Sep 14, 2018 4 min read

It is around this time of year that the critters come calling. It is also the time of year I get that itch to switch my decorations from the bright colors of summer to the earthy tones of fall.

And at the place where those two collided, I found horror in the basement.

This started when the farmer built and then hung a beautiful, rustic barn door on the opening between our living area and the den. The knotty pine’s the perfect place for a wreath. Our summer wreath is made of flowers and greens in primary colors. Autumn calls for something darker and wild. Last September, after a long search, I found the perfect wreath for the barn door: a wheat-colored ring so bushy it tickled the farmer’s head each time he walked by.

“I hate that wreath,” he would say as he slid the barn door out of his way.

The farmer has a thing against wreaths in general, once removing one from the front door at our previous house because it matched his height with such precision he couldn’t walk through without being attacked by it.

And so, I compromised on the barn door wreath, using scissors to trim back the bushiest pieces. I thought the wreath looked good there, with the pale wheat hues blending into the pine of the wooden door.

Last weekend, it was time for the switch to a new season. I pulled down the summer wreath and went to the basement to bring up the fall wreath. I had stored it in its hexagonal cardboard shipping box and placed it on the shelf with the paper towels and the bottled water and the canned food. For months, as I’d carry down a load of laundry I’d pass that box and think, “Soon it will have its chance upstairs with us.” I had thought about that wreath but had not walked over to look at it.

But as I approached this time, I noticed a small indentation and tear in the cardboard lid. Hmm. Must have bumped it while carrying it down last spring. Then I saw the bits of wreath material on the shelf around it. Could it be falling apart already?

I opened the box and jumped backward in shock. It was like a scene from a scary movie.

My beautiful autumn wreath was now a skeleton, nothing but a wire frame with some stems poking out. I dropped the lid and ran up the stairs to the farmer.

“Something ate my wreath,” I said, breathless.

He said he’d go downstairs to have a look, but he didn’t seem surprised – or worried for that matter.

“Mice,” he said. “The wreath was made of wheat, and wheat is food.”

Alas, the wreath was not just wheat colored, it was made of wheat, aka whole grain. In the chilly, wet weather, the mice squeezed into the house for a bite to eat.

I asked the farmer to please remove what was left of the wreath from the house and to check the basement for the culprits.

“But they’re cute,” he said. He was only half joking.

This farmer of mine dislikes wreaths as much as he dislikes mice. He suggested we just leave the barn door empty this fall.

I told him I would not be doing laundry until the basement has been proven critter-free. There’s no reason for them to come back for more food, anyway. That wreath was huge. What more do they want?

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.