Humane harassment, or how to get your neighbors to move (if they are squirrels)

The evidence was there in early winter. Scatterings of rough-edged little squares of paper and cardboard. Shredded leaves. A random sock. 

One evening, Len and I went out to the garage, armed with a broomstick and a bright work light to -- it turned out -- scream in terror and chase away the squirrel who'd been nesting there. Quote of the night, from Len, after the squirrel used his shoulder as a stepping stone in its frenzied path out of the rafters: "It was on me!"

Our garage is rustic. It's over a hundred years old and is really more of an enclosed carport or a well-built shack. It is impossible to completely protect it from nature, but Len closed up some particularly accessible openings to discourage the squirrel from returning.

Life went on, until another discovery in late winter. Animal tracks in the snow. Popcorn kernels spilling from the bean bag set, which we now realize should not be stored in the garage. Then, with the sneak preview of springtime weather one morning, I heard rustling on the back porch (underneath which is the best place for squirrels to sneak into the garage). Sure enough, mama squirrel was there, chewing up a piece of cardboard into fresh nesting material.

I let the dog scare her away, but she didn't go far. She was watching us, giving us the squirrel side-eye and some vocal scolding. So, I went on a stakeout. I stood still and silent in the garage, waited for her to venture back. She did soon and hesitated at the threshold under the porch, sensing my presence. This time, when I banged on the wall to scare her away, she ran away chittering and screeching -- and she kept on screeching from a fencepost nearby. Clearly, she was very ticked off but wanted to stay close, which meant one thing: baby squirrels.

I braved an ascent up the ladder to find a new nest in the garage rafters. I jostled the leaves with a broomstick and then stuck my head near to it for a listen. There was a soft irritated murmur -- a "whiny growl" as one animal removal expert refers to it.

I'm not cruel. I also know that mama squirrel will chew through almost anything to return to her offspring, so sealing off her entrance is not an option yet. Also, I mentioned the garage is rustic. It's not worth it to us (yet) to call animal removal services. The solution for now is humane harassment. Be a nuisance. Make the space feel unsafe for raising their young, and the squirrels might relocate themselves. 

Every couple of hours, I revisited the garage to make loud human-noises, rap on things with the broomstick, and turn on the overhead light. Only one other time that day did I encounter the squirrel inside. The nest was clearly empty by the next day. Either the baby was old enough to climb out on its own and follow mom to a new nest, or mom wasted no time building a new shelter and carried the baby away in her mouth. I saw her later around the neighbor's log pile...

However, a few days later, we entered the garage and heard scampering overhead. The squirrel was back in the rafters. Hoping to move back in? Or just going after a number of walnuts she has stashed in the corners? After giving her a chance to leave, I poked around. 

Another nest of leaves -- just a few feet away from the previously vacated nests. And now anytime I poked a broomstick near the nest, the whiny growl from within it was loud enough I could hear it from the ground. Another day of random disruptions, followed by another empty nest... followed by the return of growling squirrels. We even tried soaking the nest and surrounding rafters with vinegar-water to repel the rodents (one good reason to keep your childhood Super Soaker water gun). They're super annoyed for sure, but not enough to move -- especially not during this stretch of colder weather. We'll have to keep up the frequent annoyances (and our own fear of squirrel paratroopers) for several days to persuade these unwelcome tenants to permanently pack up.

And we'll add to our spring chore list: clean out the garage and take the leaf blower to the rafters.

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Lemon Shrimp, Tomatoes, and Spaghetti Squash

For lemon lovers only.

1 spaghetti squash

1 lb of shrimp, peeled and deveined

10 oz. cherry tomatoes

4 tbsp butter, divided

2 tbsp olive oil

2 cloves garlic, minced

3 lemons - 1 zested and juiced, 1 juiced, 1 sliced thin

2 tbsps white wine

salt, pepper, and red chili flakes, to taste

1. Cook the spaghetti squash - in the microwave. Cut the squash in half, remove the seeds. Place the squash halves cut-side down in a microwave-safe container with about an inch of water. Microwave for 10-15 minutes, checking after the first 10, until fork-tender. Allow to cool enough to handle.
Tip: You can poke holes in the squash and microwave it whole for 5 minutes first to soften it slightly, making it easier to cut in half.

