The Tale of the Racing Rabbits

Having been born and raised in that quintessential American suburb -- Rutherford, NJ -- I got most of my knowledge about the animal world courtesy of Beatrix Potter, PBS and two weeks every summer at Camp Tamarack. Yet something is happening here in the 'burbs, and I may yet get the chance to produce an episode of Nature in my own backyard.

Put simply, Rutherford is full of rabbits. Oh sure, in the past we would have the occasional cottontail or two. But this year, they're all over the place. To the point where last week I saw three of them racing each other up and down the street... in the street. That's right, joyriding bunnies are taking over the block.

And either they are the classic "dumb bunnies," or they are pretty smart. Two of the larger neighborhood dogs were out for their nightly walk, but the rabbits were totally unfazed. Could it be they have learned the concept "on a leash?"

In any event, they soon kicked into overdrive and the three of them took off for points west. Only every ten yards or so the leader would suddenly stop. Just as the next rabbit was ready to collide with him (her?), he (she?) jumped straight up into the air! All that was missing was Wil E Coyote.

This year, in addition to the lapin agile, we have a bumper crop of squirrels, possums, raccoons and skunks, not to mention the woodchucks who attempted to take over my garage. Makes you start wondering just who has "dominion" over whom?

Memorial Day

In my family, the Saturday before Memorial Day had special meaning. My brother Paul and I would go with Dad and other area veterans to place small American flags on gravesites in Hillside Cemetery.

Dad served in the Coast Guard during World War II, and was former Commander of American Legion Post 109 in Rutherford, NJ. By the time Paul and I came along, Dad had entered politics and wasn't as active in the Legion.

But one event he never missed was the annual "grave decoration detail." As Paul and I grew older, we were allowed to help plant the flags. You had to be careful. Place them too close to the headstone and the staff would jam up against the concrete base of the marker. Place it too far away and it might get snagged by a passing lawn mower.

Some graves bore the insignia of the Grand Army of the Republic, a Civil War veteran's organization. Others had the distinctive shield of the Spanish-American War vets. A few weren't marked at all. The only evidence of their existence was an entry in a tattered brown ledger one of the adults had gotten from the cemetary office.

Last names were written in bold black letters. Reynolds, Everett and Schneider. The local VFW post was named after them. Murray and Hodge were memorialized in the name of American Legion Post 453, the "Negro Post." That's the way it was then.
William Ward died in France a month before the Armistice in 1918. He was 17. Then there was the young Army Air Force lieutenant who never came home from the South Pacific. The P-38 fighter carved into his headstone a subtle indicator that the body of the lieutenant, along with his plane, was never recovered. There were new names too... Mrs. Tassey's son Malcolm. He died in Vietnam.

Throughout the years, Paul and I thought we were just "tagging along" with Dad. It would only be much later that we realized Dad had brought us there to learn a lesson... a lesson about the power of remembrance.

A few days ago I took a walk through Hillside Cemetery. Post 109 had already been there. Unfortunately, an overzealous groundskeeper mangled a couple dozen flags with his power mower. So I spent about an hour replanting those flags, making sure each was straight. I also took time to read the gravemarkers, so that I knew who each of the veterans was.

Some lessons bear repeating...