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Manatee School—from Start to Finish

Every creative project starts with a dream. One morning during the winter of 2015 my dream was born. As I gazed across the crystal clear water at Blue Spring State Park in Florida, I heard a snort and noticed scores of dark shapes gathering underwater. As the shapes swam closer I realized these were manatees who had migrated to the constant 72 degree water to escape the colder temperatures of the St. John’s River. Inspiration struck and at first I wanted to describe this scene by writing a poem.

While at Blue Spring I read about a dedicated volunteer who canoes the spring every morning during the winter months to count the manatees. Since 1980, Wayne Hartley has reported his manatee count to the U.S. Geological Survey. Mr. Hartley also monitors the animals for cold stress, malnourishment, and injuries.

If a manatee needs medical help, Mr. Hartley contacts the Florida Wildlife Commission to assist with rescue and release. The main threat to manatees is boat strikes. Sadly, a manatee can be identified by the location of scars on its body. Mr. Hartley uses this information to identify many of the “sea cows” he observes during his research operation. He has even given them names.

I decided then and there to write a rhyming picture book entitled, Manatee School. Mr. Hartley became my main character. He symbolized someone who answered a call and found purpose in his life. I gave my character the name, “Mel, the Manatee Counter.” I took Mel’s duties one step further—He would conduct a school for manatees and teach them how to stay safe.

When I started the draft the manatee “students” became my supporting characters. Instead of identifying them by their scars, Mel identifies them by their habits. Mike is always eating. Bertha performs barrel roles. Sherilyn is shy. These ideas contribute to the playfulness of the story. I wanted children to develop a sense of wonder about God’s creation—especially manatees.

Early in 2016 I sought publication for my manuscript at the Florida Christian Writers Conference. I met Jesse Florea, who at that time was editor of Clubhouse Junior Magazine. He suggested I write a nonfiction article and place a child in the canoe with the manatee counter. So I reached out to Wayne Hartley and explained that I was writing an article for a magazine. He agreed to take a friend of mine and her eight-year-old daughter on a canoe ride through the spring to see manatees. The article, Counting Manatees, was published in September, 2016. I shared the child’s reaction to seeing these gentle giants and included interesting facts.

During the next seven years Manatee School remained in a file while I published the Tales of Blueberry Street series with Elk Lake. Every now and then I would take the manuscript out and move some of the words around, determined to write better poetry. During those sessions I remembered the vision I received at Blue Spring and prayed that this dream of a picture book would become a reality.

In 2023 I entered Manatee School in the Florida Tapestry Contest and won Honorable Mention. To me this was a sign God had not forgotten me. But something was missing… I knew the story was not finished.

During the summer of 2024 I remembered the words of Jesse Florea. If this was to be a children’s book, I must make it appealing to children by putting a child in the canoe. I rewrote the story. The manatee counter became a grandpa who takes his granddaughter, Emily, on an adventure to visit his school, where he teaches manatees how to stay safe. In the fall I consulted with author, Michelle Medlock Adams who who advised me regarding how to structure the picture book and write a proposal.

I spent the summer of 2025 crafting a better narrative and sent my book proposal to my agent, Michelle S. Lazurek of WordWise Media in late August. Abundance Books offered me a publishing contract a month later.

My search for an illustrator began in earnest. Bennett Longmire was referred to me by Mickey Leonard who illustrated two of my previous books. Although Bennett lives in Pennsylvania and has never visited Florida, she did a beautiful job of capturing the essence of the Florida landscape from the photos I emailed to her.

What I enjoyed most about writing this book was incorporating facts about manatees into the rhyme. I have to say this was a challenge. When Grandpa teaches Emily about manatees he speaks lyrically.

“Manatees are mammals, dear

They surface to breathe air.”

Grandpa takes a closer look,

“I see a baby there!”

