The children were in heaven that first summer in Mink Creek. We all were. We had no idea what a pleasure it was to live outside. The house was cold and dank and smelled like heating oil, so we passed it by for the clear air and sunshine. The logs for Lynn Nelson's house were spread out beckoning me to peel them, and the ground squirrels were playing hide and seek in them, popping up and down and running around chasing each other. The cats, Spider Monkey and Jemima, looked sideways with bored disdain at the frolicking squirrels. Wynn was absolutely sure that if the cats could just catch one for dinner they would develop an insatiable taste for the little critters. I was amused at his need to intervene in what seemed a natural process which the cats had absolutely no interest in.
   From my log peeling station, I noticed Wynn pick up a rock and take aim at a furry fellow and hoped he wouldn't accidentally hit one of the children. His wound his arm up like a professional baseball player, I actually didn't know he had such a skill, and let the rock fly and by golly he hit that ground squirrel square in the head. I was too amazed to be horrified. He jumped up with glee and ran to get his kill which he then presented to Spider Monkey as if he were bringing the queen a culinary gift on a silver platter. Spider Monkey, looked first at Wynn and then at the dead ground squirrel and then flicked her tail in disgust and walked off.
   Cats were apparently no threat to the ground squirrel population but snakes were, and that first year we also had an abundance of very large blow snakes. Watching a snake eat a ground squirrel is, well, maybe educational is the best word for it. The snake's jaws unhinge and the squirrel gets sucked in by powerful undulating muscle contractions, getting squeezed into that deadly tube until he is no more.
An education in nature is certainly something we've received living a Mink Creek kind of day.