From the back bedroom window I can see the meadow and the wooded hill that slopes up from its far side.
Many tree branches are bare, and I can look deep into the forest to see the evergreens and the few trees still holding on to their leaves. Bringing my vision across the meadow, I observe the creek that borders its near edge. It is flowing again after the September drought. Continuing to zoom in, my eyes cross the creek and rise up the hill to the level ground behind our house.
Then, just beyond the window in the corner of my eye I notice something moving, something crawling up the dirt clumped around the roots of the old fallen shagbark hickory lying down the hill. The something is a groundhog. Or is it a woodchuck?
Becky and I watch as the rotund creature waddles up the mound of earth with what appears to be a mouthful of leaves and twigs. Groundhog/Woodchuck looks around and then crawls into the hole that the tree roots once occupied.
Soon it comes out, checks for safety, then climbs down the hill for more leaves. Back and forth it goes, methodically preparing on this autumn day what we guess is its winter burrow.
Season to season the cycle goes on.
The next day we caught a glimpse of our new friend hard at work, but since then it has been MIA. We are going on the assumption that Ground Chuck …(wait, that’s not going to work). We are assuming that Wood Hog is curled in his burrow snuggled in for a long winter’s nap.
As I learn later, our burrowed sleeping beauty also could be called a “whistle pig,” a “land beaver,” and, if you are of a scientific bent, marmota monax. It is a rodent belonging to a group of large ground squirrels known as marmots. It was early European settlers who heard the Algonquin name Wuchak, and turned it into “woodchuck.” Wuchak means “digger” in that Native American language and has nothing to do with either wood or chucking.
That’s a relief to know. We keep a stack of firewood near the burrow, and it would be a shame if Wood Hog started chucking it around over the winter. I shouldn’t worry, though. It will be in hibernation, possibly for as much as six months.
During hibernation its body temperature will drop and its heart rate slow dramatically. Considering these facts, I guess even if we watch, we will not know how much wood it could chuck if it could chuck wood.
In a way, I kind of envy our hibernating Wood Hog.
Think about it. Sleeping through the next few months and waking up in the spring of 2021. At the very least, one would avoid the remaining days of this uniquely weird year. We still have nearly two months of 2020. Who knows what could happen in that time? By spring of next year, there may be some medical breakthroughs in the pandemic situation. Perhaps the perpetual political chaos might be resolved. Yes, hibernation might have its advantages.
But, we humans weren’t made to hibernate. Hibernation is a survival strategy for some animals, but not for us. We were made not to withdraw but to act on the problems that affect our survival. Perhaps especially those problems we had some part in creating.
It seems our lot on this earth to confront a problem when it appears, then try to arrive at a solution until the next problem comes along. And whether we as humans consider ourselves as more Woodchuck than Groundhog, it’s usually best to work together on the solution.
Problem, solution, problem, solution. The cycle goes on.
