Winter Scrabblings

            Friday

Even though it was cloudy, I asked my mother if it was May yet. She told me ‘no’, and told me that May was still a ways off. So, we won’t be gathering nuts anytime soon. We’re fraught with worry in this in-between time, so, I’m keeping a journal. I wish I could remember August more. Back when I was born. I recently learned that a word I’ve heard creeping into conversation- ‘cold’, is just a more specific word for discomfort. And, ‘cold’ is why there are no nuts, and is the reason why others borrow my tail. Sometimes, I just let them have it, if they need it more than I do.

Went across the alley to the ash tree and to another nest. They have a row of milkweed pod husks as a wall, set concave. Some there thought that it was wasted effort, since no squirrel can bring more than one of those each trip up the tree. I thought it was wonderful, and told them so. Toward the back of the nest, they have a small sunflower blossom, which I thought was bold and practical. In our nest, we have cornhusk wainscoting, which is hard to find in the city. Our day ended in the warm nest, playing a few rounds of ‘Whose Foot Is This?’

            The next day

I’ve decided not to be too concerned with the fact that I was born late, in an odd month. It takes up too much daily thinking when I could be thinking about more important things. As Dad says: “He who hesitates is stew.” All I’ve known is cold, but I’ve learned to appreciate the muted colors of the trees and the ground. It’s pretty, in a way, and makes it easier to hide. Today, Dad lectured as my sister and I considered the fence. On the other side, there are dogs, and that’s important. On this side, there aren’t. Equally important. Later, Mom quizzed us on the subject, and we did well. I told her that we should stay on this side of the fence, and Dad added: “Unless you’re a thrill-seeker.” Mom clicked, and Dad trailed off, muttering that May is a different kind of month, with different rules. They both have lived quite a life. Both are well over five years old. Today, Dad scolded a snowblower until it went away. Mom continued to lecture me about tail attitude. In times of crisis, I am prone to do the exact wrong thing with my tail. She took me through ‘up’, ‘down’, and ‘trailing’. And when to use the nose to determine wind direction when the tail is occupied with other things. Then I told her about my idea. When I get my own nest, I will make it with as much ivy as possible. Then it would be green throughout the winter. To remember. She told me that it was a good idea, and that I could make my own nest with anything- anytime. But there are a lot of other important things to do.

I must keep in mind that being born in August doesn’t make me much different from other squirrels. Along with that, I have other resolutions.

I must do my best not to join in during a rash of needless scratching within the nest. Above all, I mustn’t instigate!

I must keep tail attitude in mind. Always.

Milkweed husks can be used for a vault.

My foot was chosen during ‘Whose Foot Is This?’, and I was able to convince Mom that it was hers, and won. But perhaps she just wanted to get to sleep. It was the last round.

            Visitor’s Day

It was a quiet morning, when suddenly, about a million squirrels piled into our nest and clung to environs due to a streetsweeper. The dogs wouldn’t stop barking. I guess they were counting us. The commotion even woke up the ‘possums down the main trunk. Now there was more food to be had; what our visitors had gathered to take elsewhere. There were acorns that had weathered burial and hadn’t sprouted much, and heels of hot dog buns found in a bin, some so long that they had both sides connected and were easier to carry. Dad went out and scolded the streetsweeper, and, as always, it went away.  

One of our visitors was an aunt who is famous for avoiding the ground. She has been everywhere. She’s even been in the school, and has chalk in her nest to prove it. She goes from tree to tree, like most, but she also insists on crossing roads only on the lines. Today, she told me that you can scold people for no good reason from on top of a pole. They will just stand there and listen. Such conversation gave the adults an opportunity to point out good squirrel tactics, and it was mentioned that I needed to work on tail attitude. It turns out that when you’re on a line, the tail should trail. If the tail should happen to make a connection, my aunt told me, “The only thing that’ll be trailin’ you is smoke goin’ all the way down to the road. And then hillbillies will eat you. Like this.”

She preened my neck.

“Num, num, num.”

And she found a flea.

With the early sundown, Dad made one of his speeches. This time, though, it was quite a revelation. Squirrels don’t gather nuts in May. He didn’t know how such a rumor made it up the tree. After some pressing from my sister and I, we got him to admit that some nuts are gathered in May, but only in desperation or boredom. He stressed to us that May is a great month. Just without nuts. The sprout is the only part that is good on a nut, in May. So, May is the month that squirrels gather the least amount of nuts. And now, Dad told us, here it is February, and we are running out of nuts. So, I’ve been given a mission. Tomorrow, I will go across the yard to the compost pile to see if there is anything.

That was good news. I had a lot of questions, and was told that the dogs were on the other side of the fence, but the cat could be anywhere. I was told that all I needed to do was keep my wits about me, and not startle the mice in the shed next to the pile. I feel up to the task, but all I could think about for the rest of the night was dogs and herds of mice stealing carrot tops out from under my nose. Distracted, I too readily conceded that my foot was mine, and my sister told me that she didn’t want to win ‘Whose Foot Is This?’ that way.

            Foggy Day

Today was the day that I began to forage like a squirrel. I scampered down the tree headfirst, as easy as you like. For the first time, I was grounded with a purpose. I heard Dad shout that I was showing ‘great form’.

I saw a bit of bark sitting on the edge of a retaining wall. I saw the tops of dormant bee nests in the ground, now softened by the melting snow. And I could see that there was a fresh addition on top of the compost pile before me. It turned out to be quite a haul. I found some perfectly good hunks of carrot, then some onion on the second trip. Then I sat, munched, and watched my sister go a couple of times, for potato peelings and celery ends, which I’d missed.

But with that first-first time I saw everything. I saw leftover clumps of snow whizzing by as I ran. I saw stakes in the garden that hadn’t been tugged up, and, odd, an onion sprout volunteering in the garden. I could see the dog’s noses through slots of the fence as they barked- “Squirrel! Squirrel!” It was very affirming. At that point Dad shouted again.

“Trail the tail, son! Never mind the dogs. They have their job to do, and you have yours!”