Outfoxed

The fox’s den is nestled in a gap between basalt boulders that have broken away from the vertical sides of a ravine that hosts BNSF railroad tracks. I’m surprised she chose this spot so close to massive freight trains rumbling through, but apparently the crevice is deep enough to provide a sense of safety for her and her pups. Below the den’s entry sits a concrete abutment that protects the track-switching mechanism from loose rocks tumbling down the cliff side. Spray-painted on the barrier is undecipherable red graffiti that I imagine reading, “Stay away, fox family sheltered here.”

I’ve heard stories about red fox activity near this location for the last couple of years. The current earth of foxes (yes, that’s a real term) appears to include four mature pups. The whole family wears wheat-to-rust-colored pelts with a bit of dark gray fur defining their snouts and ears. I can only describe this based on hearsay since I haven’t seen them myself. Tarn caught a glimpse of an individual the other day and confirmed the description, but the fox disappeared into the recesses of her den before I had a chance to see.

It may not be my karma to lay eyes on the fox, but I’m happy mom and her pups seem to be surviving in this urban setting next to a railroad, housing development, city park, and an open field. There must be plenty of rodents, squirrels, and the like, to satisfy her brood’s hunger—and the park’s irrigation system certainly provides plenty of water. We may not see this kind of wildlife activity for much longer as the park and our neighborhood are situated in a disappearing urban/wildland interface; new homes are encroaching on what little space remains.

For the moment, we can experience the natural play of fox life—alongside our resident herds of mule deer and other critters. Sometimes the deer wander close to our home and munch on more of the front garden than we would like, but they don’t know it’s someone’s garden; the greenery is just food to them. I’ve learned to plant some things they don’t like and let the rest find a place in their diet; a small price to pay for peaceful coexistence. I’m happy to share space with species that were here long before humans invaded their territory.

Perhaps in the future, we humans will find coexistence is better than exclusion, where all life forms can adapt with mutual survival in mind; much like indigenous peoples have always inhabited the land. A gesture in this direction involves plans to provide wildlife corridors in urban land use developments. One such neighborhood is currently under construction near our home. In the meantime, Tarn and I seem to be living in an unplanned critter corridor where nature is finding a way to survive. Perhaps one day, I’ll have the opportunity to see a fox.