Now, more than ten years after the original idea was conceived, Manatee School is finished! I am thankful for the many people who contributed to the process of fulfilling my dream. I learned a story can change many times before it is ready for publication. My prayer is that children be filled with the same wonder I felt when I visited Blue Spring. Visit my facebook author page for videos and puppet shows celebrating the coming release on August 4. Links for preorders shown below.

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Sweet Land of Liberty

(This post was updated on June 9, 2026 with new reflections and revisions.)

Like many of you, I’ll celebrate the 250th birthday of America on July 4th. When I think about America I value the foresight of those who preserved our national parks. I never tire of exploring the natural beauty of the western U.S. From the rain forests of Olympic to the rock formations of Canyonlands, each park preserves treasured natural landmarks for future generations.

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My reflections on America connect me to the pioneers who settled it. When I look at these wagons I imagine the creak of the wheels as they slowly rolled through the tall prairie grass. I think about the brave families ready to tackle anything life threw at them. Once they found a place they liked, the pioneers spent weeks chopping wood for the construction of their new home, usually a rustic one room cabin.

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Can you imagine a life working from sunrise to sunset to survive? This settler had to walk to a stream to get water. Somehow the land doesn’t look quite hospitable to farming. Maybe he had mining for gold on his mind.

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When I think about America I remember growing up in Ohio. I picture farmers plowing the land and producing a great harvest. I think of county fairs that celebrate the biggest pumpkins, best jars of jam, and beautiful patchwork quilts.

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As a student in Ohio I reaped the benefits of a good public education. I’m thankful for teachers who taught me how to read and write. I’m thankful for the opportunity to attend The Ohio State University.

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Go Bucks!

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My feelings of thankfulness take me to my present home in Orlando.  I picture the busy city streets.  I see the millions of ordinary people who do follow the traffic laws and I am amazed when I realize most Americans are just out there trying to do their best. I’m thankful for the workers who designed and built the roads we all drive on.

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    A replica of the Mayflower, Plymouth Mass.

America began when a little group of Pilgrims sailed across the Atlantic in search of freedom to worship God. I marvel that the same freedom is available to me today. I have the freedom to travel where I want. I have choices about what I want to buy, eat, and wear. I appreciate the freedom to read what I want, and think what I want. As a child born in the 1950’s I have never experienced what it is like to live in a combat zone. Unlike many countries, no wars have been fought in my homeland during my lifetime. I have never known what it might be like to go hungry.

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When I think of Independence Day, I picture neighbors getting together for backyard barbecues and kids running three-legged races in the park.  I imagine bands playing patriotic music while I wipe the watermelon juice off my chin. When night falls I ooh and ah at spectacular fireworks.

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All of this is America to me. Happy Birthday America.

 

 

Celebrating Ten Years of Blogging!

No fooling, on April 1, 2016, I started this blog. On that day the “Poet on Blueberry Street” joined the millions of other bloggers in the world. I wrote because I loved to write. I had no other reason. My first post was short—a total of 147 words. As of today, I have published 247 entries. Some of you may have followed me from the beginning. We have shared the ups and downs of caring for a special needs beagle, camping in Florida, and who could forget the pandemic?

Who am I? A retired schoolteacher with a love for God’s creation, poetry, and writing. My most popular post remains, Dover Shores: Thanks for the Memories, which has received 9,500 views. Who would think a story about the remodeling of an Orange County, Florida school would be so trendy? Maybe it’s the way the story captured the history of a quaint neighborhood school which impacted countless people.

In 2018, as I was preparing for the launch of Buddy the Beagle on Blueberry Street, my domain name changed to debbieburton.blog. Since then my theme has stayed the same—”stories are meant to be shared.” I still aim to inspire my readers to appreciate the beauty in the world around them and value simple moments in their daily routine.

Starting something is easy. We can start to diet, begin an exercise program, or even start writing a book. Staying and continuing is harder. Regardless of how many followers I have, I know in my heart I am doing what I was created to do.

