Squirrel Farmers

            The nearest oak tree is 50 yards away, in the park where my block dead ends. So why did I find and pull nine infant oaks from by Montclair back lawn? Actually, I know the answer—it’s the squirrels. Leave it up to them and they’d create another oak forest here. Apparently it is not enough for them to accept the hospitality of my pussy willow—from which they clip the blossoms, nor the pear tree—that’s another story.

            The pear tree is a real bone of contention for me this year. Last year a squirrel helped himself to one as yet not ripe pear each day. He took a bite, laughed at us from the treetop, and threw the rest of the pear to the ground. I hated the waste and, though I didn't appreciate his mocking attitude, I didn’t mind too much—there were plenty of pears. The tree was so prolific that we still had pears to eat, give away and make jam. This year, he must have brought his family because they have denuded our tree. I see only three still-unripe pears left on slender, low-hanging branches. Kind of them to leave some for us.

            I know they have their eyes on my sunflowers too. Two years ago I was able to save the seeds to feed the Cardinals in the winter. Last year the seeds disappeared before I could harvest. Can’t blame only squirrels for that. I bet the birds had a beak in it too.

            A few years ago squirrels attempted to chew their way into our attic. Luckily we heard their gnawing in time to call the Squirrel Hunter to chase them away and block up their tunnels.

            I’m onto their plot. We’ve provided them a safe haven with fruit. Now they are planting nut trees—well, acorns, anyway.  They intend to take over my yard and probably my house. But they will find that we will not easily give them up. And they will have to learn to share with the groundhog, raccoons and birds.