Week 17: Eastern Cottontail , Zora Neale Hurston, Ernest Thompson Seton

Fig. 1. “Lepus Sylvaticus, Grey Rabbit. Natural Size. Old & young.” Lithograph from John James Audubon and John Bachman, The Viviparous Quadrupeds of North America, Vol. 1 (New York: J.J. Audubon, 1845).

Headnote#

Few creatures are more storied than the rabbit and its cousin, the hare. Their manifestations extend across the globe, ranging from cosmology and folklore (Nanabozho and Br’er Rabbit) into transatlantic children’s literature (Lewis Carroll’s “White Rabbit,” Peter Rabbit, and Peter Cottontail), and onward to twentieth-century cartoons (Bugs Bunny, Roger Rabbit) and cinematic riddles (the eponymous Harvey and Donnie Darko’s Frank)—let’s not get into the other versions of bunnies in American pop culture. Across their many forms, these leporine figures embody a variety of traits and entities: transformation and trick; the moon and its goddess, or perhaps the underworld; fertile abundance or skittish cowardice—unless you are Monty Python and the medieval symbolism that inspired those British flapdoddlers. The symbols are appropriately numerous for the famously procreative creature.

My kids have excitedly spotted several individual rabbits in our urban neighborhood this spring (no fluffles yet), including one parent-shaped Easter bunny. I like to think the kids and the rabbits share a special connection, as both introduce a mix of docile dependence and feral wildness into the adult- and concrete-dominated cityscape. Remembering these tender wildlife sightings, or cross-identifications, it is a bit bewildering to dig up the wealth of rabbit-related scientific imagery and taxonomical data available in the public domain. So much energy and precision expended, much of it at public expense (back when that happened), to see and to understand. Yet this perspective is not neutral. As much as it reflects the wonders of science and of dedicating research for the public good, rather than corporate intellectual property, it also demonstrates how long-lasting, how granular was the American colonial project of mapping and quantifying the continent’s natural resources for the purposes of controlling and potentially extracting value from them. Millions upon millions of rabbits killed, initially for food and fur, and later for pest control. No longer our kin, and no longer a source of sustenance or myth, the rabbit lives on at the edges of our gardens and digital media, a tender blessing, a possible threat—yes, still a trickster.

The Eastern Cottontail (Sylvilagus floridanus, formerly known as Lepus sylvaticus) is the most common rabbit throughout New England and one of the most frequently found mammals across the continent. The species includes as many as 25 subspecies, varying primarily by region. In the northeast, the Eastern Cottontail has outcompeted the native New England Cottontail (Sylvilagus transitionus), which has smaller eyes, darker fur, slightly shorter ears with black edging, and often a black spot between its ears. The Eastern Cottontail is more versatile and adaptable than its New England kin, which relies on dense underbrush—maybe even briar patches—for protection. It roams into forest clearings, open meadows, and even suburban yards, relying instead on electric explosions of energy to leap away from harm. Rabbits and hares are both in the order Lagomorpha, along with the exceedingly adorable pika (genus Ochotona) and the European rabbit (Oryctolagus cuniculus), from which contemporary domestic rabbits descend.

Fig. 2. “Distribution in North America of rabbits of the genus Sylvilagus,” from E. W. Nelson, North American Fauna, No. 29: The Rabbits of North America (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1909), p. 43.

Readings#

1. … Well, de ‘gator was a pretty white varmint wid coal black eyes. He useter swim in de water, but he never did bog up in de mud lak he do now. When he come out de water he useter lay up on de clean grass so he wouldn’t dirty hisself all up.

   So one day he was layin’ up on de grass in a marsh sunnin’ hisself and sleepin’ when Brer Rabbit come bustin’ cross de marsh and run right over Brer ‘Gator before he stopped. Brer ‘Gator woke up and seen who it was trompin’ all over him and trackin’ up his pretty white hide. So he seen Brer Rabbit, so he ast him, “Brer Rabbit, what you mean by runnin’ all cross me and messin’ up my clothes lak dis?”

   Brer Rabbit was up behind a clump of bushes peerin’ out to see what was after him. So he tole de ‘gator, says: “Ah ain’t got time to see what Ah’m runnin’ over nor under. Ah got trouble behind me.”

