Understanding Herman

Old School Naturalist- Notes from the fields and forests of Upstate New York by Marlene McTigue Understanding HermanThere are certain wild animals that become part of your world so gradually that you do not notice, at first, how much space they have taken up in your life.Then one day they are gone, and everything feels different without them.That is how it was with Herman.A large and clearly older porcupine, he first appeared in late spring of 2024, just as the raspberry leaves were coming in along the edges of the property. At first glance, he did not look like the healthy porcupines we were used to seeing in the foothills of the Catskills. Much of the fur and quills across his back were gone, including damage to his rosette, the muscular patch on a porcupine’s lower back where the quills grow thickest and fan outward in defense. One of his front paws also appeared injured, forcing him into an awkward shuffle that made even simple movement look laborious.Around here, we do not usually see porcupines here on our property that early in the season. Around the end of May, the black locust leaves emerge, and that is usually when porcupines become more noticeable. They love those delicate little leaflets and will spend long stretches feeding high in the trees, sometimes even napping on this narrow branches high overhead for hours at a time.Looking back, I suspect that was part of why Herman stayed low to the ground that spring. With his injured paw and damaged back, climbing may simply have been too difficult. Instead, raspberry leaves became his favorite food and seemed to sustain him through those early weeks. He grazed quietly just feet from our front porch and never seemed especially bothered by our presence.We had certainly seen porcupines before. In the foothills of the Catskills, they become a part of your landscape if you spend enough time outdoors. Usually, though, those encounters are fleeting. A dark shape crossing a trail at dusk. A silhouette high in a tree. A rustling somewhere deep in the understory after sunset.Herman was different.At first, we watched from a distance. Then came the small gestures that so often begin these quiet relationships between humans and wild creatures. A quiet voice or a willingness to sit still long enough for another living being to decide you mean no harm.Because Herman was injured, we occasionally gave him small amounts of fruit and vegetables to help support him while he recovered. But it is important to say clearly that we do not recommend feeding healthy wild porcupines or encouraging wildlife to become dependent on people. Herman’s situation felt different because he was visibly struggling when he first arrived.Over time, Herman grew astonishingly tolerant of us. By midsummer, it was not unusual to find him somewhere near the house almost every day. And this was when we really began to understand him, to watch him closely enough to realize that he was not simply “a porcupine,” but an individual creature with habits, preferences, routines, and a personality all his own.That understanding eventually became the inspiration behind my wildlife photography exhibit, “Understanding Herman.” (Let me know your thoughts if you got to see it). Even the pets gradually accepted his presence. After the initial curiosity wore off, everyone seemed to understand the arrangement. Herman was simply part of the scenery now, part of life around our property, part of our lives for that season.And over the course of the summer, we watched him begin to climb again. You can watch a video of one of his attempts here https://youtube.com/shorts/qSy74L2Q2Wk?si=iHN2drZb5wb2hejG. At first, the changes were subtle. Then before we knew it, he was back up in the soaring treetops among the black locust leaves where porcupines belong. Recovery in wild animals rarely announces itself dramatically. Often, it reveals itself slowly, through small reclaimed abilities.Then, by August, we began seeing him less and less.At first, we assumed the changing season explained it. The leaves were beginning to fall, the black locusts were thinning, and perhaps Herman had simply moved on. But when spring returned, we watched carefully for him. We went back through old photos and videos to figure out exactly when he had first appeared the year before. We waited. We looked. We hoped.But Herman never returned.That spring, however, was the spring Georgie was born. And if you read Old-School Naturalist, you already know his story.I still do not know what became of Herman. Maybe he fully recovered and disappeared deep into the forests beyond our home. Maybe he spent the rest of his days high in the treetops, far from our black locust grove and raspberry patches.I would like to think so.Maybe that is part of becoming an Old-School Naturalist.You start by paying attention to one animal. Then, before long, you find yourself noticing everything connected to it. The timing of the locust leaves. The sound of claws against bark after weeks spent on the ground. The quiet absence left behind when a familiar wild creature simply does not return.Herman was only part of our lives for one summer.But sometimes one summer is enough to change the way you see the natural world forever.How’s it going for you?  Come back next week and we share more notes from the fields and forests of Upstate New York togther.