything Patti Smith writes comforts me. This especially so.

Patti Smith: A time for reflection under the Porcupine Moon

I know of no tribe who have called the February full moon the Porcupine Moon, but I think that from now on I will. Last week, when the full moon rose, I set out on skis to visit the ancient beaver, Willow. On the way, I would stop to see if the ridgetop porcupine den had an occupant.

The fresh snow muffled my approach to the den on the ridge, a cavity created when a red maple toppled, pulling its roots away from a vertical ledge. A roof of roots, soil and snow sheltered a spacious cave, just right for remodeling by a hobbit or a porcupine. I found it while tracking a porcupine I have known for several years, part of my winter census of local porcupines. Intriguingly, I had seen the tracks of a very small porcupine along with the tracks of the large porcupine on my last stop at the den. When I leaned down and shined my light in, I heard a whiny “Wah! Wah-wa-WAH!” I thought it possible that this complaint was directed at me, but given my previous interactions with porcupines, it seemed more likely that the wee track-maker objected to the movements of the adult porcupine. I left a couple of apples to make up for my intrusion and headed home.

If you ever, in your life, get an opportunity to go wandering with Patti Smith at night, drop everything that you might have been planning instead, forget about sleeping or doing the laundry and GO. Whether it’s to carry her notebook, bring her coffee or just hold her umbrella. She is a national treasure. Ben Goldfarb is still glowing from her treasure-laced journey. The rest of us will just have to live vicariously through her translucent writing.

As I looked around for a sitting spot where I would not be intruding, I noticed the muted eye-shine of a porcupine in the main chamber of the den. This porcupine was not going to wait for me to make myself scarce, he was too interested in the smell of the apples. I sat down near the entrance to the den and talked to the little fellow. I have had many conversations with porcupines in what I like to think is their own language. They hum when greeting each other or when maintaining contact with a friend. The hum is very nasal and is modulated to express mood and interest in precisely the way we modulate our own speech. As a foster mother to several porcupettes, I can vouch for this. The same is true for their squawking vocalizations. Like human squawks, they express complaints, from mildly disgruntled to outraged.

Porcupines appeal to me. They touch a similar chord as beavers. Their vocalizations. Their chewing. The problems they bring to dog owners. Did you know that there are only two animals in the world where young females in the species disperse for longer distances than the males to start out their new lives.?

Beavers and porcupines. Of course.

I needed a little porcupine therapy that night. I had just read the New York Times article on the insect apocalypse, one of many articles that have come out in response to research in Germany, research documenting a 75 percent reduction in flying insects over the past 30 years. A reduction of flying insects might sound good if you think of insects as pests, less good if you think of them as food, as nearly all birds do when they are raising their young. Such a loss is also less good if you think of the myriad services insects provide to keep life on this planet humming. The great unraveling is underway.

There is good news too. We finally have a group of politicians who understand the magnitude and urgency of threats to our planet and are responding accordingly. Children around the world, inspired by Greta Thunberg, the Swedish teen, are walking out of school to protest adult inaction on climate change. Girded by the courageous young heroes of our times, we have a last chance to redeem ourselves.

For some reason, Patti feeling hopeless is comforting to me.  Her writing is often so idyllic I  feel our wildlife experiences are on separate planets. What does she know about depredation permits or fighting city hall? But she’s on our planet in this passage. And it’s thrilling. Buckle up.

I coasted off on the ski-anywhere snow through the dazzling night toward the beaver pond. I wish I could say I felt only hope and tranquility but there remained a sense that I moved through beloved remnants of a besieged world. Perhaps these are not times for tranquility — these are times to act — to create a civilization worthy of our beautiful planet. My ideal future will have fluffy porcupines that waddle out of hobbit holes beneath the Porcupine Moon.

Amen! Let’s ring the bells and wake the townfolk. The world is on fire and we need beavers to help put it out. We need Patti too, because she can breathe new life into the one we preserve.

Thanks Patti.