Trails and Tales Contest Grand Prize Winner
Someone had been digging in our flower pots, stealing the blossoms, uprooting the stems, and spilling the dirt. But who? This question puzzled me and my siblings. Our flowerpots were neatly lined up on the front porch, the blossoms brightening our entrance. Now, someone or something seemed to be sabotaging our efforts to create an arrangement of colorful flora. Yesterday, my brother’s petunias had vanished, and today, my sister’s violets were the victims. So far, my flowerpot had remained untouched—but for how long?
One bright, blue-sky afternoon as I walked around to the front of the house, a rustle in the bushes near the front porch caused me to pause. Two young eastern chipmunks tumbled out of the bush, scuffling with each other. I narrowed my eyes. Could these be the culprits responsible for destroying my siblings’ blossoms? My suspicions were proved right when one of the little chipmunks suddenly leaped onto the rim of a flowerpot.
Realizing that the wrestling match was over, the other chipmunk suddenly darted toward me. Mesmerized, I held my breath and waited to see what she would do. The curious little black-tipped nose sniffed the edge of my shoe, she thought for a moment, and then she scurried back to the bush as quickly as she had come.
I was dazzled. The flowerpots faded into the background of my mind as I recalled my mother once telling me about people who could hand-feed chipmunks. In the past, I had never had any success in getting a chipmunk used to my presence, much less come near me. However, this little chipmunk seemed to be offering me an invitation! Eagerly, I accepted.
Retrieving a handful of bird seed, I returned to the front sidewalk and sat down. And waited. And waited. It seemed that the little chipmunks had receded into their underground chambers to conceal themselves from the approaching dusk. Chipmunks are crepuscular creatures, doing most of their busy work during the morning and late afternoon hours.
Undeterred, I arrived with my handful of seed the next afternoon, but to no avail. The following day, I was back at it again. This time, however, I had a visitor. She was not one of the babies I had seen, but a full-grown adult that made her home on the opposite side of the yard. Hesitantly, she approached the small mound of seed on my palm. Her chestnut-hued body quivered as she cocked her head and studied me with one of her glassy black eyes. I did not dare breathe as we both sat there frozen, studying the features of each other. The slightest movement on my part would surely send her scampering for cover, my hopes of taming a chipmunk dashing right behind.
My heart pounded as she reached out her four-toed front paw and took a step closer. Her long whiskers trembled as she sniffed my hand. Enticed by the smell of the seed, she inched forward and snatched a sunflower seed from my outstretched hand. She sat back and quickly nibbled it, then went in for more. Like the suction of a vacuum cleaner, she inhaled whatever seed was in front of her mouth, and each piece somehow found its way into either of her cheek pouches. When her pouches were fully inflated, she bounced off to empty the loot in her underground pantry.
At last, I took a gasp of air and grinned. I had just won the trust of a chipmunk.
A summer full of chipmunk training and a lot of patience then ensued. I called this first chipmunk I had fed Birchie, and we soon became buddies. I would sit statue-like on the porch step, my handful of seed resting on my knees. Birchie would come, spy my cupped hands, leap onto my forearm, and scamper up to my hands, where she at last reached her treasure.
One of the young chipmunks that had taken part in the flowerpot massacre, also took a liking to my stone-like posture and unending seed supply. Whenever Birchie dashed off to empty her jiggling cheeks crammed full of peanuts, the little one would peek out of the bush and scavenge for leftovers around my feet. Realizing I would need to tame each chipmunk individually, I placed my cupped hands at ground level in order to coax the little newcomer into a peace treaty with me. AppleBlossom, as I soon named her (in honor of her obsession with my sister’s apple tree seedlings), quickly learned how to leap onto my lap to reach my cupped hands. However, both AppleBlossom and I soon discovered that chipmunks are feisty little creatures that do not understand the concept of sharing, especially when their beloved peanuts are on the line.
Birchie would become furious whenever she caught AppleBlossom and me together. She would shake her tail in indignation and glare at AppleBlossom. I would feel AppleBlossom’s muscles tense; she was wary of the elder chipmunk’s threats, but continued to snatch seeds regardless of Birchie’s prowling. Finally, Birchie’s temper would give out, and she would dash up the side of my leg, sending AppleBlossom leaping off the tips of my fingers in a panic. As Birchie perched herself smugly in my hands, AppleBlossom had no choice but to retreat to the bush until the larger chipmunk had gotten her next load.
As the summer progressed, more and more chipmunks flocked to my seemingly magical, seed-producing hands. Nick, Varian, Jack, Jody, and Meatball soon became regular customers alongside Birchie and AppleBlossom at my makeshift restaurant on the front porch. As my customers increased, I was surprised to find minute differences between these stripy creatures, enabling me to name and identify them. Nick had a notch out of his left ear; Varian must have picked on someone bigger than his own size, for he was missing a patch of fur at the base of his tail. Jack lived next to the pile of wood on the side of the house; Jody was the middle-sized of the bunch, perhaps a month older than AppleBlossom; and Meatball was a rather pudgy fellow, even before discovering the peanuts.
These differences led to my fascination with the detailed features God has given chipmunks. To feel AppleBlossom’s toes, cool from the earth of her underground burrow, patter across my skin sent shivers of wonder up my spine. I would purposely hold my cupped hands up to my face so I could be at eye level with the marvelous little creature that was willing to trust a presence as large as mine. Her round black eyes, though unmoving, took in the world with keen attention, while the fine black whiskers told her of her immediate surroundings. She relied on her fuzzy, yet weightless, tail to maintain her balance as she perched on my palm, several feet above ground level. My favorite features of this chipmunk were the racing stripes on her sides, as well as her mischievous black-tipped nose. She possessed a sweet earthen scent, and her body was delicate, weighing only 4.6 ounces (130.4 g), according to the scale I trained her to sit on.
Besides intricate features, the chipmunks also had impressive agility. One day, I decided to test the determination of chipmunks to see if they would still reach my hand if I stood upright. I widened my stance and placed my hand out in front of me, elbow slightly crooked. Then I waited. Jack poked his head out of the burrow and immediately spied my hand, some three feet above the ground. He studied me for a moment, calculating the quickest route up. Finally, he darted forward, his claws tickling my leg as he scampered up. After resting briefly on my hip, the determined chipmunk leaped toward my arm, paws outstretched. I felt him land lightly on my arm, and then he scurried up to my hand, where the prize awaited. Mission accomplished.
I smiled as I gazed at Jack, eagerly hoarding the peanuts. The ransacked flowerpots did not matter so much anymore. My stripe-clad companions have given me something better—a redefined appreciation for the beauties of creation and the ingenuity of the Creator.