from the Ninth Wave Arts caretakers

Summer nights and mosquito song have carried July forward.

Warm rain and spectacular storms have kept the power flickering on and off across the land, offering unexpected pauses. Wasps round out the corners with their paper nests. Garter snakes stretch into the warmth of sunny days, leaving their skins behind. Baby birds take their leave from the nests.

And then there are the raccoons.

Mounds and mounds and mounds of raccoons.

This has been a summer like no other. At last count, twenty-four babies moving through dusk and gloaming, shared between what seems to be four mamas—a generous year.

They climb trees by the dozen, tumble over one another, and peck at grubs—competing for the juiciest ones. They are learning what it means to stand their ground in the presence of a cat. They grow curious about the hens and roosters (new dwellers on the land here), find their way into places that occasionally require escorting out of, and lounge in spots no urban raccoon would think to claim.

The raccoons have, quite simply, become the story of the days.

They watch through the windows, taking in the workshops unfolding inside. They wait for people to depart before claiming their time—dancing and rolling across the front lawn. They linger at the edges, eyeing the bird seed, and move along the perimeter in ways both predictable and surprising.

There is a sense that the nearby road work has shifted their patterns, sending more of them this way than in years past. And still, there is a wondering about the message they carry.

They remind us to pay attention to what is unseen—to what is masked—and they demonstrate a remarkable adaptability to each changing moment.

There is intelligence in their movement. An earnestness.

As Ninth Wave Arts continues to grow and settle more fully into itself, their presence is received as a kind of teaching.

Courageous. Curious. Clever. Flexible.

When a raccoon crosses the path, there may be something there to notice—something being quietly offered.