One of the hazards of working at Northern Woodlands is that people are constantly asking you tricky nature questions. There I’ll be, happily moseying along a trail and someone will spring a rare orchid or fungus on me. I’ll hem, haw, unsuccessfully attempt to change the subject, and when all else fails, say, “I don’t know, but I’ll ask Virginia Barlow.”
So, it’s wonderful when the reverse happens - when someone asks just the right obscure question. This occurred recently, on a quiet day alone in the office, when a woman called, inquiring about decapitated squirrel heads.
Her name was Angie. She was calling from Maryland, and she had a classic tidewater accent – the sort that I can’t hear without thinking of my southern grandmother, of migrating geese, willow oaks and marshes. Angie explained that she was engaged in a genealogical endeavor. She was researching an 18th century ancestor with an awful occupation: tracker of escaped slaves. He also collected squirrel heads. Now why, she asked, would he do that?
A glow of smugness suffused me. No matter that it was a bit odd to be calling Northern Woodlands with this question. Because I knew the answer. 59 percent guaranteed. “In many towns,” I intoned, in my best expert voice, “there was a bounty on squirrels. They were considered vermin because of the spoilage to crops.” (And yes, I really did use the word spoilage.) I conceded that I’d never heard of anyone collecting whole heads. In my reading on the subject, towns had paid for squirrel ears. She suggested maybe people ate the brains. (Editor Dave Mance has since proposed a more practical reason – the difficulty of discerning between the detached ears of different small mammal species).
We talked for a few moments more, then I went back to work. That evening, I spent a little more time than usual contemplating the red squirrels on my stone wall – necks attached, ears intact, and as always, chittering at the dog.
I mention all this because it’s a fun example of one of the informal services that our nonprofit provides, as a help desk for arcane nature knowledge. It’s not really in any one’s job description, but it’s part of the rhythm of our office. Why does wood grow twisted? What are those white fuzzy things performing what looks like a stadium wave on a branch? How to find a source for witch hazel extract?
You could see our What in the Woods is That? game as a playful retaliation for this. I’ve also fantasized about hosting an event sometime, à la NPR’s “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me,” except that instead of topical news questions, the host would drill contestants about the number of nipples on a Virginia opossum (13) or how to distinguish between spring beauty and wild geranium. And, of course, there’d have to be call-in guests, just like on the public radio show. Maybe a leading expert on squirrel ears.