Hung it on the south wall of the barn in April, half expecting nothing. By late June there were droppings under it like little chocolate sprinkles — that’s how you know they’re home. I sit out just to watch them leave at dusk now.

We couldn’t sit on our own patio in July without getting eaten alive. One season after putting up Earl’s house, the difference is night and day — I haven’t bought a can of spray all summer.

You feel the weight the second you pick it up: solid wood, real bark, nothing like the flimsy thing that warped on us in one winter. It came with a handwritten note from Earl. We hung it the same afternoon.

I gave one to my dad, who’d spent years trying to get bats into a store-bought box with no luck. This one had tenants by midsummer. He calls me every time he sees them fly out.

I oiled mine with a little sunflower oil before I hung it, the way Earl’s note suggested, and mounted it on the south wall of the garage. Bats found it within the first month. Built like it’ll outlast me.

Knowing the story behind it — a retired ranger who watched these animals nearly vanish — made it more than a purchase. It’s the nicest thing on our place, and it actually does something.

The first evening I caught the whole colony streaming out from the bottom at dusk, I called my family out on the porch to watch. You do not get tired of that.

Hung it on the south wall of the barn in April, half expecting nothing. By late June there were droppings under it like little chocolate sprinkles — that’s how you know they’re home. I sit out just to watch them leave at dusk now.

We couldn’t sit on our own patio in July without getting eaten alive. One season after putting up Earl’s house, the difference is night and day — I haven’t bought a can of spray all summer.

You feel the weight the second you pick it up: solid wood, real bark, nothing like the flimsy thing that warped on us in one winter. It came with a handwritten note from Earl. We hung it the same afternoon.

I gave one to my dad, who’d spent years trying to get bats into a store-bought box with no luck. This one had tenants by midsummer. He calls me every time he sees them fly out.

I oiled mine with a little sunflower oil before I hung it, the way Earl’s note suggested, and mounted it on the south wall of the garage. Bats found it within the first month. Built like it’ll outlast me.

Knowing the story behind it — a retired ranger who watched these animals nearly vanish — made it more than a purchase. It’s the nicest thing on our place, and it actually does something.

The first evening I caught the whole colony streaming out from the bottom at dusk, I called my family out on the porch to watch. You do not get tired of that.

Hung it on the south wall of the barn in April, half expecting nothing. By late June there were droppings under it like little chocolate sprinkles — that’s how you know they’re home. I sit out just to watch them leave at dusk now.

We couldn’t sit on our own patio in July without getting eaten alive. One season after putting up Earl’s house, the difference is night and day — I haven’t bought a can of spray all summer.

You feel the weight the second you pick it up: solid wood, real bark, nothing like the flimsy thing that warped on us in one winter. It came with a handwritten note from Earl. We hung it the same afternoon.

I gave one to my dad, who’d spent years trying to get bats into a store-bought box with no luck. This one had tenants by midsummer. He calls me every time he sees them fly out.

I oiled mine with a little sunflower oil before I hung it, the way Earl’s note suggested, and mounted it on the south wall of the garage. Bats found it within the first month. Built like it’ll outlast me.

Knowing the story behind it — a retired ranger who watched these animals nearly vanish — made it more than a purchase. It’s the nicest thing on our place, and it actually does something.

The first evening I caught the whole colony streaming out from the bottom at dusk, I called my family out on the porch to watch. You do not get tired of that.

Hung it on the south wall of the barn in April, half expecting nothing. By late June there were droppings under it like little chocolate sprinkles — that’s how you know they’re home. I sit out just to watch them leave at dusk now.

We couldn’t sit on our own patio in July without getting eaten alive. One season after putting up Earl’s house, the difference is night and day — I haven’t bought a can of spray all summer.

You feel the weight the second you pick it up: solid wood, real bark, nothing like the flimsy thing that warped on us in one winter. It came with a handwritten note from Earl. We hung it the same afternoon.

I gave one to my dad, who’d spent years trying to get bats into a store-bought box with no luck. This one had tenants by midsummer. He calls me every time he sees them fly out.

I oiled mine with a little sunflower oil before I hung it, the way Earl’s note suggested, and mounted it on the south wall of the garage. Bats found it within the first month. Built like it’ll outlast me.

Knowing the story behind it — a retired ranger who watched these animals nearly vanish — made it more than a purchase. It’s the nicest thing on our place, and it actually does something.

The first evening I caught the whole colony streaming out from the bottom at dusk, I called my family out on the porch to watch. You do not get tired of that.