I had just poured myself a beer and plopped into an Adirondack chair. Crystal Lake was gorgeous. I could hear waves lapping at the shore, and a light breeze nudging the pines. Then, in the corner of my eye, about fifteen feet away, a fox appeared. I slowly turned my head and watched it patrol the deck. It was a curious kit, innocent and fearless, probably wondering why I was stomping all over its makeshift den. The deck was the roof to its winter home. Spring had just arrived in Northern Michigan, along with noisy new neighbors and a full keg. We just stared at each other. The visit was brief. I didn’t even have time to offer a drink, before the kit dashed into the woods.