Why Tinfoil Raccoon?

Reader and longtime friend RD  has asked for an explanation of  the title "Tinfoil + Raccoon."  The title came from a discussion I had with a colleague in library school who was trying to describe ADHD to me; he said it was like being a raccoon with a piece of tinfoil, as it's well-known to country folk (current and former)  that raccoons are attracted to shiny objects.  While I posted this  brief explanation on my about page, I did some searching this morning to find more authoritative information about the connection between raccoons and tinfoil.  While what I found is more anecdotal than rigorously authoritative, it's good enough for me to share. 

The part about raccoons and tinfoil that I didn't know or couldn't remember is that foil is often used to attract raccoons to traps. So, there is an unintentionally grim element to this blog's title.  Do not click through to this link if trapping upsets you. 

Raccoons are very curious animals and they just love to grab shiny things in the water. One of the oldest methods of trapping coons is to wrap the pan of a leg-hold with tin foil. The coon will see the shiny foil and grab the pan setting the trap off on his paw.

And, here's a heavy-handed bit from a sermon about the dangers of wealth and affluence, using raccoons as a metaphor:

MANY TIMES A RACCOON WILL GIVE UP ITS FREEDOM RATHER THAN LET GO OF THE SHINY TINFOIL, EVEN TO THE POINT OF SACRIFICING ITS LIFE RATHER THAN LETTING GO! AS LONG AS THEY CONTINUE TO GRASP THE FOIL THEY CANNOT GET AWAY!

So, I am the raccoon, and information, and really, everything are my tinfoil.  But, I like to think of myself as a highly evolved, clever raccoon who knows enough to recognize a trap when she sees one. If  next time you see me, I'm missing a hand or foot, you'll know that I'm not nearly as clever as I thought.

The other interesting (to me) and forgotten raccoon connection is that coons were part of my childhood.  My dad was a Jeremiah Johnson type (minus the dead Indian wife and vendetta), and hunted and trapped, not just for sport, but to support us when he was laid-off.  For some kids, family outings mean ball games, picnics, trips to museums or shopping excursions.  For me, a family outing was a day at a trap shoot or a coon hunt.  A coon hunt is a ritualized hunt, whereby a coon is placed in a gunny sack and dragged along the ground.  Then, the sack is hung from a tree. Several yards from the tree is a line of eager, ravenous dogs waiting to "tree" the coon.  The dogs don't actually get to eat the coon, but their owners are given fine trophies, or other awards such as sides of beef.  I was a sunburnt, sweaty, bug-bitten child,  who didn't think twice about using an outhouse (not a porta potty, mind you, but real outhouses with cracked wooden seats and no hand sanitizer).

There were rifles and animal heads and traps at my house.  It was not uncommon to see bullets and shot in the ashtrays; it's amazing I survived to adulthood. Once, and only once, my dad thought he'd share even more of his wilderness man life by taking me, my sister and my mom out to check traps. It was cold as hell and there was about 6" of snow.  We tramped through uneven fields and half-frozen creeks with our inadequate boots and outerware,  complaining and miserable the whole time.  Thankfully,  there were no animals in the traps, although I remember opening our big chest freezer and finding a dead raccoon or other critter on at least one occasion.   I've never figured out if my dad really thought that we'd appreciate such an activity, or if it was his way of saying, "see what I do  to keep food on the table?"  I suspect the former, as he was never happier than when he was out with a gun and a dog, or down by the Mackinaw with nothing but a tarp and a few cans of beans and a fishing pole.  If I'd been born a boy, I suspect I would have been fully indoctrinated into  my dad's culture. I would know how to hunt and fish and trap and pack shotgun shells and build a fire.  Sometimes, I'm a little sad that my dad never even thought to teach his daughters these skills.  Little did he know that he was raising a raccoon.

Comments

[meggo]

i grew up on a small farm and we ate what we raised and what my father hunted. if he didn't get anything we wouldn't have much to eat. the raccoon with the tin foil "myth" is totally true i've seen it, i've lived it.

[cris hamitoe]

i love to trap

[Hunter]

I'm a girl and I find hunting a good outdoors activity. Seeing a dead animal such a deer or raccoon means I get to eat something not induced with chemicals and I can send the skins off to relatives to be tanned. I personally love the outdoors. I wish my dad was a trapper instead of just a hunter. I guess I've got use to the heat of cold though. I have to take care of my chickens every day of the year raining, lightning, hail, from 8 degrees all the way to a 105, 25 mph winds. I live though it all twice day for 20 minutes sometimes in the mornings. I love the outdoors. I'll never forgot the day it wouldn't stop lightning and I had to go out and I managed to move all my chickens to their house and just as I was moving towards the house the hairs rose on the back of my neck and I instantly ducked down and balanced on the balls of my heels. Thank goodness I never got struck.

[rochelle]

I think we need to do a drive-by shaving on Deremy.

[John Holmes]

Who is RD? My long lost film brother Ron Deremy? Who has a funny mustache?

[Beth]

Thanks for explaining all this! You've got me wondering . . . what's my tinfoil? I'm sure it's something.

[R]

Guess I missed your About page, but thanks for the explanation. I was worried Tinfoil was a nickname for one of your daughters, and imagining the hell she'd be in for at school if she ever got braces.