I was ready for combat this spring. I had my bamboo spears. I had my extra-large bottle of cayenne pepper. I had read up on all of the tricks to keep my sworn quarantine enemy from a year ago from destroying another garden.
You know who I’m talking about.
These awful little creatures, loyal readers may remember, sent me over the deep end last May as they dug up my tomato plants, ruined my begonias and mocked (in my mind) any attempt to stop them. Or at least that’s what I thought was happening.
Because, undaunted, I tried to plant another garden this spring. I carefully put pretty flowers into decorative pots, and filled large planters with jalapeños and herbs, and then stood guard at the window and waited for the attack to begin.
And waited.
And waited.
Nothing happened. Much to my surprise and delight, not a single peony was harmed in the weeks that followed. That led me to two theories:
1. The tribal council of $@!*&# squirrel elders gathered in mid April and decided to let me have my stupid flowers this year. I envision one standing on a pile of acorns as he declared, “The man has suffered enough!” (If Hulu turns this into a series, I want a commission.)
2. It wasn’t the $@!*&# squirrels at all.
It was then, as I was contemplating the reasons for my good gardening fortune, that I noticed something -- or, should I say, I noticed the absence of something.
Where the hell are the chipmunks?
They were everywhere last spring. They had burrowed holes under my patio, chased each other along my fence, even infiltrated my living room. I was reading a magazine one morning when a chipmunk scampered in front of the fireplace, and based on how I shrieked, you would have thought it was a triceratops.
I’m not sure I’ve seen even a half dozen chipmunks this spring, and perhaps not coincidentally, our garden is pristine. If the $@!*&# squirrels decide to get together and hire a good libel attorney, I am in big, big trouble.
So did the striped little furballs actually disappear? Or is my brain still recovering from the year stuck inside my house? Carolyn Mahan, a professor of biology and environmental studies at Penn State, said the chipmunk “shortage” is real.
“It is not unusual to see chipmunk populations fluctuate from year to year, and you will often see many fewer chipmunks after a year of abundance,” she said.
The reason: Acorns. The chipmunk population, Mahan said, tends to peak two years after a good “mast” year for oak trees because chipmunks will have plenty of food to store in their burrows. Not to get all scientific on you, but it goes something like this:
They eat. They mate.
And, two years later, it’s a chipmunkapalooza.
“Oaks will not produce large acorn crops every year, so a few years after a poor crop you will see fewer chipmunks,” said Mahan, who knows more about these critters than just about any living human. She once spent 2,000 hours studying them during a four-year period. Had I known this, I would have hired her to protect my garden.
The number of gray squirrels are likely down as well, but in my yard, at least, there’s still plenty of them running around. It is also possible that more chipmunks may emerge later this spring or in early summer, which would be just like them. They are waiting for me to lower my defenses, and then -- WHAM! -- down go the tomato plants.
It is also possible that they’ve relocated to new habitats with more food. This was an actual headline in the Charlotte Observer recently: “This adorably cute animal is starting to show up in odd places in North Carolina.”
“We recently received an observation with photos of a chipmunk in the Wilmington area,” state mammalogist Andrea Shipley told the newspaper. I hope his taxes are lower down there.
Look, N.C. friends, the only adorable chipmunks are the ones singing Christmas songs on those ancient cartoons. If Alvin wants to hang out in my garden with his pals, he’s welcome. To the rest of them, though, don’t rush back.
And take the $@!*&# squirrels with you next time.
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Steve Politi may be reached at spoliti@njadvancemedia.com.