Coyote Autumn
It’s a sound I haven’t heard in a while. Coyotes. I believe it was a pair. The howls and yips were coming from the east, somewhere along the Mazon River. There used to be a mated pair that lived in that line of trees meandering along the muddy stream that is an tributary of the much larger, much dammed Illinois River.
The last I saw or heard those coyotes was last year. I don’t know what happened to the couple. Perhaps old age took its toll or possibly an idiot with a rifle. Given that the state of Illinois allows coyote hunting year-round, even when the female is nursing her pups, anything is possible. I’d like to imagine the two native canines got tired of Midwestern winters and retired to warmer climes. Two elderly coyotes, sitting on a beach somewhere and sipping Mai Tais out of hollowed out pineapples with tiny umbrellas in them, as they bide their sun-filled day waiting for the early bird special at their favorite eating spot.
Some folks around here consider coyotes pests and they kill them when they can. These same people then lament how mice are taking over their homes and farms, never connecting the dots to conclude that coyotes eat mice- lots of them- along with a host of other rodents. Oh, and deer.
The whitetail deer that have been plaguing us all summer have all but disappeared for now. I suppose it’s possible that they simply moved on, having devoured all of our beets, to gardens further afield. We don’t see their muddy hoofprints on the white fabric covering our brassicas anymore. But it’s also possible the return of coyotes has meant the retreat of the deer.
We recently found coyote scat along one of our headlands, with bits of fur and other unidentifiable parts mixed in it. As our field is a bit of a long, unprotected run from the deer’s usual hangout, the risks involved in getting to our small farm with all the delicious vegetables may just not be worth it to these normally timid woodland creatures. No coyotes? No problem. And so, they felt a little brazen. But when you and your kin may end up as someone else’s dinner, pragmatism holds sway. And deer can be quite practical about things of such grave importance.
The days are growing shorter and we just crossed the threshold where the sun now sets before 7pm. As another sign of fall, we’re starting to see more and more migratory birds passing through. Last week a kettle of nighthawks made our farm a stopover on their way south. There was maybe a dozen of them total, at the peak of their activity. For three or four consecutive nights, these slender insectivores with their telltale white stripe on each feathered wing, dodged and banked above the barn and field, scouring the air of airborne bugs to slake their hunger.
Autumn imagery wouldn’t be complete without the archetypical flight of Canadian geese, aligned in a perfect V formation, making their way to wintering. The other evening as I was finishing barn chores, I watched a flight of these large waterfowl headed to the northeast- a training flight I suppose- honking in metered cadence as the whoosh of wings beat the air in synchronous meter.
Geese do not trouble their avian minds with thoughts off mediocre health care systems, social media content, or Presidential elections. Their only concern, if one can call it that, is in finding a safe and sheltered pond in which their flock can spend the night. I find a certain wisdom in that degree of simplicity.