Right now we are $1800 short of our August expenses. We need to raise $7000 dollars this month. Reaching this goal is critical to the success of our mission. Can you help? $1800 will cover our rent and water bill, our electric bill and our part of our fish bill. Long term, of course we’ll need more, but right now, $1800 will go a long way toward keeping our mission on track! Help us continue to provide care and advocacy for our wild neighbors on the Redwood Coast! Please help, you’re all we’ve got! Thank you!!!
It’s a common expression: let nature takes its course – and we learn it while we ‘re young. It can be used in many ways, but in the end, what it always means is that the best outcome can be achieved by doing nothing – that left alone, the inevitable outcome is the preferred outcome.
As wildlife rehabilitators, we hear this expression every day.
Two months ago, a man called from somewhere out Highway 36 – he’d found a fawn by the side of the road with a dead doe, presumably the fawn’s mother, most likely hit by a vehicle. The caller had already talked to a local government agent to find help. “The ranger said it would be better to let nature take it’s course,” he said, “but I couldn’t just leave the little guy there. Will you take him?”
Of course we would. And we did.
The fawn is doing well, is now being weaned from a bottle to foraging for greens, in the company of other fawns, untamed. If all continues to go well, he will soon be released back into a wild herd.
Two weeks ago we released an Osprey who’d been hit by a vehicle and picked up from the shoulder of a two-lane blacktop that skirts the western edge of Lassen National Park. The woman who found the bird talked to an employee at a park information booth who told her the best thing she could do was put the grounded bird back and, yes, let nature take its course. She said she couldn’t do that, so the employee found her a box and gave her a phone number for a veterinarian in Redding. When she got to Redding, the veterinary clinic wasn’t open (nor were they permitted to treat wildlife).
So she found us on the internet. Since she was already headed to the coast she was able to bring the Osprey to our clinic. It took all day, but eventually we had the bird in care. While in relatively good shape with no external injuries, the Osprey was slow to respond, seeming dazed. Within a couple days, however, in the safety of our clinic, the plunge-diving raptor regained his wits and was flying well and in a very dissatisfied mood.
As soon as he was ready, our staff took him on the 5 hour drive back to Lassen, back to his lake next to the volcano. He needed nothing more than some time in care – a safe haven where food and safety are provided.
If you put the Osprey back on the side of the road and “let nature take its course” – disoriented and grounded by his collision with a vehicle – it’s predictable that the Osprey will die. With no treatment, who knows how long it will take for him to recover his wits, if ever – and with no food or water, his slow decline gathers momentum until he’s too weak to seek shelter, let alone regain his ability to meet his own needs. Another car, another predator, or a slow death by dehydration is as certain as night follows day.
If you provide care – hydration, food, anti-inflammatory medicine, a safe aviary, reduced stress – and let Nature take her course – the bird stands a very good chance of healing and getting a second chance.
Do all of the animals who we treat recover? Of course not. Many animals do not respond to treatment – the antibiotics are too late to prevent the death of a Barn Swallow bitten by a house cat, the neurological trauma that leaves the Raven with paralyzed legs doesn’t resolve. More often, the patient’s injuries are simply too severe. The only course we can take is to humanely end the suffering. Any hunter can tell you that you don’t let an animal wander off to a slow death from the wounds that you’ve caused. You don’t gut-shoot a deer and then “let nature take its course.” Wild animals who’ve been injured by the human-built world at least have the right to a humane death.
The person in uniform, or the biologist, or the front desk clerk, who recommends letting nature take its course may not be able to diagnose the injury, may not be aware that treatment is available, may not be informed at all on this topic. Often the person functioning as the authority is merely parroting a worn phrase we all know so well.
‘Let nature take its course’ is not a fact-based recommendation, it is not science based. Now of course there are many ways to use this phrase in many situations, but to be clear, when we’re talking about injured and orphaned wild animals, letting nature take its course means not taking responsibility for the injury and suffering our society has caused. It is irresponsible even though it parades as the dispassionate, wider-scoped perspective, not the uneducated sentimental feelings of compassion. And in this way, Nature is made out to be the culprit – Nature is cruel, and the compassionate person is a fool. A logging truck full of trees hits a deer and kills her, leaving her young stranded – too small to survive. The local ranger says the fawn should be left alone, that we should let nature take its course, and it is Nature who is cruel.
Meanwhile, who destroys Nature foolishly? Is it the person who blunders in picking up a fledgling sparrow thinking that the bird was in trouble and not simply in an awkward phase of learning to fly? Or a bison calf? Or, is it the builders of pipelines, the levelers of forests, the polluters of the sea? Why is it only fitting for nature to take its course when an individual is suffering an injury caused by industrial society?
And there is this: the heavy line drawn between the human and the natural, between society and the wild is religious, not scientific. It is a belief, not a finding. Who among us has the hubris to say where that line runs, or if it exists at all.
In the end, ‘letting nature take its course’ is a fallacy, an error, a hypocrisy, a lie.
