On Tuesday, I wrote a blog post about the upcoming Snowpocalypse. I wrote it mostly in jest. To be honest, I’m concerned about my backyard wildlife as this massive east coast winter storm approaches. It’s Thursday night now and not only have they not downgraded the estimated snowfall amount, they’ve now added an additional 1.45 inches of liquid equivalent in the form of sleet, freezing rain, and ice on top of it.
That makes me uneasy.
“They’re wild animals. They’ll figure it out.”
If you’re thinking, “Hey Jeff, they’re wild animals. They’ll figure it out.” I know. I know.
But I love animals. F—king love them. I talk to my backyard animals like they can comprehend English. So, I’m nervous for them. Concerned how they will be impacted by a potential snowstorm the likes of which they’ve never experienced.
Heavy snow and ice hits forested yards differently
Our house is surrounded by trees on all sides. A small forest runs behind our backyard. During the last major snow event in Charlottesville, back in 2009, I lived in a bottom-level apartment with zero trees around me.
But this? Heavy snow plus ice changes the equation. Large branches snap. Trees uproot. And that has me on edge.
Meet the backyard wildlife I’m worried about
It’s not an abstract concern. I’ve grown close to my non-domesticated visitors. The squirrels and the crows especially. The ones I see every day. The ones I’ve gotten attached to. The ones I can easily identify, I name.
Split Ear, my squirrel homie
Split Ear is my homie. She’s an Eastern gray squirrel who visits me every single day. Shortly after my dog Motzie died last year, Split Ear showed up. I like to think she’s a reincarnation.
When she sees me, she comes hauling freight down a tree to greet me. I can sit in a chair on our back patio and she’ll sit right next to me.
Mr. Jones, Mangled Foot, and Oscar the Friendly Genius
I have three crows who’ve adopted me as one of their own. A flightless member of their mob. If I go for a walk, my three feathered friends follow. Same with my wife. They even see my kids off to school and let me know when they’re due to arrive home, no matter where they’ve wandered off.
Their names are Mr. Jones, Mangled Foot (aka The Runt), and Oscar.
Oscar is the latest addition, born this spring. Mr. Jones and Mangled Foot raised Oscar. Mangled Foot is from the previous year’s brood and was raised by Mr. Jones who took her under his wing despite her smaller stature and a noticeable handicap. Her right talon is snapped sideways, leaving her with only one usable talon — but she manages just fine. She’s never left Mr. Jones’ side. She’s his shadow amongst the trees.
Crows are naturally smart, but Oscar is next level intelligent — and he’s hilarious. How will Oscar, who’s getting his first taste of winter, fare in this upcoming weather? What about Mr. Jones and Mangled Foot? What about Split Ear who, unlike the other squirrels, doesn’t bullrush the crows when food is around?
What winter storms actually do to squirrels
During major winter storms, the mortality rate for squirrels can reach 30-40%, this all despite their ability to survive temperatures as low as -30 degrees Fahrenheit. In other words, for every ten squirrels, three to four will perish.
For younger squirrels, the odds are worse. Even in normal winters, up to 75% won’t make it and one in four don’t survive their first full year. Fifty percent don’t make it through two winters.
Nature is resilient, but it’s not gentle.
Doing my part to help my backyard wildlife before the snow hits
I keep piles of leaves in my backyard each winter as is. It’s good for animals and insects. It’s good for the soil. Squirrels use the leaves to re-insulate their nests during the most unforgiving cold stretches of winter. In the next day or two, I expect to see them gathering dried leaves into their paws and scrambling up trees for impromptu rebuilds and emergency patch jobs.
I’m also stocking up on bird seed to give both birds and squirrels solid calories once the snow covers the ground. Squirrels won’t be able to reach their caches then, nor will many of my smaller birds be able to access grit, seeds, or insects in the leaf matter on the forest floor of my backyard.
I’m covered when it comes to shelled peanuts. My wife gave me a gigantic bag for Christmas, along with corn on the cob.
It’s not much. But it’s something.
I wish there was more I could do.
Waiting out the winter storm
Once the snow starts falling, there’s nothing left to do but wait. To watch the trees. To look and listen for movement. To hope that that small lives tucked into branches and hollows and leaf piles and brush make it through the day and the long nights ahead when the temperature will drop not only below freezing, but below zero.
Some won’t. I read The Wild Robot. That’s the reality at hand. But many will. And when the sun pushes its way out and the thaw comes, I’ll be in my backyard waiting to say their names:
Split Ear.
Mr. Jones.
Mangled Foot.
Oscar.
And all the other little guys and gals who call my backyard, and the trees surrounding it, home.