2. Shred and season the squash. When the squash halves are cool enough to handle, use a fork to shred out the "spaghetti" strands of the squash's flesh into a serving bowl. Add the lemon zest, the juice of the other lemon, and some salt and pepper. Toss to evenly distribute the seasonings.

3. While the squash is cooking, cook the lemon slices, shrimp, and tomatoes. In a large skillet over medium heat, melt 2 tablespoons butter and olive oil. Add the tomatoes first and let them sizzle a moment on their own. Then add the garlic, pepper flakes, lemon slices, and finally, shrimp. Cook, stirring occasionally, until shrimp are pink and opaque, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in remaining butter, juice from one lemon, and white wine. 

4. Reduce the lemon liquid to a sauce. Using a slotted spoon, remove the shrimp and tomatoes from the pan, and spread them atop the seasoned spaghetti squash. Leave the lemon slices in the pan with the liquid. Turn the heat back on to high and cook until the liquid is reduced and slightly thickened. Pour it all over the shrimp, tomatoes, and squash. Serve.

Adventures in Cake Decorating #12 - Sonic the Hedgehog Cake

One of the niblings just turned seven, and he's already very into video games. Hence, a Sonic the Hedgehog cake.

Given the block-grid look of the landscape in the Sonic the Hedgehog games, this would have been the perfect opportunity to bring back the checkerboard cake. Notice I said, "would have been." And the more I think about it now, the more I'm kicking myself. Why didn't I do the checkerboard cake? Dang, our nephew would have thought that was pretty cool. 

And now I'm thinking, is it possible I never mentioned checkerboard cake before? 

Quick background: My sister has this cool Wilton checkerboard cake set that makes it easy to pour two or more colors/flavors of cake batter into the same pan, creating a checkerboard pattern when the layers are stacked. We used it on my first nephew's first and second birthday cakes (and maybe others I have forgotten), and somehow, I failed to take a picture of the inside of those cakes or to even mention the checkerboard at all!

Back to the present: To be honest, checkerboard cake didn't occur to me until I started writing this -- even though I was already making both vanilla and chocolate cakes! I'll blame it on my Friday-evening mindset after a long work week. Instead, I made the next best thing to a checkerboard cake, I suppose. There was a layer of vanilla cake between two layers of chocolate, and the landscape decoration around the sides of the cake included a rough checkerboard pattern of light and dark brown.

And now, for some insight into the decorating techniques:

By working from lightest to darkest colors, I needed only 1 bowl for cake mix and only 3 bowls for all these different colors of frosting. I started with the vanilla cake, and then reused all bowls and utensils for the chocolate cake, without even needing to wash them, because the little bit of vanilla just mixes right into the chocolate and disappears.

For frosting, I started with plain white, which I used for the filling between layers, and then reserved just enough in a piping bag to do Sonic's eyes later, as well as one happy little cloud in the landscape (on the back of the cake, not pictured).

The bowl for white frosting gets reused, with the addition of two other bowls, for these three base colors: blue, green, tan/brown. Sky blue was first, to spread over the majority of the cake. Then, it becomes a darker blue, which goes into a piping bag to create Sonic himself.

The tan color of Sonic's mouth and ear was borne of trial-mixing a little orange, a little pink, and a little cocoa powder. Then, I emptied that piping back back into the tan bowl to add more cocoa powder and brown food coloring for the lighter dirt color. After piping that onto the cake, back in the bowl, a little more cocoa, but at a certain point, you're just adding more powder, not color, and you'll have to adjust by adding more milk. So, just a little more cocoa and some black food coloring for the darkest brown frosting. And then, with the small amount of chocolate frosting left, even more black food coloring, and back into the piping bag one more time for the outlines, eyes, and mouth.