My favorite post is Do You Remember How to Play? Every person has an inner-child we forget about as we mature. Our inner-child loved to play and imagine. He or she was creative and not afraid to take risks.

Thirteen years ago I met my inner-child when I started writing poetry. I had just retired from teaching and had plenty of free time. It was her voice that helped me put the best words in the best order. My friends told me I had talent. My family was impressed. When my first poem was published in Time of Singing Magazine I rejoiced.

I continued to write. I continued to be published. I continued to celebrate. I created this blog, wrote magazine articles, and authored children’s books. Now I’m editing a creative writing magazine for the community where I live. But achievement comes with a price. Each success brings more busyness until the voice of my inner-child becomes drowned out by adult expectations and the pressure to keep achieving.

It’s during those times I must play. I need to ride my bike and feel the wind on my face, or go into the kitchen and prepare a new recipe. Spending time with my granddaughter, Winnie, helps me get in touch with my inner-child. Together we create a pretend world of toy dinosaurs and Play-doh. I love it! But my adult self would never do that alone. After all, what would people think?

So if you don’t hear from me, I hope it’s because I’m playing. Thanks for following my blog. To God be all the glory.

A One Word Writing Prompt

I’ve found that writing prompts are helpful for triggering memoirs. During a meeting with fellow writers someone suggested a one word prompt and we all wrote for ten minutes. The word was car.

Immediately my mind took me back to the year 1970. Unlike most teens, I did not look forward to driving. The thought of handling my parents’ full size 1968 Pontiac terrified me. After I passed the written test to receive my learner’s permit, Dad took me to a nearby cemetery to teach me how to drive. He was smart—I wouldn’t be able to damage anything unless the car crashed into a headstone.

I practiced with Dad every Saturday. He was not a patient teacher and we made each other nervous. During the first few lessons I did not take the wheel until we reached the cemetery grounds. Once I became more comfortable with turning, he let me drive the one mile distance home via Chambers Road.

I couldn’t see the point of driving because I didn’t have anywhere to go. We lived in the outskirts of Mansfield, Ohio. I rode the bus to school and my parents drove me to church or to visit friends. After high school I would need to drive to the branch campus of Ohio State. The thought of my parents driving me to college made me cringe.

By the time I was seventeen I took the driving test and passed. I couldn’t believe I parallel parked such a behemoth car. My confidence grew. Since the state of Ohio thought I could drive, surely I must be ready.

A few days later Dad let me take the car for a spin. I smiled and waved as I backed out of our driveway and entered Mercer Avenue. Although Dad wasn’t in the seat next to me, I thought I would be all right. I had driven this way many times before on our way to the cemetery. I stopped at the intersection to Chambers Road and and proceeded to turn right. Big mistake! I turned the wheel too far to the right and drove the car into a deep ditch.

“Oh no!” My hand shook and my heart pounded as I flipped on the emergency flashers. I gingerly pushed open the car door and climbed out. Once outside, I saw that most of the car was off the road. There were no cell phones in those days so I couldn’t call Dad. There were no other drivers on the road that I might wave down for help. I wasn’t far from home and decided to leave the car and walk home.

That short walk seemed to take forever. With each step I worried about what Dad might say. I was in so much trouble. What if the only car my family owned was damaged? He would be so angry. He might decide I was incapable of handling a vehicle. This could be the end of my driving career.

I could see our house in the distance. As I approached I saw Dad working outside in the yard. He saw me too, and came running toward me.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. “Dad, I’m so sorry. I put the car in the ditch!”

To my surprise Dad laughed and gave me a hug. “It’s O.K.— let’s get Jake to help.”

Jake was our helpful neighbor with a truck. He drove us back to the scene of the crash, attached a chain to the back of the car, and pulled it out of the ditch. No harm done. Whew! I felt so relieved. Although Dad drove the car home, he did let me drive the car by myself again. Now, over fifty years later I treasure the grace Dad showed me that day.

