Blindness

I never lived around moles before; i.e., the kind that dig under ground. Idaho, Massachusetts, upstate New York, Los Angeles: no moles in my lawn. Here in the Northwest, however, we have moles. Most mornings, when I awaken and go out to survey my queendom, I find here and there a small pyramidal cone of dug up dirt here and there, in the lawn and in the flowerbeds, and I say ‘Hi!’ to whatever passing moles the evening has brought me. It’s not like gophers, who eat things from underground: bulbs and the like. As far as I can tell, the mole doesn’t do anything more to me than leave this small pile of soil. Usually, I just smooth it back down with my foot. The mole doesn’t need it any longer; I don’t need it; my foot is plenty adequate for the job.

However, however, however. This approach to moles seems not to be universal up here. I have neighbors who regularly talk to me about their various methods of killing moles. Poison gas into the underground tunnels seems to be a favorite. I am just stunned by this kind of hostility to an animal that is only somewhat bigger than a spider. People are often hysterical about spiders, I know. It seems to be some kind of atavistic fear. I’ve seen families where, virtually from birth, one kid will be terrified of spiders, anxious to kill them, and one or two others have no feelings about spiders at all. It’s as if it comes with the genes of some kids/people.

But I don’t think that’s so true of moles. People aren’t afraid of them, aren’t startled by them and thus quick to strike back. Moles are not in any circumstance some kind of threat. When I ask what the problem is, the mole hunters point to these little piles of dirt. ‘I don’t like that,’ they say. ‘Oh, well,’ I want to say. “Ten thousand things in this world I don’t like, but does that justify killing a sentient being?’ But I don’t say it. I press them, though to no avail. ‘I just don’t like them,’ is the bottom line.

We were visiting an acquaintance this past week who is in the mole-killing business in a big way. Not that he has a lot of moles but that he devotes a lot of his time to making sure he has no moles. While there, we were invited to walk around the property and, among other things, investigate his newest mole traps which kill by concussion. And indeed, there in one of the traps was a dead mole. I’d never actually seen one up close. Amazingly big paws/hands for his overall size.

Actually, much tinier bodies than I would have thought. Hard to imagine going through lots of those creatures to make moleskin hats and gloves. And his eyes? Blind, moles are said to be. It suddenly occurred to me that they might not actually have eyes. When we think of people being blind, it is not because they don’t have eyes; they have eyes that have lost their ability to see. But moles probably don’t actually have eyes. I couldn’t bring myself to poke at his limp little body to investigate this question. There seemed enough blindness in that moment to embrace everyone.

(From Wikipedia: "The eyes of moles and of some burrowing rodents are rudimentary in size, and in some cases are quite covered by skin and fur. This state of the eyes is probably due to gradual reduction from disuse, but aided perhaps by natural selection.)