A Squirrel's Tale
{Saturday Story day gives us a chance to catch up on our Scripture reading if we have gotten behind. I hope you enjoy today’s tale}
There’s a black, dirt-filled pot languishing, plantless, on the edge of our patio. A squirrel — Sciurus carolinensis, if you prefer the formalities — has taken quite an interest in it lately.
Most evenings, just before dark, she can be seen scurrying along the top of the back fence that separates our yard from the neighbor’s. She’ll pause across from the pot, twist her rear paws 180 degrees at the ankles, and descend headfirst down the weathered, gray cedar planks — claws gripping the rough wood, her large, bulging eyes ever watchful for predators… or for other squirrels looking to swipe her secrets.
Once the coast is clear, she darts across the green bermuda grass, climbs into the pot, and vanishes below the rim. Only her gray-and-white tail remains visible — arched and twitching ever so slightly, hinting at her unseen activity.
Scatter caching, I believe. She’s carrying acorns — each one carefully inspected, turned round and round between her tiny front paws, examined for defects, tannin levels considered, and a mental note made for the “best if eaten by” date — then buried deep into the soil of our patio pot.
In a few months, when the frost settles in, when the leaves have fallen, when the easy food is gone — she’ll be alright. Her chunking in the days of plenty means she’ll have something to eat in the days of scarcity.
Therein lies wisdom.
