This is an opinion column

When we moved into our woodsy house twenty years ago this month, we were shocked to see that it was already occupied. I opened a bedroom door, planning to unpack one more box before going to bed.

Out of nowhere, a dark shape crossed the ceiling and zoomed by my head. I could feel the breeze it stirred. Bat breeze.

I was in a horror movie, or my version of one. I slammed the door and ran downstairs where my husband was unpacking his books. He was in charge of bats, I told him. That rule must surely be in our marriage contract somewhere.

Once we went upstairs. I was the coward waiting in the hall, but I peered in the room to watch him ease the bat out the window, using a sheet to steer it outside. I wondered if there were more of his kind—a whole bat family. I hoped not. Nobody wanted to be on bat duty all night.

As the years have rolled by, we’ve seen a few more bats, but most of the critters we share the property with stay outside, not in. Some are even honored guests, like the birds we feed daily and the butterflies that hover over the flowers. The deer are beautiful, so they get a pass, especially if a doe has her fawns in tow.

Once the doe left her babies in our yard for awhile, like deer daycare, but she came back for them. I know they eat flowers and plants, but they don’t eat ours since they’re on an upper deck, out of reach.

Others critters are pests. Squirrels go into acrobatic poses to steal the bird seed, hanging upside down on the feeder and hoping we won’t notice. There is a visible squirrel path from the feeders to their tree. They make the commute daily.

Raccoons used to steal bird seed, too, but they disappeared a year ago. They usually left ugly calling cards that meant one corner was their toilet, but they stopped that when my husband discovered a peppermint spray they wanted to avoid. Their corner of the deck was now ours again.

Generations of chipmunks have bred in our rock wall, and they dash off each time we walk by their encampment. They’ve learned we’re harmless, but we know they’re not. They can eventually damage a house’s foundation but we hope that hasn’t happened. My husband used a chipmunk spray, but who knows if that will deter them. Our friend advises shooting them with a BB gun, but we don’t want to and don’t have a gun, BB or otherwise.

If you live just five minutes from downtown but in a treehouse, as our friend calls our place, you will have wildlife, and I don’t mean just the teenagers that party in the Land Trust parking lot across the street. If you are surrounded by trees with rocks for a lawn and a canopy of limbs for a gazebo, insects will share your home.

Spiders will freeze when you open the shower door or catch them scuttling across the floor. I always apologize if I squish one, as I did a few nights ago. He was on my bed so I made a mental note to bring out the insect repellant and put it in the bedroom. Our spiders spin beautiful webs, works of art, but just keep them outside, please. And if you’re a brown recluse, you can’t live here.

In spite of the fact that the critters sometimes win—taking over more yard space and bringing up families in the meadow that’s our back yard, I’d prefer this to a flat subdivision, where all the trees that provide privacy have been cut down and when you look out your window you see your neighbors eating their dinner.

Give me life in a tree house even if it means walking through a spider web to get to my car each day. But insects are persistent. By the time I get home, a new web will be shimmering by the door.