in ur tree, hangin wif mah homiez

The county fair is in town, which means it is almost in my backyard! We live just a few blocks from the fairgrounds, and we were a bit worried about the noise from the outdoor concerts they hold each year about this time. Last year, we were serenaded with the stylings of Styx on our porch at the old place (domo arigato, free-o concerto), and since that house was five or six blocks farther away from the fair, we were apprehensive.

Turns out the music is only slightly more noticable, and we couldn't even hear it when we shut the door. I did wave an imaginary candle in the air in my yard during REO Speedwagon's "I'm Gonna Keep on Lovin' You," though. We're not close enough to the fair to be affected by parked-up streets or even people walking by, so there was just about no impact.

I say "just about" because we did have some visitors. The carnies parked up the fields behind the fair buildings (on our side of the fairgrounds). A creek runs through those fields, and they are home to lots of critters, who were suddenly displaced. On one night, we not only had a visit from a 'possum, but a family of four raccoons moved in and slept all day in our tree. I asked them politely to vacate the premises, and I got nothing but 'tude:

I believe this is raccoon for "talk to the hand."

They said they were friends of Trevor Chang, our resident and possibly departed raccoon, and our elm tree made for an excellent one-bedroom apartment.

Next year, I'm charging rent.

raccoon tree acres

I named our house Raccoon Tree Acres during one of several visits with the real estate agent before we made our offer. Pondering the shade/sun ratio in the yard, I looked up into the massive branches of our Siberian elm, and saw not elmberries or birds' nests or leprechuans but a raccoon.

I tried to get anyone to notice/care, but neither our real estate agent nor the sellers' wanted anything to do with raccoon eradication. Neither did I, frankly, but we have enough pets, and neither cat eats garbage.

So we figured we'd deal with it later. In the meantime, said I, what should we call it? How about Elmer, since he lives in the elm tree?

No, said Mr. Reluctant emphatically. His name is Trevor Chang.

So Trevor Chang it was. Given that the house was unoccupied for at least a couple of months, and that many of the vents to the crawl space were open until the contractors affixed grates, I should have known that Trevor Chang had been displaced from under our house. He was in the elm tree because he had been made homeless, and he was intent on finding any warm place he could -- preferably inside or under or near my house.

I may be a bleeding heart liberal when it comes to wars and education and social rights and alternative families, but I am not when it comes to wild animals living (read: defecating) in close proximity to my person. But directly after I found a place where one can rent live traps that would move Mr. Chang to greener pastures, he disappeared. I finished raccoon-proofing the roof and shed, blocked a few access points under our fence, and put a few rocks next to the crawl space vents, just in case.

Last night, though, in a series of events that culminated in me looking outside on our patio, I spied A Tail ascending the elm tree. And there he was, Trevor Chang.

Did you miss me, he said, 'cuz I missed you.

I took a few photos and tried to doctor the first one using my crummy iPhoto software (his left eye was glowing green). You can, perhaps, get a sense of the size of our elm tree by the second shot, the one where the glowing green eye can be seen in the branches.

Maybe I can build him a home out of appliance wreckage.