When going out I almost stepped on a hedgehog. He sat on the threshold; it was good that the door opened inwards otherwise i would have launched it by accident. Now we stood there, both a little stunned by the sudden encounter. “Hello hedgehog,” I said. The hedgehog was silent.
It was an alienating experience, especially because I had just read a story by Toon Tellegen. “Often the hedgehog thought about the benefits and harms of loneliness,” it began. “When he came up with another one, he wrote it on his wall. On one side of the door were the benefits, such as not accidentally stepping on someone, saying nothing wrong, not having to make amends, not having to own something that isn’t in the house, not getting anyone to visit who won’t leave wants to go, not answering questions about spines and what they are for. On the other side were the drawbacks, such as no letters, no gifts, no dancing.”
Last year, Tellegen’s books had helped me through the winter, and now, with the coronavirus numbers rising, my ambivalence resonated with the hedgehog’s. Of course I didn’t want another lockdown. But at the same time, the past social months had also made me tired in a way I barely knew. I began to long for winter rest. Roll myself up into a ball and do nothing more. Hedgehogs, I called that as a child – an entry that, in addition to polar bears, crows, fish, moles, cats and spiders, would not be out of place in the series of ‘animal names that are also a verb’.
Hedgehogs are chief rests. They often start a half-year hibernation at the end of October, on a nest of leaves. The visitor on my doorstep was an exception in that regard. The hedgehog equivalent of a night owl, wide awake in November. Or perhaps it was a sleepwalker, because not all hedgehogs sleep for months on end. Sometimes they change nests in the middle of winter. If there are enough leaves, that is. Leaf blowers are not only the nemesis of the silence-loving man, but also that of the hedgehog.
If you want to do good, you can buy hedgehog houses or make your own on the basis of a construction drawing. Numerous hedgehog house rules can be found on the internet: cover the bottom with leaves, make sure that it cannot rain in, do not place the entrance to the north or northeast, otherwise the chance of strong winds is too great. A hedgehog loses a quarter of its weight during hibernation and cools down from 35 to 10 degrees Celsius; a hedgehog that is too skinny will not make it to spring.
In Tellegen’s story, the hedgehog eventually adds up the benefits and harms of loneliness. There are exactly the same number of them. And so he continues to waver in the doorway: out, or not? My own hedgehog was more resolute. After a brief, silent meeting, he turned and walked into the woods. Time to hedge.
Gemma Venhuizen is a biology editor at NRC and writes a column at the site every Wednesday.
A version of this article also appeared in NRC in the morning of November 10, 2021
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