Reign of the Wash Bears

The wildlife urban interface, disagreements, and love.

When I decided that I wanted to plant a California native plant garden in my front yard, I imagined all the wildlife that I would attract. It’s a long process to do it slowly on your own, but I always had an ultimate goal of more species of birds in my yard. Toyon for cedar waxwings. Sage for more hummingbirds. Milkweed for monarchs and therefore caterpillars for terrestrial birds. I forgot about the neighborhood hooligans.

Since I was a kid, I’ve been deeply enamored with container water gardens and those sprouted up in my yard at a rapid rate as well. I love water lilies, lotus, seep monkeyflower and native reeds. I live a mile from an ephemeral river. (A wash as we call it in California, but in wet years, it is a river or a spring.) I love all things that love water.

My container water gardens flourish, but they also need fish to combat mosquitoes. So they are all fully stocked and bring me verdant joy in the summer while I wait to see which of my native plants can withstand the altitude of a transitional desert habitat in a mountain pass.

What I failed to consider was how much the critters in a wildlife urban interface would love my tiny ponds. This includes skunks, opossums, and the bane of my garden visions, raccoons.

I put up a vinyl picket fence last January like every basic white girl dreaming an American dream. And I somehow hoped it would dissuade the neighborhood gangs of nocturnal rapscallions. It did not. They eventually discovered that there were big fat minnows to be had in my beautiful tiny ponds and ripped them to shreds while gobbling up my fish.

My Hungarians neighbors across the street, specifically, Laszlo, have greatly contributed to this challenge. Laszlo (70s) and Susan (80s) bought the house across the street from me two years ago and we were immediately fast friends. I’ve come to believe that it is the East European way to adopt single American women, subdue them with alcohol and worry about feeding them. They also believe that all domestic and wild creatures are to be fed as well. Hence, the gang of 8 raccoons who are now terrorizing the neighborhood.

Don’t get me wrong, the Hungarians have paid the price for cavorting with the raccoons. As a couple who also believe, despite my dismay and protestation, that their cats (and every cat in the neighborhood is their cat) require access to a cat door. They have cut into the wall of their 1950’s house directly into the dining room, inserted a nifty door, and all cats are free to come and go as they please. Except that more than cats fit (mostly) through the door.

This summer the raccoons busted in, wandered into the Hungarian’s kitchen, cleared the counter and washed their food in the sink, leaving paw prints and dirty tracks everywhere. Susan complained about cleaning up the mess, but just a little. And this when I learned the term “wash bear.” Both Susan and Laszlo escaped Hungary via Germany and both speak German as well and Hungarian and English. Apparently, the German name for raccoon translates to “wash bear”. And that seems perfectly on the nose to me. God damn wash bears.

As was inevitable, eventually a raccoon came through the cat door who could barely squeezed through to get kitchen snacks. Upon exit, he found himself too rotund to grease his way through and took the cat door with him. Laszlo was delighted.

We argue about this endlessly over shots of Slivovitz. I wholeheartedly disagree with feeding loose cats, skunks, opossums, and raccoons, but who am I to squash anyone else’s joy? Laszlo certainly isn’t going to let me put a damper on his.

I installed a motion sensor sprinkler which has abated my issue somewhat. I still get video of the gang of three male raccoons risking the gauntlet and taking a run at my ponds, leaving muddy prints on my fence and on the steps to my front porch. I bought an electric garden fence that I will eventually put up and by the grace of the wild world, perhaps capture video of a raccoon getting zapped and reconsidering his life choices.

Yet, this is living with wildlife, is it not? You cannot discuss with nature for whom you built a garden. You build it and they come. Sometimes, you invite adorable assholes, and you find a way to make peace with loving creatures whose actions make you crazy.

I adore Laszlo and Susan. My frustration with them is especially keen when they ask me to manage their tech for them. Laszlo has been harassing me for months to teach him how to scan the QR code he keeps seeing on YouTube so that he can get “free” solar panels.

Yet, they are the grandparents I didn’t want, but apparently deserved and needed. And my battle with the wash bears isn’t much different. Turns out, you can vehemently disagree and yet still love someone for exactly who they are.