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Lake Superior Journal
Story & photos by Paul L. Hayden

Dark Behind It, Stood the Forest

It was a rather coolish early fall afternoon at our home along the shore when Cindy mentioned that we had visitors in the driveway.

We’re not used to drop-ins, so I wandered out to see what they wanted. As I approached the car stopped at the turn in the driveway, a woman rolled down the window. There was a sort of astonished look on her face.

In 2009, there were three deer families that visited the lakeshore home of the author and Cindy Hayden. This bunch, in 2008, included Tiny Tim (center), who ended up with a game leg. Today, Tim is a take-charge guy.  Peg-leg Pete (below left), although missing a left foot, faces his challenges rather well.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We were just looking at the deer.”

Over my shoulder in the woods behind our house stood about five deer, three adults and two fawns each about four months old.

Near the house were another three deer who frequent our yard. One had just crossed in front of the car.

It’s funny how used to the deer we get. They’re around all the time … along with a host of other critters who allow us to live in “their” yard.

The look on the woman’s face, the other noses pushed up against the back side window and a small digital camera poking out said it all: Apparently, they weren’t from around here.

“We’ve never seen deer before,” she said. “We’re so excited. We saw one of the little ones up near the road and just had to follow to see them better.”

I told them to be careful driving because there were a lot of deer wandering. They took another long look, then backed carefully out of the driveway.

We live on the shore of Lake Superior, and like in Longfellow’s poem “Hiawatha,” the woods stand behind the house.

Wild animals in the neighborhood are quite familiar here. Deer to moose, coyotes to fox, owls to eagles, the occasional bear and the list goes on … they all seem to pass through our property daily. We often say that if we had nothing else to do, we could spend the whole day watching activity in the yard. It’s total entertainment.

You’ll find animal-crossing signs frequently along our highways. In Minnesota, Michigan and Wisconsin, more often than not they warn about deer. In Ontario, they caution about moose, especially at night. Moose are seen less frequently because there are fewer of them and their range is diminishing with the pressures of increasing deer herds.

The most spectacular of our wild deer, though, are the caribou, seen only in Ontario, especially around the Slate Islands and Pukaskwa National Park on the northeastern “corner” of the lake.

It has been fun to watch the animals that have crossed our lives over the years. While we have our own menagerie of cats to keep us happy inside the house, there are several families with which we identify on the outside.

A year ago, Mr. and Mrs. Fox had a litter of four kits, who romped and grew up before our eyes halfway down the property. They used an old shed as their home, but came out almost every day to play. Even now, one of the grown-up foxes walks casually by even while we’re outside.

“Hi, Fox,” I’ll say. He’ll stop, look at me (and maybe at one of the cats), then amble on, knowing all is well. He’s decided to let me to stay one more day at his homestead.

Much larger than most other woodpeckers, the occasional pileated woodpecker is always a surprise.

Last year one of “our” fawns later become lame from an injury. He limped, but managed to keep up with all the other deer. Through the winter, he kept showing up and gradually adapted to his injury.

We learned early never to name the animals. It’s too easy to get your heart broken when they don’t show up again … and you can only speculate why. But this little guy continues to visit the yard. We couldn’t resist. Now he’s our Tiny Tim and he’s just as cute as the character in the book.

I’m convinced that injured animals know the Hayden property is a safe haven. The same family of crows shows up every year to raise a couple of babies. It’s energizing to watch them sit on the wires, teaching the young ones how to fend for themselves. Two years ago, one flew into a tree near me. One of its feet hung by a thread. Within a day, he had lost the foot.

Knowing how birds can banish an unhealthy member from the flock, I didn’t think that he’d do well the rest of the summer. However, he soon was hopping here and there, dealing with life without a foot. We call him Pete (leaving off the “Peg-leg” part of the name).

The next year, Pete was back, interacting with the other birds as though he didn’t have a handicap. In fact, as the summer went on, he became rather bossy.

This year, Pete is still here, just as cocky.

What would a wildlife experience be without a visit from the neighborhood bear? He visits in early spring and mid-fall. The roly-poly raccoons, on the other hand, invade the territory almost every night.

The cats, of course, demand the most attention. Earlier this year, I looked out the door to see if one of them was ready to come in. (One of my main functions in life is to open or close the door for a demanding cat to come in or go out.)

This day, our cat Patches sat on a small stack of logs near the door - the perfect perch. She studied something on the sidewalk with interest. As I followed her gaze I spied a little black-and-white “cat” ambling down the walk, cute as a little button. But when the “kitty” saw me, she quickly turned tail - it was a large black-and-white tail - and skittered under the hosta. Cats don’t mind the skunks, and vice versa, I guess, but I apparently offended her.

Living out in the woods means sharing with the neighbors. Come fall, we share our apple trees with the deer … a lot. Thank goodness we have a lot of apples to share.

And the deer are generous enough to allow us to pick a few for our own use. They save all the good ones high at the top of the tree for me.

Fall is also when the deer herd starts to collect. Many additional “guests” come into the yard, some with truly spectacular sets of antlers. I always request that they shed those racks nearby for our collection come spring. Sort of payment for protected space during winter with the Haydens.

Where we live right next to the lake is part of a game refuge, so there should be a certain degree of safety automatically.

Still, as my sons are wont to tell me, each year once the weather starts to chill, it seems someone posts a sign in deer language somewhere saying that the Hayden “spa” is open.

At times in December and January, we have upwards of 30 deer romping, sleeping or eating in the yard. Talk about holiday gatherings.

The stories could go on all night: the raccoons who won’t leave the compost alone, the dozens of hummingbirds who devour gallons of syrup daily, the bald eagles who hang out in our trees, sharpshinned hawks after the other birds, bears who pretend to be birds and eat all the sunflower seeds from the feeders.

Sharing the neighborhood for more than 20 years with the wild things is just one benefit of living near Lake Superior. By woodland standards, Cindy and I are a couple of transients who only moved into the area in recent decades. The real residents have had family here for millennia.

As much as some folks feel that there’s been overdevelopment and urbanization of the lake region, I’m here to tell you that the wildness continues to thrive.

Ask any of our human neighbors; they’ve seen the same scenarios in their yards.

Lake Superior, as we know, is untamable and unpredictable. In my journal of “life around the Big Lake,” what’s wild along the shores helps to keeps the lake wild.

We all appreciate that.

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