Retreating with wildlife

Confused rodents, elusive frogs, and also some writing.

I’ve been fortunate enough to spend the last four days writing at a cottage on Squam Lake in New Hampshire. Just me, myself, drop-dead-gorgeous views, and a lot of wildlife.

As I’ve said many times before, being able to get away for the occasional writing retreat is a godsend for my productivity. No distractions, no obligations. I wish I could do it more often than I do, which is two, maybe three times a year if I’m lucky. But small matters such as family, day job, financial constraints, and my propensity to go a wee bit stir crazy after too much time alone (as this post may evidence…) make this prospect difficult.

In any case, I’ve managed to get some good work done on this little escape. The weather has been glorious, the setting inspiring, and in spite of the temptation to just loll about taking in the scenery and/or watching the costume dramas my husband never wants to watch at home (I may have done this, but only once…) I’ve been able to stay productive.

I’m a little over a third of the way through a first draft of this new novel I’m working on, and while there are still some pesky plot kinks to be worked out (why must characters have jobs? So BORING!) overall things are moving in a good direction.

I could say more about the process of writing a novel, but why would I subject you to that? It’s really just me looking at a laptop and periodically shoveling various foods and beverages into my mouth. Other typical writing retreat activities include: sleeping, reading, sighing, berating myself for sleeping and sighing too much and reading too little, taking walks/hikes, watching costume dramas (did I already mention this?), pacing, flossing while pacing, and feeling like a fraud.

Dull, dull, dull.

So, let’s talk, instead, about the wildlife that has been part of this particular retreat experience.

1. Insects. There are a lot of these sharing the cottage and its environs with me, including but not limited to gnats, ants, spiders, flies, crickets, dragonflies, mosquitos. Probably ticks. And whatever those teeny tiny moth-like bugs that hover around the surface of the water are.

   On Thursday morning, I woke up to a very upset bee/wasp in the bedroom with me. I don’t know exactly how he got in, as there are screens on all the windows. But it’s a rustic place, and presumably there are crevices and holes here and there large enough for a good-sized wasp to pass.

   The poor thing was not happy to be in the room—he kept throwing himself against the walls and ceilings in dismay, trying to escape. Or maybe he was just being dramatic. I don’t know. In any case, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do. I don’t actually know what became of him; all I know is that he (or she) was not there later in the day, and has not reappeared.

2. Birds. Hot damn, this place is crazy with birds! A couple of wild turkeys hurled themselves up into the trees in front of the porch my first day here (WTF, turkeys? Stay on the GROUND). I’ve seen several herons, a bald eagle, and a number of teensy waterfowl who are partial to swimming amongst some nearby lily pads, but who never get quite near enough for me to get a good look at them. So I just think of them as “the teeny ducks.” If they have an issue with that, they should come closer so I can identify them and/or they can introduce themselves properly.

   Meanwhile, I’ve seen oodles of other birds—goldfinches, sparrows, crows, woodpeckers, blackbirds, some cute little tufted things, etc. A hummingbird seemed to be attempting to feed on my car (which is red) at one point. As I write this, a Canada goose is having fun with the acoustics of the cove, doing the bird equivalent of yelling “Echo!”

   And then there are the birds I’ve heard but not seen: red-winged blackbirds, owls, loons (ahhh, loons), and some whoopy, trilling bird that I can only describe as “stock nighttime bird sound effect.” You know the one.

   

   There was a TURKEY in that tree there on my first day. Ridiculous.

3. Rodents. When I’ve come to this cottage in the past, for purely vacationary purposes, with the fam, there have been occasional mice—skittering across the floor, disco dancing on the counters, dead in traps. But this time I haven’t seen any. It’s a little disappointing. I kind of like the company. Luckily, there are still plenty of squirrels and chipmunks outside to keep a gal from feeling too lonely.

   AND—bonus—on Friday, during a short hike, I encountered a type of rodent that was entirely new to me: a little gray thing with large round eyes, loitering near the base of a tree. She (for some reason, she seemed like a she) was bigger than a mouse but smaller than a typical squirrel, with a strange, flat, fluffy tail. She seemed confused. (I told my husband this on the phone, and he asked “how could you tell it was confused?” and I said, “I don’t know; I just could.” I stand by that assessment.) So, I asked this confused rodent “what are you?” but before she had a chance to reply, I figured it out myself, noticing some weird, excess skin around her sides: “You’re a flying squirrel!” I told her. At which point, she scooted around to the other side of the tree. (Busted!) When I tried to find her, she had vanished.

   Several minutes after this encounter with the wild, I saw two red squirrels fucking vertically on the side of a tree. It was impressive.

4. Moose. I did not see any, but I saw some very large hoof prints in the mud.

5. Bears. No. Thank God.

   

   The only bear I saw was on a sign.

6. Reptiles and amphibians. Two cute l’il toads spotted in the woods. Many frogs heard. Or maybe it’s just one or two frogs, throwing their voices? To be perfectly honest, there are all sorts of chirping, trilling sounds that emanate from the lake at dusk that I am just assuming are coming from frogs, but for all I know, they’re coming from a flock of enormous hairy spiders. (Please don’t be a flock of enormous hairy spiders.)

   Also, I thought I saw a turtle, but it turned out to be a stick.

   

   Find the toad!

7. Fish. A whole lake full of them. I can see them in the shallows near the shore and around the dock, and further out, I can see evidence of them in their little splashes as they pop up to the surface to eat bugs. Honestly, I’m not that interested in fish.

8. Humans. Even on this rather quiet corner of the lake, they do make regular appearances, in boats—small motorcraft, kayaks, canoes, etc.. Some people fish, some just float or paddle about. One guy came by yesterday in a single scull, making rather risqué-sounding noises of effort as he rowed. The vertically fucking squirrels were much more discreet.

   Then there were the humans I encountered on a supply run to the grocery store (yogurt, crackers, wine—retreat essentials) and CVS (chapstick, eyeglass repair kit for my busted sunglasses, caffeine drink—ditto) and the handful I saw while hiking. All very standard for New Hampshire, by which I mean pasty-white and almost but not quite friendly. Swing voters. Hard to pin down.

   The award for least favorite human sighted during this retreat goes to the guy I saw yesterday late afternoon, standing on the prow of a pontoon boat with his dick out. He was somewhat far away, and when I first saw him, I thought: Wait, that can’t be what I think it is….is it? He confirmed that, yes, it was, when he yelled to a friend in the back of the boat “Dude, shut up, I’m trying to take a piss!”

   People: the worst species of all. Honestly, we’re disgusting. Why am I writing a novel featuring us? I should write a novel peopled entirely by squirrels. Flying, fucking, or otherwise. Sorry, squirreled entirely by squirrels.

   If I’m lucky enough to come here for another writing retreat in the future, it might just happen. (You’d read it, right?)

   

   Human.

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