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MARTHA SEZ: ‘Rabbits are low on the food chain … lots of animals like to eat them’

In a seemingly different lifetime, although in chronological time not so very long ago, right before we all became aware of the novel coronavirus, a man from Westchester County came to shop at the store where I was working. He happened to remark that on the property he owns there are big fields that he is turning over to wild rabbits.

“So much land has been taken away from wildlife because of real estate development,” he told me by way of explanation. He wants to give some of it back.

I was taken with the idea. All kinds of wildlife will be taking advantage of the Rabbit Reservation, I thought. What about deer? I asked.

He allowed that he put up deer fencing to protect his perennial garden beds, but he supplied ample livestock fodder to encourage them to stay on their own side. Apparently they like it very much, and have not attempted to breach the barrier.

If the rabbits like the Rabbit Reserve fields and take up residence there, it naturally follows that their predators will soon show up. Rabbits are low on the food chain, which means lots of animals like to eat them. I have read that only 15 percent of baby rabbits live out the year, which explains why rabbits have to breed like–well, rabbits–in order to keep their numbers up.

Westchester County wildlife is surprisingly diverse and, because animals have been driven from their normal habitat in the wild by real estate development, they show up in people’s back yards. Hawks, Sparrow Hawks, owls, falcons, kestrels, weasels, ferrets, badgers, stoats, snakes, bobcats, raccoons, fox and coyotes are some rabbit predators found in Westchester County.

The coyotes in Westchester County are the same kind found in the Adirondacks: Eastern coyotes, a hybrid of the Western coyote and the Eastern wolf, with a little canine DNA thrown in.

People in Westchester County occasionally report seeing mountain lions, just as people occasionally do in the Adirondacks. In both cases, the state Department of Environmental Conservation emphatically denies the reports.

Now that spring is here, the rabbit reserve will be burgeoning with its own ecosystem of plants, insects and birds, as well as mammals.

If there are wetlands nearby, maybe there will be frogs, toads and turtles as well. Butterflies will be flitting over the wildflowers.

I like thinking about the Rabbit Reserve, a little island in the middle of Westchester County, one of the US counties hardest hit by the covid-19 coronavirus, with close to 800 covid-related deaths at this writing. I was going to call the Rabbit Reserve a tranquil little island, but realistically for rabbits, life is never tranquil. Coyote is always out there, whether you call him a coydog or a wolf hybrid, and coyote is always hungry. Still, I would say that in Westchester County the Rabbit Reserve is probably the best deal going.

Here in Essex County, New York, we are doing better with the virus, largely because we’re careful, and physical distancing comes naturally here in the boondocks.

I’m digging rocks out of the flower bed. They shift underground and fill back in every year, and every year the rock border around the garden gets bigger. I will plant the seedlings I’ve been tending inside the house when, as it says on the seed packets, “all danger of frost is past.” If you take it literally, in the Adirondacks this means “when Hell freezes over.” I’ll wait until after Memorial day, anyway.

I have seedlings on my south-facing window sills. One of them, a Kniola’s Heirloom morning glory from the Fedco Seed Company, is the most vigorous seedling I have ever seen. It’s the Incredible Hulk of seedlings. It’s kind of scary.

Just now, as I was typing, I thought I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It was Kniola’s Heirloom, trying to break through the window. Or did I imagine it?

As I watched, a tendril actually jumped, scouting along the wall in search of an anchor to climb on. That’s how strong the life force is this time of year. They say that in Iowa after a rain you can sit in the fields and listen to the corn grow. I believe it.

Kniola’s Heirloom has twined itself around the cord to my keyboard. It probably suspects that I’m writing about it.

Try to enjoy this strange interlude, say safe, and have a good week.

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