Eventually I drove to my first after-school job and saved enough money to buy a car of my own. My compact Dodge Rambler transported me to my college classes with no accidents.

A one word writing prompt can inspire a writer to revisit a time forgotten. What stories come to your mind when you think of the word car?

Pompeii and Pizza

I never intended to travel the world until Viking Cruises made it easy. All of the details are arranged by travel experts who do everything and allow you to enjoy your vacation. When my husband and I discovered Viking’s Journey to Antiquities cruise we signed up because Herb wanted to see “old things.” One excursion on the cruise featured a tour of Pompeii, the ancient Roman city buried by volcanic ash when Mt. Vesuvius erupted August 24, 79 A.D.

Ever since I was a child, the ruins of Pompeii intrigued me. At age ten I dreamed of becoming an archeologist and finding artifacts which would connect people of today with ancient civilizations. Visiting Pompeii with our Italian tour guide was like a dream come true. I couldn’t believe I was actually walking where the citizens of Pompeii lived and worked. The volcanic ash which buried the city acted like a protective layer preserving buildings, artifacts, and even organic materials like bread.

The photo above shows a marketplace with vendor booths on each side. The elevated sidewalks kept shoppers’ feet out of the sewer which ran down the middle of the street. The builders included stepping stones so people could cross the sewer. I marveled at the ingenuity of the Romans, but had to watch my step to keep my balance.

Our guide told us these pots were part of a fast food stand. This was the “thermopolia” where hot food was sold at lunchtime. In the Roman world it was customary to eat a meal outside the house. (And I thought fast food originated with McDonald’s. Wrong!)

Here we have a bakery where grain was ground using large millstones made of lava stone pulled by animals. After the flour was collected, the dough was mixed then baked in the brick oven. Archeologists have discovered 36 bakeries in Pompeii. Only two-thirds of the city has been excavated and work is currently ongoing.

Our excursion to Pompeii included lunch at a restaurant in Naples, the birthplace of pizza. The roots of pizza date back to the ancient Greeks who topped their flatbreads with olive oil and herbs. When tomatoes were brought to Europe from America some people thought they were poisonous, but over time the vegetable became essential to Italian dishes. In 1889 Neapolitan Rafael Esposito created a special pizza in honor of Queen Margherita of Savoy. The pizza, topped with tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, and basil represented the colors of the Italian flag.

I was able to view the preparation of our margherita pizza by the chef.

Look! Is that a brick oven like those in the bakeries of Pompeii? Maybe there isn’t anything new under the sun.

As they say in Italian, “mangie e gusta.”

Living Slow in Djupivogur

Dear Readers,

I apologize for my long absence from my blog. Would you believe I was stuck in an elevator for three months? (No. I didn’t think you would accept that excuse.) Before 2025 slides into 2026 I’d like to share a travel experience with you. When I was young I made a list of places I wanted to see in my life and Iceland was at the top of my list. The land of fire and ice intrigued me, but my dream seemed out of reach.

Finally in 2025 as senior citizens, my husband and I took the opportunity to book a Viking cruise which circled Iceland. We visited many towns I could write about, but Djupivogur is a port which stands out above the rest.

Djupivogur might be one of the world’s smallest towns, but it is grand with natural beauty. Located on a fjord in eastern Iceland, the surrounding landscape features snow-capped mountains, black sand beaches, and magma dykes formed by volcanic eruptions millions of years ago. In winter the Northern Lights dance across the sky.

A trading center since the 16th century, Djupivogur shipped salted meats, fish, and Icelandic wool to Europe throughout the 18th and 19th centuries. Fishing remains a significant part of the village’s economy, but in recent years the tourist industry has grown.

During the summer months the population swells, but the number of people who live in Djupivogur year round is only 450. Although the town welcomes outsiders, they are a tight-knit community. Due to their low numbers adults serve multiple roles. Our local guide worked in a fish oil processing plant, and served as an on-call plumber. He also belonged to the emergency search and rescue team. This is the kind of town where everyone knows one another. Folks are willing to drop whatever they are doing to help out when needed.

