Skip to Navigation Skip to Content
Decorative woodsy background

When Nature Comes Knocking

TOS_mouse_web.jpg
Illustration by Adelaide Tyrol

We two-leggeds build inviting habitats and fill them with ample food supplies. We heat these spaces in winter, cool them in summer, and keep them dry year-round. And when our wild neighbors have the audacity to move in, we frequently kill them on sight.

My wife and I recently restored an old brick farmhouse that was built in 1790, back when Vermont was still an independent republic. We removed walls and ceilings to expose and repair the original structure, then vacuumed every nook and cranny to remove debris left behind by two centuries of sundry inhabitants.

The cavities were crammed with butternut shells and tiny ears of corn that had been stripped clean – the work of red squirrels and mice. After we pried back a battered kickboard near the kitchen, a river of ancient wheat seeds cascaded out onto the floor. These must have been pilfered from human food stores and cached by mice during an era when Vermont farmers still grew their own wheat. I saved some of those seeds to see if I can resurrect what could be a lost heirloom variety.

Most of the wall and attic spaces were stuffed with clumps of useless insulation, replete with evidence of mice: countless droppings, pee-infused nest material, rodent skeletons and desiccated mouse-mummies. These were the remnants of nesting deer mice or white-footed mice – the most common denizens of homes in the hinterlands.

The house also boasted an extensive collection of spider webs, which festooned the rafters in the basement. Most of the webbing I encountered was spun by the common house spider, Parasteatoda tepidariorum – a round-bodied arachnid, about one tenth to one third of an inch in size, often with banded legs. This species is one of the “cobweb” spiders, known for their messy-looking snares. It seeks warmth and shelter in the quiet corners of our homes, and earned the species name, tepidariorum—which is Latin for “warming house”—because of its propensity for living in greenhouses.

In time, I worked my way up to the top of the house. Balanced on a rooftop while painting a dormer, I inadvertently invaded the flyway of a colony of paper wasps going in and out of a soffit vent. They buzzed loudly to warn me off; sometimes a wasp landed on my face or neck and crawled around ominously. Since I had no free hand, I allowed the wasps to creep around on my skin while trying to quell my nerves and exude an air of calm, all while continuing to paint.

I now do my writing in an office alcove beneath that same roof. As with many south-facing locations in old houses, this is the most active animal abode. I maintain a live mousetrap in the nearby crawl space. Some time ago, I heard skittering in the wall, followed by the sound of the trap tripping. When I checked, the trap was closed and the seeds gone, but there was no mouse inside. Over the next few weeks I tried every conceivable contrivance to catch whatever tiny creature could pull off such a trick.

Finally, I stayed up one night, tweaking the trap and re-baiting it repeatedly. Sometime after midnight, the trap clicked shut and started to rattle. I looked inside to find a masked shrew — one of the smallest mammals in the world — wiggling its tiny, tubular nose at me.

My encounter with that diminutive shrew was an epiphany; it put an end to any remaining hopes I harbored of critter-proofing a house that was more than two centuries old. After three years of trying to block every conceivable crack and hole that could serve as an entryway for mice, ladybugs, spiders and the like, I realized that “our” house is as much an extension of the natural habitats that surround it, as it is a domesticated refuge from the wild.

Discussion *

Feb 28, 2015

We just bought an 1866 farm house in western Maine and seem to have something living beneath the floor or the ell/summer kitchen. We are only there on weekends, but consistently It stirs every night just after the sun goes down for a few minutes and then becomes quiet again. From the sound of it, its a bit bigger than most of the critters mentioned in this article! Still it has made a home for the winter there and I’m curious as to what it is. Our dogs go nuts every evening for just a few minutes and then everyone settles down. It has also stirred when the dogs are not there as well. Given how incredibly cold its been this winter, whoever is it sure got a nice cozy spot to hibernate!

Caryl Beth
Feb 17, 2015

I am so happy you have chosen to co-exist with your old friends now new roommates. I would have been disappointed, given that section of your “Keepers…” books that I have on my bookcase if you did otherwise! Put up some owl boxes and let them do the work for you! Thanks for the article, I enjoyed reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed all your books!

Sophie Zyla
Feb 17, 2015

Thank you for your nice comment Nancy, you can click here to browse several articles he has written for us over the years.

Warmly,
Emily
Northern Woodlands

Emily Rowe
Feb 17, 2015

I loved the way this was written. It was entertaining and funny. I can just picture him. I am going to look for more articles written by Michael Caduto.

Nancy
Feb 16, 2015

I appreciate the fact that you used good old fashion snap traps instead of the harmful pesticides commonly used in today’s home. Often times, critters that ingest harmful chemicals inadvertently pollute the bodies of the creatures that feed upon them. With all those critters around, you must have a healthy owl habitat nearby.

Michael Gow

Leave a reply

To ensure a respectful dialogue, please refrain from posting content that is unlawful, harassing, discriminatory, libelous, obscene, or inflammatory. Northern Woodlands assumes no responsibility or liability arising from forum postings and reserves the right to edit all postings. Thanks for joining the discussion.