Right now, in Washington state, wolves are slated to be slaughtered for having killed cattle that were put out to graze at the wolves’ den site on public lands. No cries from the biologists, the wardens, or the clerks now to let nature take its course – no cries at all.
We are in the last days of our August fundraiser and we have not yet reached our necessary goal of $7000. We have nearly $2000 to go!! Click here to help us pay our bills and continue to provide our region with its only native wildlife hospital. Without your help, we wouldn’t be here! Thank you!
Raccoon (Procyon lotor) babies have a lot to learn. As adults, Raccoons hunt and forage for a wide range of food, from songbird eggs to berries to the salmon a bear leaves behind. Raccoons hunt small rodents, crunch on snails, and nibble the mushrooms on the forest floor. Raccoons are brave, resilient, adaptable and notoriously intelligent.
Orphaned Raccoons in their housing, prepare for the wide and wild world. To help them recognize the real world when they see it, we’ve provided them an artificial river of concrete. We call it the Los Angeles river. No substitute for an ecosystem, but at least they know to look for fish in moving water.
Raccoons have lived in North America for millions of years. This familiar wild neighbor has nearly as many names as there are indigenous languages. We use the Algonquian name, derived from arahkunem – which is said to mean “scratches with hands.”(1) Locally, in Wiyot, the animal “with the painted face” is known as jbelhighujaji (pronunciation).(2)
For a glimpse into their place in the ecology of Northern California, a Shasta story has Coyote and Raccoon living together each with five children. When a jealous rivalry ends with Coyote killing and feeding Raccoon to his children, one of Coyote’s sons tells Raccoon’s orphans what happened – they decide to kill all Coyote’s pups but the one who told them. Afterward they flee with the spared pup into the sky. Coyote tries to follow but cannot keep up. The six young animals become the Pleiades, high above in winter when no raccoons are about, and down from the sky in Spring and Summer when raccoons emerge with young.(3)
Taken to a remote tributary of a nearby river, rehabiliator Lucie Adamson and volunteers prepare to release the season’s first six raccoons back into their wild freedom.
Taking their first tentative steps into a world without walls. As kits, as soon as they began eating solid food, they were offered fish, mushrooms, plant material, small rodents, small birds, vegetables, fruit, eggs and insects, hidden under rocks and logs, hanging from branches. They know where to look for food.
It isn’t frivolous to consider the seriousness of raising orphaned babies of a species this complex, this storied, this ordinary, this mysterious. Here we are, as removed from “universal nature” as any species has ever been, yet it’s up to us to provide an education for these wild young things.
When we commit to the care of a wild orphan, we accept the responsibility for their wild education. To teach a wild baby to be wild requires an inhabiting imagination. We must see the world this young animal will see, and then provide the challenges that will teach the skills necessary to thrive in that world.
When we commit to the care of a wild animal, we are committing to the wild, to nature – we are accepting Nature’s terms – we are accepting, and in fact seeking, the blaze of reality. This is, as they say, a tall order.
Young, healthy and in a lush and resource-filled environment, these orphans will soon find out they are home.
Meeting nature’s terms does place the rehabilitator in an awkward position. Our towns, our cities, ranches, forestry, fisheries, in short, nearly all of modern society struggles to co-exist with the wild. Promoting co-existence with wild animals – this alone puts a person outside of most of society’s concerns.
Just released, this Raccoon finds something to eat right away.
To be an ally of the wild often puts a wildlife caregiver in opposition to the general dreams and desires of our human neighbors. Schools, shopping centers, highways, solar farms, windmills, none of these, no matter their merits, is a boon to the wild. Even though any of these promises to preserve the world, a wildlife rehabilitator doubts the proposition.
Experience, or maybe intuition, knows that people don’t preserve ‘the Wild.” The wild is the expanding universe and the cosmic sweep of galaxies, it’s the comet’s eventual return, the dividing cell, the grasp of the leaf cutter beetle, the gill, the hoof, the photosensitive tissue that finds these words on the screen. We see the strip mine, the copper mine, the mountain top removed for the coal beneath – the old forest destroyed – the old forest re-named “overburden.” Factory trawlers scraping the bottom of the sea, oil spilled from exhaust into the suffocating sky – it’s hard to believe that modern society will preserve anything.
After nearly four months in care, a young Raccoon explores a real river for the first time.
Reaching the opposite shore.
Henry David Thoreau, in his essay “Walking,” offers what could be the wildlife rehabilitator’s complete philosophy, in eight simple words: “in Wildness is the preservation of the world.”(4) This statement is irrefutable. In some ways it is shocking that it had to be uttered. To rehabilitate wildlife, rehabilitators live by this simple truth, its utter grace and its razor sharp accuracy.
Everything emanates from the Wild. What else can the wild be if not the headwaters of existence? The wild could be called the real. We may as well say that in reality is the preservation of the world – not in law, not in hybrid automobiles, not in aqueducts, not in theology. The real presents itself. Wild allies follow as we can.
This year, at Humboldt Wildlife Care Center, BAX staff and volunteers have been caring for two dozen orphaned Raccoons. Our first litter of four, whose mother had been trapped and dumped miles away, came the third week of May. They were nearly three weeks old. Last weekend we released six youngsters who were ready to go. We still have over a dozen in care.