I was interested to learn that Djupivogur has adopted the cultural trend known as “Cittaslow” (slow city). This philosophy is dedicated to eco-friendly practices and the preservation of a town’s cultural heritage. The citizens do not want commercialization to take over. Which happens often in scenic areas that give way to the rise of fast food and gift shops selling products made elsewhere. Djupivogur is one of 260 small towns around the world committed to a less stressful and more community oriented way of life.

Like many of the Icelandic guides we met, our escort moved from Djupivogur to further his education in the “big city” of Reykjavik. Once he completed the requirements to become a licensed plumber, he returned because he found city life too stressful. As we walked the quiet streets he asked, “Do you wonder what we do for entertainment in a town of 450 people?” His question captured our interest as we climbed a small hill toward what appeared to be a rusty oil tank. Upon our arrival he announced we would be hearing a concert in Tankurinn, a fish oil tank which had been transformed into an exhibition space for music.

He opened the door and we took our seats in the “auditorium” of sorts. Plastic patio chairs were lined up across from burning candles on the floor. After the vocalist entered the tank, the door closed and she commenced to sing. I was amazed to hear sounds unlike any I’d ever heard before. The acoustics and reverberations made it seem as if many more singers were in the room.

Our visit to Djupivogur gave me new appreciation for small town life. I can understand why our guide decided there is no place else he would rather live. If you read this post and decide you want to move there, please don’t. Too many people would spoil everything.

The moral of my story is this: Never stop dreaming. What seems far away today may be closer than you think.

For those of you who are interested, I am creating an author newsletter to stay in contact with readers of my children’s books. “Time Together” will include ideas for fun activities parents and grandparents can do with their young children. If you want to subscribe to my newsletter click here and complete the information. Include “subscribe to newsletter” in the message box.

Do You Like Your Job?

Most people would agree there are things they like and dislike about their job. In my featured photo I’m shown working at my desk when I taught third grade. I look happy. Maybe this was taken on a Friday after school dismissed!

Now that I’m retired, I look back on my career with amazement. How did I do it? How does any teacher manage to fulfill all the expectations of the position? The only way I survived was by learning how to multi-task. Somehow teachers take attendance, listen to morning announcements, and keep an eye on the class all at the same time. Like a jack of all trades, a teacher fulfills many roles.

On Labor Day, we pay tribute to the contributions and achievements of American workers. For most workers our jobs are the most important thing in our lives.  After years of working at the same job, we begin to identify ourselves by our career. When introduced to someone, we ask, “What do you do for a living?” This pattern continues during retirement, “What did you retire from?”

It’s difficult for people to retire because it’s hard to imagine a life without work. Some feel like life will have no purpose or meaning. I’m often asked, “So what do you do all day?”

“I fill my days in much the same way I did during summer vacation. The big difference is I never reach a date on the calendar when I start to feel anxious about school starting again.”

We confuse the value of our work with the amount of money we receive for it. When I stayed at home to care for my preschool children, I received no income, but the experiences we shared were invaluable. Our “self-worth” should not be dependent on our level of income.

Do you feel undervalued at work? Comedian George Carlin said, “The caterpillar does all the work, but the butterfly gets all the publicity.”

Too bad Mr. Carlin seems to have forgotten, the butterfly once was the caterpillar. If I work at something with all my heart, I feel content knowing I’ve done my best, even if no one else seems to notice.

One of my favorite scriptures reads, “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving. Colossians 3:23,24 NIV

Engaging in our work changes us. Our “on the job experiences” teach us new skills. By trial and error we learn new ways of problem solving to accomplish our goals. Eventually we discover that like the monarch, we can fly!

Happy Labor Day!

If you’ve enjoyed my musings about work, please subscribe to be notified of future posts. Thanks!

