Year of the (flying) squirrel

In the Chinese zodiac calendar there is no designation for squirrels. So I’ll take care of that matter because it’s always the Year of the Squirrel around our yard, especially when it comes to bird feeders. The squirrels don’t get the “bird” part in bird feeders. But that’s OK. I enjoy the critters.

Two years ago, during a snowy January, I even accommodated the daring gray squirrels who cross the road to reach our feeders. I dug a tunnel in the tall snowbank along the street. They still had to cross the road, but that leap over the snowbank was no longer an Olympic feat. 

It was a playful experiment, and it worked. The squirrels used the tunnel, which I called The Squirnnel. I thought I was quite clever, or at least good for a laugh.

But there was more to that Year of the Squirrel than a tunnel. In the first week of January I was enthralled by the Full Wolf Moon softly illuminating the snowy yard, including the bird feeder area. Breaking my near trance was a small dark figure, or maybe a shadow, darting about the ground near the maple tree trunk where I had spread corn and sunflower seeds for the ground-feeding birds. And squirrels.

The “shadow” appeared out of nowhere and disappeared with the same swiftness. At first, I thought it was a mouse going in and out of a hole in the snow. But it seemed too big, almost rat size (heaven forbid). And, thank heavens, it was too fast for a rat, and had a feathered flat tail, not a rat tail.

It became apparent that the critter was leaping from low on the tree trunk to the corn and seeds and then leaping back to the trunk, all with such amazing speed that the critter was like a spirit creature. I watched this scene repeat itself over and over until I was pretty sure what I was seeing, even if I had never seen one before.

It was a flying squirrel. I did the research, and it confirmed that this indeed was a northern flying squirrel, a 10-inch, bug-eyed squirrel that glides through the night. It may land in the snow, leaving “sitzmarks,” or on a tree, using padded feet to cushion the landing.

The flying squirrels—sometimes there were two—came nightly, at various times. I did not see them glide, land and scurry around to the other side of the tree trunk as they do in fear that a hungry owl might be following their flight. I did watch them whirl to the far side of the trunk after their exposure while feeding on the ground.

I read that flying squirrels will tolerate a light on them. So with headlamp and camera, I set up a stakeout from the deck on a cold January night. The flying squirrel came and began its frantic feeding. I got the photos, though I had to be swift with a shutter finger that was numbing from the cold. 

There’s always something new in nature, right there in our yards, to see, to be stumped by, to be studied and identified. I was not surprised. It’s always the Year of the Squirrel.

Note: Want to read more nature essays such as this? My book, “Soul of the Outdoors” is available through me at the special price of $18. For a personally-signed book, email davegreschner@icloud.com or text or call me at 715-651-1638. The book is also available at regular prices through online book sellers, and at Wisconsin bookstores in Rice Lake (Old Bookshop), Eau Claire (Dotters), Menomonie (Dragon Tail), Hudson (Chapter2Books), Spooner (Northwinds), Three Lakes (Mind Chimes), and Bayfield (Honest Dog), and in Duluth, Minn., at The Bookstore at Fitger’s.