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I grew up in a distant suburb of Pittsburgh. Our neighborhood consisted of one street of postwar bungalows, surrounded by forest, hills, fields and creeks. We had endless summer adventures trenching through the mud - up and down the creeks, searching for salamanders, frogs, snakes and toads. It was not unusual to wake up in the morning with deer and even once a horse in the yard.
Accompanied by our good dog, Woffie, we explored the fields for wildflowers and little catchable critters. We picked endless pails of blackberries. My mother would make a small pie for each kid who brought a pail to her doorstep. We would sit on the back stoop, in the afternoon shade, dying our faces and hands purple with the warm blackberry juice running down our chins as we stuffed hot pie into our mouths.
Our raccoon adventure began with the coon eating Woffie's food, which was set out on the back stoop after dinner. Raccoons are quite fierce and very smart. In the hills of Pennsylvania, they are also very large and strong. Woffie was half German Sheppard and half Beagle. He was a good sized dog, but no match for the coon. The raccoon was completely unfazed by the dog's presence and would approach with a snarl until Woffie left the dish to him. We finally had to feed Woffie inside, so the raccoons graduated from dog food to people garbage. In those days, animal disposal or removal was an individual choice. There was no one to call.
My mom's first attempt to outsmart the raccoon involved putting heavy bricks on the lid of the can so he couldn't open it. Naturally, that failed and I can picture the coon chuckling at her feeble attempt. Next, she tried tying down the lid. However, the coon untied or chewed through every type of rope she tried. The raccoon was no more or less afraid of my mother than she was of him. They had regular face-offs in the late evening or early morning when she would watch for him from the kitchen window and attack him with a broom. The raccoon would stand up, glare at her and leave quite nonchalantly. I think he was simply deciding it wasn't worth the hassle. Since we had to sleep at some point, he knew he could return in peace.
My dad often threatened to shoot it, but we would beg and plead on the raccoon's behalf. My mother didn't want my father to traumatize us by shooting it. Her almost daily confrontations with the raccoon were often considered comical to the whole family and probably to the raccoon as well. The summer continued with more and more attempts by my mother to outsmart him and protect our garbage. By the end of summer, the can was wrapped in chains, weights and bricks. (I wish I had a picture of that!) The garbage men complained, but my mother prevailed. Her anti-raccoon defense system was finally working.
One night in late August, we were all awakened by an incredible crashing. It sounded like the house was falling down. The family was up and running out the door in a panic, only to find the raccoon had smashed the garbage can against the corner of the cement footings of the posts holding up the carport. The steel can was bent and the lid cocked off, enough for the raccoon to enjoy his feast.
My mother got a new garbage can and it was kept in the utility room, behind the kitchen, until the morning of collection when she would have my dad move it to the curb on his way to work. Game over.
The neighborhood grew as we grew up, with more streets of houses and less and less forest and fields of blackberries to pick. There were no more deer in the yard in the morning mist, no more raccoons to outwit...
As a mom living in Quebec, I was lucky to be able to raise my children in a similar neighborhood as the one I grew up in. In these times, we did not allow our children to wander the hills and dales as freely as our parents did. However, I made sure their summers were filled with bike hikes, blackberry picking and adventures collecting rocks or catching minnows in the small creek flowing through the farm behind our house. Once, we even had a small herd of cows wander into our backyard, but that is another story.
Our raccoon experience came one evening when a mother raccoon brought her baby up onto our deck. I confess, I let the kids pass apple slices through a small crack we made by opening the patio door. After a few minutes, the mother disappeared, leaving her baby with us. I couldn't figure it out, until she reappeared with three more little ones. I think she was just another mother trying to make ends meet. We fed them apple slices with Oreos for dessert. I could just imagine what my mom would say...
- Linda Z.
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