Quadrupeds

Tamias Striatus in the Nine Mile Valley.

Recorded in the summer of 2022, and perhaps a descendant of Golly's long ago furry friends

My brother Steven J. Heimel, commented on a recent post in which I featured our grandfather's musings about mice in his Nine Mile camp. Steve writes:. "It is worthy to note that Golly spent much time enjoying the chipmunks that lived in the woodpile. I am sure he wrote about them. A really cool thing about chipmunks is that if you hold very still they will run right on you sometimes. I think he would try to feed them by hand."

Here's a selection of chipmunk posts from the Golly column.

1943

Chipmunks! For a long time just one frisked about the shack in the wilds. A second one appeared. He - or she - was very welcome, but ...

Holy Moses, last weekend we counted five at one time feasting on the surplus pancakes and the corn from the garden that grew too big for green corn.

Last spring we planted plenty of sunflowers in the corn patch intending to take the large seed heads to the wilds for the chipmunks and squirrels and birds, but we must exercise some care and judgment else we build a Frankenstein monster.

1944

After roaming the woods for years and years, what we DO NOT know of the flora and fauna of Potter County would make a tremendous volume if all assembled in one huge book. If we could live to be one thousand years of age, and we were studious all the time, we would know something, sometime.

We have only recently learned that the scientific name of our Nine Mile chipmunk is "tamias striatus." (You pronounce it – we stutter).

The western section of the U.S.A. has a larger 'munk and his handle is "etamias minimus."

1951

The Golly guy took to the deep woods and communed with the birds and animals. Chipmunks frisked about the woodpile and dined on the waste popcorn material from Popcorn Joe's stand in the theatre building. They loved the stuff. They ate it up.

1958

A couple of bushels of black walnuts for the chipmunks! Golly assumes authority to speak for the inarticulate denizens of the picturesque Nine Mile Valley and to express most profuse thanks for the contribution. Betcha it will mean nice rounded bellies and sleek smooth fur for Golly's wards, along with sweet dreams when Old Mother Nature turns off the gas and sends the winds howling through the valley and over the mountains.

September 1964

When Golly built Folly in the Nine Mile Valley – long time ago, 1930 – there were plenty of chipmunks in the vicinity. By giving them a variety of food – bread, sunflower and other seeds – they became very tame. They were more than welcome.

It was a pleasure to watch them take the seeds from a large sunflower head hung in a nearby tree. There was a boss in the group. He would get to the source of supply and take his time, shelling the seeds and filling his pouches. When he could hold no more he had to go to his cache to make a deposit.

Then the rank and file made for the head and they did no shucking. They filled their pouches as quickly as possible and woe to the tardy ones when the big boss appeared.

For a long time the cute little striped fellows furnished amusement. Then something happened but we could never understand it. The flock became small for a year or two and then no chipmunks at all.

For a long time Golly has mourned the loss of those pleasing little quadrupeds but no matter how tempting the offered food there are no chipmunks at Golly's Folly.

By the summer of 1965, Golly's Folly had been sold and, with advancing age, he was content to make the acquaintance of chipmunks on North Main Street.

From 1968 

Golly played a lot of baseball Saturday while sitting on the patio. It is a question which was more interesting - the ball games or the antics of our pet chipmunk. Golly gives his vote to the little quadruped. He carried away scores of peanuts and hickory nuts.

This was the first time this summer we have had so much time to observe the little pet so closely. He must have a big cache of food hidden away.

It was interesting to watch the chipmunk wrestle with a large ear of corn twice as big as the ground squirrel. He had to work hard to loosen even one kernel. Then we would give him a helping hand and do some shelling. The little fellow would fill both pouches and make off only to gather more kernels.

Before the close of the second afternoon we became better acquainted. Dozens of times he ran over Golly's feet.

Later that summer –

Golly's pet chipmunk, Bright Eyes, made the mistake of grabbing this scribe's finger instead of a peanut. The cute little fellow climbed on Golly's lap for the nut. It was a small nut and the small creature made a mistake in his haste. The tiny but sharp teeth started a bit of blood.

Golly was more at fault than Bright Eyes as he was hanging to the nut and the little fellow was anxious to win the nut.

No stitches were required to close the wound.