With startling speed the Raccoons dispersed into the forest.
It can be difficult, as caregivers, to prepare our charges to one day climb much higher than we ever could.
Each of these youngsters is learning to hunt, to forage, to climb, to hide when threatened. Each of these youngsters is fierce and determined. Healthy in mind and body, we release them into a carefully chosen site. Food must be present. Water, too. Cover against predators (Coyote is still looking for Raccoon) must be available. Room to roam – these animals must be able to disperse from this site, preferably adjusting to freedom and autonomy before encountering a backyard and the get-rich-quick scheme to be found in humanity’s garbage pails.
For the release, the six Raccoons were weighed, examined and put into transport carriers. We drove them to a remote location on a tributary of a nearby river. Once the carrier doors were opened, five of them sprung into action, heading for the river and swimming across to its other bank. Some climbed trees, others immediately searched for and found food (food we’d put there, but nothing like early success to build confidence!).
One Raccoon was more cautious. Our release team moved back from the site and waited.
At last, confident that the coast was clear, S/he left the carrier behind.
Forest riparian habitat is excellent for Raccoons. And it didn’t take this group long to figure that out. Now they’ve entered the real world. Will each survive and live long lives? No one knows. What we do know is that we’ve given these young wild kin the best chance we could.
One Raccoon hung back, not leaving the relative safety of the known carrier, poking her head out, ducking back in. Our team moved back and waited. Eventually, after many hesitating starts, she left the carrier and quickly disappeared into Reality.
All good things are wild and free. – Henry D Thoreau
Your contribution makes the care of orphaned Raccoons, and all of our wild neighbors who need our help, possible. Please donate. Thank you for being a part of our life-saving work.
The suddenly boisterous and highly visible activity of birds is one of the joys of Spring. Swallows, thrushes, egrets, mallards, geese and more are returned from the South, often coming several thousand miles to nest here in Humboldt County. Adults spend almost everything to make the journey, preparing for the oldest song and dance; – the hummingbird’s dazzling aerobatics, the grebe’s water ballet, the Red-winged blackbird at the top of the tree trilling for company – all around us these birds begin the season’s work of bringing their babies into the world. Renewal and rebirth – the spark of life is passed on.
A nest of House finches brought to our clinic, Spring 2013(photo: mmerrick/BAX)
Right in our own backyards nest sites are selected. Close to shopping! Close to schools! Babies must be fed, after all, and adolescent birds get only a short apprenticeship before they must shift for themselves.
Once the eggs are laid parent birds are tied down, busy and focused. Once the chicks are hatched, frequent trips from sun up to sun down keeping babies fed is the routine life of mama and papa. It takes a lot of mosquitoes to make one swallow and many swallows raise two nestfuls each year.
Fledgling birds think they’re big enough and jump from nests before they can fly! Parents stay near feeding them on the ground or in branches and call sharply when danger is near. It can take as long as a week before these youngsters really have their wings.
Birders and casual enjoyers of birds are drawn to their beauty, feathers and song. Unlike wild mammals, many species of birds live their lives in the open, for all to see. We may never see a Long-tailed weasel in our lives, but here are House finches feeding their young just beyond the window.
As lovers of wildlife we cherish the close view birds allow, but this nearness brings such risk. If we get too close we can scare a parent bird away from a nest leaving a young featherless baby to go hungry, go thirsty – even die! Our houses are built where birds have lived for millions of years and our cars race through what used to be pasture of bounty, grass seeds and insects and all manner of good things. House cats roaming the lawn thrilled to pretend they are on the savannah, stalking game through the tall blades. But their kills are all too real, and a parent is left to feed a nest of five alone – it can’t be done and some will starve.
It feels good to be outside working in the long evenings, cleaning up the yard, planting bulbs; – yet we might trim a few branches and a nest full of hope crashes to the ground.
As Mother Earth rolls the Northern Hemisphere back into Spring, it’s important and good to get outside and rejoice in our shared and beautiful life. Being in nature is the only way to know and love her. Seeing our wild neighbors renews our own lives. As Henry Thoreau famously noticed, ‘in wildness is the preservation of the world.’ Any grandparent or songbird will tell you, do not harm what preserves us. Enjoy being close but allow who we see the privacy and the space to simply be. Be mindful of wild lives.
Baby Mallards in the aviary they were raised in after losing their mother. 2013 (photo: Laura Corsiglia/BAX)
Things you can do:
Keep cats indoors, or make an enclosed space outdoors.
Don’t trim branches during baby season. Plants prefer to be trimmed in fall anyway.
Give nests a wide berth. Enjoy with binoculars!
Feathered young birds hopping around the ground are probably learning to fly. Help them by keeping kids, cats and dogs away.
If you’ve found an animal you think needs help, or you have a problem with a wild family in your home or yard:
call baxHumboldt Wildlife Care Center – 822-8839
Spring and Summer
9am – 5pm everyday
