In the past year Santa Barbarians have taken up all kinds of new activities. We bake bread, make wine (or drink wine while reading about baking bread), we fix up our house (or just talk about fixing up our house over a glass of wine), and we can finally enjoy a walk down State Street without worrying about getting hit by a car (though, of course, now we have to worry about getting hit by some stoner named Doug riding his bike erratically across the center line while loudly singing “Don’t Stop Believin'”).
Now, all of these are fun activities (especially for Doug) – but, besides drinking wine, I didn’t really pursue any of them. What I did do was become a Chipmunk Rancher. I’m sharing my experiences now before I forget what I learned because my memory is beginning to fade – I can barely remember which wine I drank last night. Or this afternoon.
Chipmunk Ranching is not for the faint-hearted. Actually, no activity is for the faint-hearted. By its very definition, just about any activity will kill a faint-hearted person. But Chipmunk Ranching is for just about everyone else. You don’t have to be strong, or smart, or even know anything about Chipmunks to be successful at it. Perhaps you can see why I was immediately attracted to this profession.