My Back Yard

I spotted a squirrel on our second floor back porch, when Iggy and I pulled into the parking area after our Mount Royal bike ride this morning. He was chomping on a peanut I’d left.

A second squirrel was climbing the metal staircase, taking it one step at a time. The first squirrel tensed as the second squirrel approached. There was a little skirmish. Could part of it have been the “sniffing of oral glands” that my post yesterday explained?

Number One retreated down the stairs. But Number Two lost interest in our second floor loot and continued up the stairs. Once Number One realized that, he returned to our porch. Then, apparently sated (for he left some nuts uncracked), he trotted down the stairs.

Near the bottom, Number One paused, directing a calculating glance at Iggy and me. He must have decided we couldn’t be trusted. He jumped between the rungs, so he wouldn’t have to pass by us. He was off on another adventure.

“Wrong way,” yelled Iggy from the top of a gravelly path. He turned and scooted by before I could stop my bike.

I reversed direction and let gravity pull me down the short slope.

“Turn right on the sidewalk,” added Iggy, moving rapidly out of sight.

Too much information for me to process on a slippery surface. So I hit my brakes. Skidded. Tried to pull my left foot out of its stirrup to steady myself.

Wham! I felt onto the gravel, left leg first. My first attempt at climbing Montreal’s Mount Royal was on hold while I assessed my condition.

The morning had started so nicely. A light snack of yogurt and white tea. The good feeling that comes from exercising before work.

I’m used to bicycling in street traffic back in Boston’s suburbs, so it didn’t faze me to follow Iggy onto Park Avenue, a major cross-street of Montreal. After all, Iggy and I had bicycled in Montreal traffic earlier in the week. Montreal drivers seemed no worse than their notoriously bad counterparts in Boston.

So I my tumble caught me by surprise. My knee was coated in dirt. A bit of blood seeped through. But it didn’t hurt much, so I got back on my bike just as Iggy returned to ask “What happened?” Soon I was trailing him again as we crossed the street under the gaze of a monument to George-Etienne Cartier.

Then we started up chemin Olmstead, the Olmstead Path, that wound its way up to the Belvedere outlook atop the mountain. Frederick Law Olmstead was the initial designer of the park on Mount Royal. I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw its slow rise. I later learned that “Olmstead selected a mild, two per cent grade (the future chemin Olmsted) as the park’s main access route so that one-horse carriages could carry families of modest income up the mountain.”

Still, for a pudgy, out-of-shape athlete like me, two percent isn’t insignificant. Plus, it had a light coating of fine gravel, which made me feel skittish. I fell farther behind Iggy. Luckily he paused before plunging onto an offroad path between densely packed trees. Slender roots punctuated the dirt path. I wondered if the terrain would get rougher. Just then, we pulled back onto the Olmstead Path.

Within minutes, there stretched in front of me a lake with a boat dock, where a single woman performed stretching exercises. It looked like something out of a yoga instructional video. I’d arrived at Beaver Lake.

“You can stop here to use the bathroom. I’ll come back to pick you up on my way down.” Iggy didn’t think I could do it.

I dug in my heels, insisting that I wanted to try. It couldn’t be that much farther to the Belvedere outlook. Iggy gave in.

And, I made it! Here’s a nice Wikipedia photo from the outlook.

“Many types of social encounters also involve olfaction, from the mutual sniffing of oral glands during greeting behavior by both sexes to the monitoring of female reproduction by males….We have seen males join a mating bout after being attracted from 929.6 yards… downwind.” — Steele and Koprowski, North American Tree Squirrels

Can you imagine how different human behavior would be, if it were governed by rules similar to those of squirrels?

As an allergic, often congested squirrel, I’d be severely handicapped.

Convocation appears to be Canadian — or, perhaps, British Commonwealth-speak for graduation. That’s what I figured out after reading “convocation” signs on the McGill College campus, followed by the appearance of white tents, signs referring to “graduands,” another expression unfamiliar to Americans.

I’m often surprised by the differences between Canada and the U.S. I’ve got Canadian relatives, so I’m more aware of Canada than your typical ugly American. But I still expect them to be just like us. My summer in Montreal will probably enlighten me.

I found curls of apple skin resting atop the garbage can this morning.

They made me smile.

Yesterday afternoon I’d cut up an apple and placed it atop the can with some peanuts for the squirrel(s). By dinner time last night, the peanuts had disappeared, but the apples remained. They’d turned brown. Didn’t look too appealing.

So this morning I was happy to see that the apples had found a taker. There must be at least two squirrels who consider our apartment building as part of their territory. One who likes apples. The other who doesn’t. Apple is definitely not a universal favorite of squirrels. I know that from my Massachusetts experience.

At Restaurant Symposium, they know how to fry fish and they know how to grill it. And they deliver their food with a hearty dollop of hospitality.

Iggy and I split an appetizer of lightly batter-fried zucchini and eggplant complemented by thick tzatziki.

The host offered me an off-the-menu combination of fish and seafood. “You eat everything? Octopus? Squid?” he asked.

I left myself in his hands — a wise decision. I was rewarded with a plate divvied up between portions of octopus with capers, fried squid, grilled shrimp and fried softshell crab.

My vegetarian hubby went for the grilled vegetable plate, to which our host added saganaki deep-fried cheese and spinach pie.

Dessert — an apple filo concoction — came compliments of the house. The service was very warm, despite the restaurant being understaffed for an unexpectedly large influx of patrons. The host recognized my husband after only two previous visits, so he insisted we take a table for four — “That’s your table, right?” — even though we were only two.

The restaurant has an appropriately maritime feel. The low ceiling made me feel as if I was below deck. But it’s not claustrophobic. Indeed, whitewashed walls and blue-and-white checked table cloths give it charm.

Squirrels are “one of the few groups of mammals able to see color,” according to North American Tree Squirrels, my bible of squirrel behavior, written by Michael A. Steele and John L. Koprowski.

Does that mean they appreciate the mix of colors in my flower garden?

It doesn’t seem to help them to distinguish between rocks and nuts on my Massachusetts patio. The squirrels practically have to butt their noses against the nut-sized rocks before the little rodents realize they’re not edible. That makes me think that squirrelly sniffers aren’t very good either.

Their widely spaced eyes do give them a “magnificent field of vision,” as Steele and Koprowski state. I’ve observed those eyes following me as as sit on my back porch stairs, swinging a nut from side to side.

Squirrel eyes are also adept functioners at dawn and dusk. My bible says that’s “particularly important for males trying to get an early start during the breeding season.” What’re they going to do? Pounce on a sleeping female? That doesn’t sound very nice.

I’m thinking of taking this “Advertising and Promotional Copywriting” class at Concordia University in Montreal this summer.

Even though I’d miss several weeks of the class, I might learn enough to make it worthwhile. I’ve never formally studied copywriting. I know zip about advertising.

This Beet Pulp Safety squirrel tale made me laugh.

Yesterday I put a handful of nuts on the back porch of our Montreal apartment.

I didn’t expect to get any visitors right away. I figured I’d have to follow the squirrel attraction strategy that Iggy advised. First, put some nuts at ground level. Next, gradually advance them up the metal staircase.

However, this morning I looked out the back door and saw a fluffy tail disappear down the stairs.