Green was just green. One and done.

Colored sugar sprinkles saved the candy-dipped pretzels. Sonic's rings on this cake are pretzel rings dipped in candy melts. They do make different colored candy melts, including yellow, but I just bought white chocolate ones from the grocery store baking aisle and tried adding golden yellow food coloring to them. They turned peach. Maybe a lemon yellow coloring would have worked? Anyway, there was no fixing it with dye now. So, after I dipped a few pretzels, I sprinkled yellow sugar over the tops before the candy coating could dry. Yellow enough and even a little sparkly!

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Seasonal doings, early March

I've earned my badge for first bike ride of the year -- a 3-mile evening jaunt on a relatively mild March 1 to attend a local Pinewood Derby. Weather-wise, I could have been a real eco star and hung the year's first load of laundry out back... but I haven't yet. 

A few reasons why I haven't hung laundry out yet: 1) The snow has only just finally melted, so the backyard is boggy; 2) a winter's worth of dog doo (anytime he did business out back instead of on his walk) is thawing into the backyard bog; and 3) I'm feeling cold and lazy. 

I'll get motivated to make the backyard ready for laundry soon enough. In the meantime, here's another seasonally relevant report. The first of every month, I get a planting reminder email from Gardenate, a simple site that can guide your gardening calendar based on your climate zone. Here in Zone 5a, February's email lists 15 different vegetables and herbs that I could now "Start undercover in seed trays and plant out in 4-6 weeks." In my experience, however, February has proven too early to start most things indoors, even with the grow light and warming mat to encourage them. Six weeks later is sometime in April, when a rogue cold day can still wipe out tender seedlings. And besides, almost all of the same plants are repeated in March's reminder, with another 30 or so others.

So now, in early March, I've opened my shoebox of leftover seed packets and spread them all over a table in the basement so I can start thinking about what I will plant for this year's garden. Procrastinating in stages feels like progress.

I was happy with last year's herb garden, so I'm hoping the herbs with perennial potential do indeed grow back, and I'll definitely plant some of the same annual herbs this year, with perhaps a few additions. And although I waffle on whether to bother with tomato plants, it's pretty likely I'll go ahead with those again, too.

OK, next seasonal chore -- stirring and using the compost. That bin is full after winter. I'm also curious to see how quickly (or slowly) last fall's chopped-up leaves will decompose as the weather warms up. For now, the leaf mold is still scattered all over the lawn, having been frozen in place by snow cover most of the winter.

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Brandied cherries

Cherries are not exactly in season in February, but you can find them in the store. (Likely not locally sourced, a relevant note per my last post.) Still, I found myself with a bag of cherries in the fridge and realized they needed to be eaten now or otherwise preserved.

Remembering the syrupy Luxardo cherries in a "grown-up cherry Coke" cocktail I tried at my sister's house over the holidays, I decided to experiment with good old-fashioned brandied cherries.

The following recipe perfectly filled a wide-mouth, quart-size mason jar.

Brandied Cherries

• 1 cup sugar
• 1 cup water
• 3 whole cloves
• 1 cinnamon stick
• 1 quart sweet cherries, stemmed and pitted
• 1/2 cup brandy

In a medium pot, combine sugar, water, cloves, and cinnamon stick. Bring to a simmer, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Let simmer 5 minutes.

Remove from heat and stir in cherries and brandy. Let cool, then pour into a quart-size jar (keep spices in the mix). Store in the refrigerator. 

Let them sit at least a few days before using, but the flavors will develop further in a few weeks.

Note: On Day 5, I stirred the cherries and took a taste. The cherry was still a cherry, not slimy or mushy, but just slightly softened as though gently heated before topping a dessert. It had started to absorb the brandy and spices, but only just. The syrup itself is sweet with detectable cinnamon and a light brandy kick. I can see -- taste -- how the flavors will deepen as the ingredients continue to steep for a few weeks.

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