For those of you who have read several of my previous stories; No, as surprising as it may seem, there is no law against that many Vandermolen’s getting together at the same time and camping.
And also; No, no forest fires, explosions, or other significant disasters occurred. Well, mostly, though you might want to watch for the “Jesse, the gas can’s on fire” story to be posted later. But, in defense, while there were Vandermolen’s present at the gas can issue, the causal individual was not even related by marriage, much less blood. Well, not yet anyway.
One of the more important individuals on this particular trip was Romie. Romie is in the 4th generation tier of the group. Young, pixy pretty, energetic, and overflowing with joy that constantly infects everyone around her.
On the first morning in camp while walking from one site to another, Romie noticed some movement at the base of an old cottonwood tree. Sneaking close she spotted something climbing up the trunk of a huge Cottonwood tree just outside of camp. Suddenly, peering around the heavy bark she saw sharp eyes staring back at her from small masked faces as three young raccoons followed their mother up the trunk into the high branches to sit out the coming day’s heat nestled in fluttering green leaves and shade.
Instantly ramped up, Romie ran back to her campsite. Her announcement got there before she did, but just b ehind it came Romie bubbling with her discovery. And from there, it became obvious that what I have always maintained is true. None of the tales I have related are truly my fault….there’s a gene somewhere in the Vandermolen DNA that’s to blame. It runs from generation to generation.
Romie excitedly drug her parents, grandfather, and by virtue of the level of activity, noise, and excitement; a cousin, two great uncles and great-grandfather over to the base of the tree to stare upward as the young coons climbed ever higher into the leafy cover.
After the raccoons had climbed out of sight, Romie bounced over to the great uncles’ camp and wallowed in the wonders of having seen the raccoon family.
While sitting there retelling the story, Romie and her brother Orion started munching on some unshelled peanuts that were in a bowl on the table. Romie began to wonder if raccoons liked peanuts and she and Orion latched onto the idea of hiding peanuts around in the bushes to see if the raccoons would search them out. The first two nights proved that indeed, peanuts were good bait. Not only did the raccoons eat the peanuts, but to Romie and Orion’s joy, they even left slobbered on empty shells behind.
After a couple nights, that became boring though, so Romie decided to make marshmallow trails around the campsites, leading the raccoons to selected tents in the camp where they would find treasure troves of peanuts to fight and squabble over.
That was even more fun.
It worked out so well in fact that “gas can boy” thought he heard a bear outside his tent one night. By mid-week her parents’ campsite had over a dozen raccoons raiding camp even before the adults turned in for the night.
And the great-uncles’ camp? Each morning if you got down close to the ground and looked, there was not a single square inch in the entire campsite that didn’t have a coon paw print on it.
As neither Barry nor I have been known to miss an opportunity, I was soon suggesting to Romie that she get a long stick to prop open the camp dumpsters and see if she could catch a raccoon in one of those. And, since my older brother has always had a thing about being one upped by baby brother, Barry dug through his trailer and came out with a Rubber-made tote and rope and showed Romie how to built a ground level “box trap”, suggesting of course peanuts and marshmallows for bait.
Romie ran back to her own camp and convinced her mom and dad to give up a clear Rubber-made tote for her very own box trap and set up her trap Wednesday night. The trap had a blue trip rope that was about 40 feet long and the entire Vandermolen group sat talking quietly around the campfire that night while Romie tended the trip rope and Mom made baked bananas.
But alas. No raccoon ventured near the trap and one by one the watchers drifted off to go to bed until finally Romie too was so tired that she couldn’t keep her eyes open.
Undeterred, Thursday night found the trap set, and the watchers gathered. Romie alternated between making SMORES for everyone and tending the trip rope.
As the watch evening was once again drawing to a close, Romie’s father and grandfather both saw movement near the trap. Sure enough, the mother coon and her three young charges had snuck up behind the trap and were carefully reaching under the suspended tote, grasping for peanuts and marshmallows.
Romie’s blood zinged as she waited to pull the trip rope. Finally, one of the baby coons darted under the tote and Romie jerked the tripline.
Down clattered the tote.
Off scampered mother coon and two of the youth, and another nearby coon as well.
The tote lay quiet and still.
No one was sure if anything had been caught.
As Romie’s father approached the tote and reached down a hand to make sure any trapped raccoon couldn’t tip the tote off and escape, the young raccoon trapped underneath exploded upward with a snarl-growl and a snapping of teeth but his teeth ran into clear plastic and not Dad’s hand.
Romie immediately took refuge behind my left leg. I’m not sure if that was because she thought the raccoon wouldn’t attack me because as she said “you’re the scary Uncle“, or if she just figured it would stop to chew heck out of me long enough for her to make her escape. I rather think it was the second though.
Everyone was completely amazed that the trap had been successful; even Barry, Jeff and I who had spent many hours with box traps lying in and among the grave stones on Boot Hill trying to trap birds in our own youth.
A few pictures were taken and then a rope was carefully tied to tip open the box from a distance.
The box was tipped open and after standing still for a few bewildered seconds, the young coon sauntered off as if nothing had happened.
Now, before all the PETA folks get up in arms I would like to point out a couple things.
The first is that unlike all of the Government/Environmental funded research actions, this young raccoon was entirely uninjured; no needles stuck in it, no blood drawn, no shots given, no hair or other body parts yanked, pulled or sampled, and no radio collars permanently screwed on. And in fact, if anything, the young coon will be more cautious around people, thus improving its life expectancy, quality, and “natural-ness”.
And second, Romie and the rest of the Vandermolens were responsible for the next morning’s Great Raccoon Rescue.
You see, overnight a different raccoon had climbed into the freshly emptied Dempsey Dumpster and once in found he wasn’t up to jumping out. Oh, if the lids hadn’t been closed he probably could have made it, but since he couldn’t climb 4 feet of smooth steel wall, and every time he jumped, his head got to the bottom of the lid before his paws got to the rim, he was completely stuck.
It was pretty warm overnight, and with all of the escape attempts and no water, that was one tired and drained coon come morning. Grandpa Jeff dropped a bottle of water in for the heat drained little bugger while cousin Bryan searched around for a long tree branch. The coon quickly tore the water bottle open and sucked it dry.
Romie, Orion, her father, grandpa Jeff, uncles, and Great grand father all gathered around while cousin Bryan carefully positioned the tree limb into the dumpster. Everyone backed off to give the raccoon some room and to see if he would use the branch to get out, or if we would have to try something more drastic.
No sooner had we had all backed across the camp road, than a small gray paw gripped the rim of the dumpster and a little masked face popped up to peep out at the world. After a few minutes of checking angles and distances to assure that it could run away without being caught (I wonder if raccoons talk to each other), the raccoon climbed up onto the rim, over the side and scampered off into the woods.
Proving again my point. Vandermolen’s naturally come imbued with a willingness and desire for adventure; a desire to try new things and to learn through personal experience; all the while tempered with compassion for the less fortunate; and a sense of playfulness and humor.
Romie’s raccoon adventures prove that those attributes remain undiminished.
©Copyright 2015, Marty Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved
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