06/05/2026
Many of you will recall the interlopers we have had in past years that take up residence under the store over the winter months. Usually, they are the odoriferous sort of characters that threaten the air with the same kind of scent as a certain type of herbal plant matter that is not always appreciated by some– the Norman included. (I, myself, will plead the fifth on this matter.) However, whether you like a good skunky scent or it’s not your thing, as the shopkeeper, it is quite stressful to open the back door to the store in the morning and be greeted with a heavy musky smell that settles on the sweatshirts and tee-shirts and causes folks to cast suspicious looks at me as they come in and take a whiff…which then causes me to immediately announce in a loud, me-thinks-the-lady-doth-protest-too-much kinda voice, “We have a skunk problem!” before anyone actually asks or comments.
A couple of years ago we had a Skunk Mama with quite a litter of stinkers. We relocated Mama early in the spring, patting ourselves on the back, thinking that we had beat her to her whelp. And then one little adorable stinky came out. And then another. Followed by two more. I had just gotten a new ride…to replace the one that floated down the Bear River in the Grinch Storm Flood. It still had the new car smell. A ride to Bingham with these four to meet the animal rehabilitator took right care of that.
This year, it was a tamer scented squatter that materialized from the underbelly of the store. Mama Fox and her kit were quite comfortable…until people started showing up and populating the neighborhood with their humanness.
It was the first beautiful Saturday in May when Baby Kit popped up from under the store bawling in plaintive sobs. He’d materialize between the two buildings and sit there in the scrubby underbrush crying as the curious humans bent forward, looking down at his little forlorn self. Then he’d disappear under the store and pop back out on the other side, bawling and carrying on. I kept thinking Mama Fox would show up, but by several hours into the afternoon, I started thinking that maybe a gang of coyotes had made off with Mum and she wasn’t coming back.
Yes, I know the message from the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, “If you care, leave them there.” Stay out of it. Nature knows what it’s doing. But dang it, I’m a mother…and by afternoon the plaintive cries of a hungry baby had worn a hole in my resolve. (Yes, yes – I know. Please limit your admonishing comments in the section below to .gifs or pictures as it's clear I don’t respond to verbal cues). I went over to the house and borrowed some cat food from Karl, my diabolical and homicidal tuxedo cat. The minute I started dropping it into the grass outside the fox hole on the port side of the store, a little nose appeared. It sniffed the air and the rest of the body slid out of the hole and made its way to where I squatted in the grass doling out cat food, glancing over my shoulder like a sneaky teenager for signs of the Norman.
Later, in the early evening, I saw Mama Fox come back. She sniffed the spot where the cat food had been and she leapt up into the air twice, arching her back and coming down in a pounce like you see in National Geographic footage. Immediately, I felt guilty. If I was to guess and interpret fox body language, it almost seemed to me that she was a little miffed, that she did not appreciate the human intrusion on her mothering capabilities and was not impressed with my intervening when she clearly had the situation in hand.
That night she moved her baby over to a den on the other side of Store Cabin. I see her from time to time as we both move about the campground, each taking care of our own chores. It could just be me, but I feel like there’s a little judgement in her gaze when we make eye contact.
