Spring has finally arrived, at least on the calendar, and with it a truth that I have long known but am now ready to formally declare: I married a marmot.
It’s true. The Carpenter is, in fact, a groundhog. He knows I am writing this and he is as thrilled as you’d expect. But I’m writing it anyway. I call it as I see it. He will handle this with the same arrogance as a marmot would: a shrug of his rounded shoulders and a turn in the opposite direction to carry on with his ever-determined mission. He couldn’t care less.
He’s long compared me to a squirrel because of my uncanny ability to put things away and forget where I left them, like my glasses, and then search diligently for them only to be distracted in a new search for my car keys, only to then further be distracted by a thought that requires immediate action, like putting the laundry in the dryer. As he watches me flit from task to task, he’s been known to yell out, “squirrel!”
He means it affectionately. Like attracts like. Squirrels and groundhogs are both cute rodents. However, two summers of living on a farm taught me that groundhogs are anything but pleasant. In fact, when cornered or threatened they can be very nasty. Yet, I respected their audacity to live their authentic truths despite our efforts to discourage them from building homes around the property. Live and let live, I’d say. Even when the whistle pig (my favourite term for this rodent), moved under the front deck and serenaded me in the mornings while I attempted to meditate. The whistle pig was determined to break my zen. Nasty. Just nasty.
But now that we’re townies again, spring has awakened my beloved spouse, my rowdy rodent (that’s gonna stick), and sadly, not in the ways the animal kingdom is renowned for in this season. You see, marmots are typically solitary creatures who hook up with their mates strictly for the purposes of mating, and then they head back out to do whatever interests them, solo and happily so. I don’t even need to write a punchline here. This is my life, guys. Sigh. So long as the deck gets finished.
We’ve not even been six months in our new house, but I came home one day last week to find the back deck ripped out. Gone. No discussion. A few days later, flower beds were being dug around the fence line. Seeds were planted in seedling starter kits and lined up against every window facing south. Every day I come home to find my semi-retired marmot digging up or tearing down something and I have had zero input.
I could argue the unfairness of this, but I’m a squirrel and the way I see it is, I won’t be building the new deck or planting the garden, so, live and let live. My woodchuck can chuck all the wood a woodchuck can, so long as he recycles and rebuilds according to budget and building code, and plants my favourite flowers.
All this squirrel knows is she is very excited to have summer mornings on the deck with a good book and flowers in bloom all around, and a groundhog making everything beautiful according to a plan to make our house a home.
I married a marmot and I’m okay with it.
He’s going to love this column.
