Peak baby opossum season runs February through September, which means we’re right in the middle of that window. If you see a dead opossum on the road, it’s entirely possible there are babies alive in her pouch or somewhere nearby. Stop and listen for soft sneeze-like sounds (that's the joeys calling for her). You might get an opportunity to rescue some baby possums.
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While others are playing Robinson Crusoe in their backyards, I show you the realities involved with getting out there for real, and how to stay safe and have fun. It’s work, but it’s rewarding work.
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Sorry if I’ve seemed distant and a bit inactive lately, folks. There are two upcoming excursions I’ve been planning for, hot and heavy. When I get into this mode, my brain gets completely absorbed in all the many details of how I hope things will play out and how to make the most of my time out there.
I play around with a thousand different ideas and slowly whittle these ideas down to just a few that I then actually make happen once I’m on the outing. But this whittling process takes gobs of time and attention.
I like to show off different shelters, cooking techniques, meal types, bedding, and these sorts of things, rather than just show off the exact same gear and approaches every time. For one thing, I like trying new ideas and seeing how they compare to my preferred ways of doing things that I’ve already settled on. This keeps things challenging and interesting for me, and I think this makes things more interesting for people watching later, too. But it does mean that instead ...
Around these parts it used to be common for families to have a single tree somewhere out in the woods where everybody would go to carve their names, and leave a testament to their existence. Kids would grow up and then take their own kids out to this tree - their trusty pocket knives in their little pockets, so that they too could join in this sacred bonding ritual.
It’s a disappearing custom even here in these parts.
Here’s our family tree, and yes, my initials are carved deep into it, the bark swollen after the passing of 40 years. I remember very clearly the day my father took me back there and stood by proudly while I added myself to it.
