Groundhogs are rodents that belong to the group of ground-squirrels known as marmots. Although they're known to sometimes eat insects and small animals, their diet consists mostly of grasses and (to the dismay of many a farmer and gardener) agricultural crops.
Today, as I drove home from a morning in town, I hit one. It was the first time I had ever hit an animal while driving, and hopefully the last. After I pulled over and managed to get my sobbing under control, I thought about how even though no one, no matter how light their tread may be, can live without affecting the world around them, my impact on the world around me for the day was suddenly much greater than I wanted it to be. Sure, it wasn't my fault that a groundhog had chosen that very moment to dart across the street, but it didn't help me brush off the fact that a life was lost.
As I slowly crept home, still trembling, I thought about where this action -- this karma -- might lead me.
A half an hour later, however, it struck me that this encounter had not been the first time a groundhog -- or the thought of a groundhog -- had forced its way into my day. Earlier in the morning, I had been talking to the owner of a shop in town. After finding out that I worked on a farm, she asked me for advice about protecting her garden from critters like groundhogs and voles. Something, she didn't know what exactly, had been confusing her garden for its own leafy buffet. The kale, she bemoaned... and the peas! All stubs. I told her about the kind of damage we had been finding on the farm (similar to hers, many small plants left as tiny stumps), and the small actions we had been taking, but all in all I wasn't very helpful since I don't know much about deterring garden critters. I told her about how we've been having quite a bit of vole damage to flats of plant-starts in the hardening-off area, but just this week we set out some tables in the hope that raising the flats off the ground will keep the plants safe. This wasn't anything that would help her, but I commiserated with her since she was so visibly frustrated -- venturing into angry -- and we had been frustrated too.
Maybe the groundhog I hit was one that had been feasting on someone's garden. Or maybe my hitting it was meant to remind me that its life was precious. Or maybe it was just an unlucky animal in the middle of the road. Regardless, may it rest in peace.
I still feel deeply sorry. It's small consolation to know that other animals will have full bellies after feasting on an easy road-side meal.
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