A Naturalist’s Diary – Feb 2026.

Autocorrect, that lurking banana skin of the keyboard, tried to title this A Naturist’s Diary. But given that it’s been –20°C some nights and the snow flirting with my kneecaps, I assure you: no naturists are involved. And no, this isn’t a promo for any of my books or photos either. It’s a Naturalist’s Diary about wild rabbits.

For several years I’ve been watching the wild rabbits (technically cottontail hares) that wander into our garden. The first one, many summers ago, we named Woomba Wabbit.

The appeal of our garden is obvious, at least to a rabbit. In summer I don’t mow as often as I should, so the grass grows tall and green until the heat flattens it. I also avoid herbicides and pesticides, which means the lawn is generously sprinkled with speedwell, chickweed, cinquefoil and other weeds that rabbits probably consider a deluxe mixed salad.

The borders are kept low and shaggy (a cunning way of saying I don’t prune as often as I should), which gives them excellent hiding places. The yew tree is the crown jewel from a rabbit’s viewpoint: its branches sweep right down to the ground, forming a perfect bunker for any rabbit fleeing things with teeth, talons, or attitude. In winter, the snow piles up around the yew, turning it into a snug little fortress.

After Woomba came a succession of rabbits, plus the occasional fox or coyote. Some rabbits have been bold enough to munch grass while I potter about ten metres away. This winter’s cohort, though, are tiny, timid, and strictly nocturnal—venturing out only when hunger drives them into the open.

The attached photo of the rabbit munching on a forgotten flowerpot looks like daylight, but I took it near midnight and brightened it later. The plant pot this little one is nibbling doesn’t look remotely appetizing—just dried stems and brown leaves; being born into winter is hard.

Now, Toronto has laws against feeding wildlife (songbirds excepted), and I support them. No one wants to cultivate rats, embolden coyotes, or invite raccoons with their horrible, brain-eating parasites. So, I do not feed the rabbits. Non. Nyet. Strictly, nein.

This winter, with snow covering everything edible for weeks, the rabbits have resorted to stripping bark from the yew. Fortunately, the yew is tough and will recover. I don’t begrudge them a little bark. The rabbits and I coexist peacefully—except in one regard.

I am a pagan at heart. While some people bring evergreens indoors in midwinter, I place a few token green leaves on the snow outside to break the monotony of endless white snow. Sometimes I place parsley leaves in the snow, sometimes a few spinach leaves propped upright with stems in the snow to defy the winter. It cheers me the way a Christmas tree might cheer others.

But I’ve just looked out the window and discovered that something—almost certainly a rabbit—has eaten the leaves I put out last week. Honestly. Damn rabbits. Now I’ll have to replace my decorative greenery again.