Shedding Light on the Dog Days of Summer

Welcome to the “dog days” of summer, the time of year when heat and humidity force many of us indoors. As a Floridian, I think of this season as our winter. Some of us estivate in our air-conditioned homes and only come out to buy groceries or take the trash out. That is, unless we need to walk a dog.

Until recently I associated the phrase “dog days of summer” with the time of year when dogs pant more frequently and lie down more often. Dogs feel the heat just like their humans. But instead of sweating, our furry friends cool themselves by panting. When dogs inhale and exhale rapidly, the evaporation of water allows them to cool their body from the inside out. Dog owners know that they need to supply plenty of fresh water and shade to keep their pet from overheating.

Actually the phrase “dog days of summer” has nothing to do with the habits of dogs. According to the Old Farmer’s Almanac the “dog days” begin in the Northern Hemisphere on July 3, and last for forty days until August 11. (Unless you live in Florida, where the “dog days” seem to last until October.)

The phrase originated with the ancient Greeks, who discovered the rise of the Sirius star in the summer. The name Sirius stems from the Greek word “Seirious,” which means scorching or glowing. Sirius is part of the constellation Canis Majoris (the Greater Dog) and is the brightest star in the night sky. The Romans nicknamed Sirius the Dog Star, which led to referring to the hottest part of the summer as the “dog days”. The phrase stuck.

The ancient Greeks and Romans thought Sirius emitted heat and contributed to the rise in temperature during the summer. The Egyptians correlated the flooding of the Nile River with the “dog days.” Sirius became a “watchdog” for this weather event. No matter how you look at it, summer ushered in a time of extreme weather conditions. The Romans saw the rise of Sirius as a bad omen, responsible for drought, disease, discomfort, and insanity. They even went so far as to sacrifice dogs in hope of appeasing the Dog Star. Excuse my pun, but might that be a hot dog?

The ancients didn’t understand that the “dog days” are caused by earth’s orbit around the Sun. Remember our general science class where we learned that the northern hemisphere receives the most direct angle of sunlight in the summer? Soon after the June twentieth summer solstice, the North Pole is at its maximum tilt toward the Sun which makes our days longer and hotter. Sirius is hotter than the Sun, but it does not affect our weather because it’s further away—8.6 light years from Earth. 

Whew! I feel better knowing this uncomfortable season was not named after man’s best friend. Aren’t you thankful we live in the year 2025? During our “dog days” we can run to the comfort of air-conditioning and take Fido with us.  

Seeking A Life of Simplicity

What does it mean to simplify? Consuming natural foods? Downsizing your possessions? Saying no to those who make demands on your time? All of these actions can contribute to less stress, better health, and greater happiness.

Throughout history many writers and teachers have voiced the importance of living simply. The ancient Greek philosopher Democritus (460-370 B.C.) wrote “Let your occupations be few, if you would lead a tranquil life.” Jesus taught that we should trust God and not get caught up in the busyness of life. Thoreau believed spending time in nature is the key to a life with less anxiety. By listening to all of these different voices, we can conclude that living simply is the way to find peace, happiness, and a closer relationship with God.

I’m sure we can all remember simpler times in our lives. As children, we occupied ourselves with play and our worries were few. We relied upon our parents to meet most of our needs. Later life became more complicated when we joined the workforce in order to make a living. Even so, the technological advances of the past fifty years made our jobs easier, not more difficult.

Today’s modern conveniences make it possible to spend less time on household chores compared to our parents and grandparents. One would think we would be the most contented people who ever lived. Instead many of us feel frazzled and exhausted from trying to keep up with our busy calendar. Could it be that we have too many choices to make regarding how to spend our free time?

When I retired from teaching I felt unmoored. I needed to do something meaningful to fill my day. Once I expressed my feelings to a friend. He said, “There are many things you could do, but only pursue one thing.” At the time I’m not sure he was aware of the significance of his words. His suggestion opened my eyes to the truth about myself. I wanted to write, and I’ve been writing ever since. Hence, the founding of this blog in 2016.