   ‘Gator ast, “Whut is trouble. Ah ain’t never heard tell of dat befo’.”

   Brer Rabbit says, “You ain’t never heard tell of trouble?”

   Brer ‘Gator tole him, “No.”

   Rabbit says: “All right, you jus’ stay right where you at and Ah’ll show you whut trouble is.”

   He peered ‘round to see if de coast was clear and loped off, and Brer ‘Gator washed Brer Rabbit’s foot tracks off his hide and went on back to sleep agin.

   Brer Rabbit went on off and lit him a li’dard knot1 and come on back. He sat dat marsh afire on every side. All around Brer ‘Gator de fire was burnin’ in flames of fire. De ‘gator woke up and pitched out to run, but every which a way he run de fire met him.

   He seen Brer Rabbit sittin’ up on de high ground jus’ killin’ hisself laughin’. So he hollered and ast him:

   “Brer Rabbit, whut’s all dis goin’ on?”

   “Dat’s trouble. Brer ‘Gator, dat’s trouble youse in.”

   De ‘gator run from side to side, round and round. Way after while he broke thru and hit de water “ker ploogum!” He got all cooled off but he had done got smoked all up befo’ he got to de water, and his eyes is all red from de smoke. And dat’s how come a ‘gator is black today—cause de rabbit took advantage of him lak dat.

Zora Neale Hurston, Mules and Men (1935; New York: Harper Perennial, 1990), pp. 106-107.#

2. WINTER DENS
   In cold winter, the Cottontail is seldom found in a form or bed, unless it be very well sheltered. She much prefers a hole under a stone pile, a hollow log or tree, at such times. She uses these for more than mere snoozing places, as we shall see. Indeed, she would not be true to rodent tradition if she did not at some time assume the deathlike torpor that may be called a “cold sleep.” A driving storm sets in. Molly is ensconced under a thicket of briers and fern in one of her best forms, one most nearly weatherproof. The snow heaps up, shutting her into a sort of crystal-white cavern. Deeper and deeper piles the snow. Then the temperature falls, so that, though protected, she is numbed into a sort of frozen sleep. The raging of the storm outside kills every desire to venture forth. So long as the blizzard lasts, she rests, cold but not unhappy; a little hungry, perhaps, but not frozen—only drowsy—so drowsy that the easiest thing is to “lay low” and wait for better days.
   […]
   TAMABILITY
   It is a curious fact in the history of wild things that many of the wildest become most completely tame when properly managed; and many of those that, in their native state, are half-tame, can never be made domesticated or docile. Thus, the superferal Elephant, Wild Horse, Wild Dog, Wild-cat, Mink, Antelope, falcon, wild duck, respond completely when taken young, become members of the family. But the half-tame Fox, Hyena, pheasant, Canada jay, wood duck, and Cottontail, have never yet been tamed. They may be taken young and brought up so they tolerate our dwellings and our company, but never do they become truly members of the household-that is, domesticated—never do they learn to come at call, and rejoice in our company; never do they elect to stay with us when given the choice of returning to their wildwood kindred.

Ernest Thompson Seton, Lives of Game Animals, Volume IV, Part II: Rodents, Etc. (Garden City: Doubleday, Doran, and Co., 1929), p. 806, 807.#

Fig. 3. “Skulls of Sylvilagus,” from E. W. Nelson, North American Fauna, No. 29: The Rabbits of North America (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1909), p. 302.

Supplementum#

• Emily Zobel Marshall, “Beatrix Potter’s famous tales are rooted in stories told by enslaved Africans – but she was very quiet about their origins,” The Conversation (May 19, 2023).

• Joshua J. Mark, “Manabozho Tales,” World History Encyclopedia (February 12, 2025).

• Anne C., “Rabbits in Myth and Legend,” shelftalk: The Seattle Public Library Blog (October 6, 2009).

• Zora Neale Hurston, “The Eatonville Anthology,” The Messenger 13.11 (November 1926): 332.

• J.A. Allen, Monographs of North American Rodentia. No. 2.—Leporidae, United States Geological Survey of the Territories (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1877).

1 Lightwood, fat pine. So called because it is frequently used as a torch.