Now I live in a retirement community and I am surprised at the schedule of activities which are offered. We have fitness classes, trips, chef’s demos, lectures, drop-in-bridge, ice cream socials, and shuffleboard! Yet, here I am— sitting at my laptop, banging on the keys.

But I am as happy as a clam because I’ve said yes to the “one thing.”

If you feel pulled in many directions and can’t seem to find a moment’s peace, stop and ask yourself, “How can I best spend my time in a way that brings purpose to my life and also encourages others?”

Then start doing it!

Going Batty in Baldwin Park

Floridians love the sunshine and the beach, but we all know there are trade-offs to living here. In the summer we not only endure humidity and storms—we also endure living with bats. As someone who has lived in the Orlando neighborhood of Baldwin Park, I have first hand knowledge of these flying furry animals.

Bats are drawn to the natural environment around Lake Baldwin. Animals migrate to find food, and bats take no exception. Summer temperatures in the mid-nineties and frequent rainstorms make Florida the perfect environment for mosquitos, and bats love to eat mosquitos. That’s a good thing right?

It’s good until bats take up residence in your house. The pitched roofs of many Baldwin Park homes invite bats to roost in the attic by squeezing through any opening they might find. Recently a Baldwin Park homeowner told me he heard a strange sound in his living room. The next morning he discovered a bat on the floor of the dining room. It was still alive, but could not raise itself to fly. Quick thinking, he captured the animal in a pool net and released it outside before any harm was done.

Later the homeowner contacted a “bat specialist” for advice, and set up an appointment for a home inspection. The specialist said it’s uncommon for a bat to enter the living area of a home, but it’s not impossible. The inspection revealed there was a colony of bats living in the attic. Since they are a protected species, it’s illegal to disturb their “roost” until August 15!

Attic Nurseries

Hearing about my neighbor’s experience prompted me to know more. My internet research informed me the Brazillian free-tailed bat is the main species found in Orlando. Their maternity season begins April 15 and ends August 15. The female bats gather in dark enclosed spaces (often in an attic) to give birth and nurse their babies. I was surprised to learn that bats are mammals. They even have a belly-button! The babies are very dependent upon their mothers until they are around eight weeks old. Then the juveniles start to find food for themselves.

August 15—Eviction Day

A few years ago bats roosted in our Baldwin Park townhome. Once I was walking our dog at sunrise, and I saw dozens of bats enter a tiny opening in the dormer above our front porch. Their guano (feces) made a nasty mess of our front steps. Throughout the month of July my husband cleaned the porch daily. On August 15, a professional installed a one-way door in the dormer, so the bats could fly out but not return. This is a humane way to eradicate bats from a building without harming them.

Are Bats Dangerous?

According to the U.S. Geological Survey, healthy bats avoid humans. Less than one percent of the bat population contracts rabies. Even so, bats should not be handled—especially those that are active during daylight hours. All bat bites should be washed immediately with soap and water and a physician should be consulted.

Bat guano is a serious health risk for homeowners. When guano exists in an attic or crawlspace, the microscopic spores can be inhaled by humans and cause a serious respiratory infection called histoplasmosis. If they eat the guano, Pets can also become infected.

Why are Bats Protected?

Over half of bat species are in serious decline due to habitat loss, climate change, and a fungal infection called white-nose syndrome. Even though bats cause problems for homeowners, we need them. They pollinate plants and devour their body weight in insects every night. Without bats we wouldn’t have bananas, avocados, and mangos. These heroes of the night are more helpful than harmful.

A Common-Sense Solution

If homeowners want to evict bats from their attics, but not leave them homeless, a bat house might work. Homeowners need to contact their HOA to learn the regulations for their neighborhood.

August 15 is almost two months from now. Until then, my neighbor will need to keep his pool net handy!