SQUIRREL TALES: 3
by Mary Lee Corlett
Among all of the neighborhood squirrels, Mrs. Fidgets is one of my favorite grown-ups. She never seems to get annoyed with us, even when we get annoying. We keep trying to guess Mrs. Fidget’s age, but she won’t tell—when asked, she just smiles and changes the subject. But her brown coat is now almost entirely gray. She bends over slightly when she moves around, but she still moves gracefully. Whatever her age, Mrs. Fidgets is old enough to be young at heart. She laughs easily and she is always willing to think about any new idea. And best of all, she is a terrific cook!
“Mmmmm. Peanut butter pie….” Nutmeg closed her eyes and licked her lips, clutching Hazel’s Leaf tightly to her chest as if she might be able to squeeze a pie right out of it. “Hey! Be careful with that!” Hazel admonished, “You might bend it!”
Nutmeg opened her eyes and gave her sister that “you’ve GOT to be kidding!” look.
“Hazel, it’s already bent. In several places,” she pointed out. Then she held the crumpled fabric softener sheet out in front of her, making a great show of smoothing it out carefully and holding it oh so delicately between her paws. She gave it a little shake, for good measure, and then continued reading:
As she has gotten older, Mrs. Fidgets had been finding it more difficult to gather enough food on her own. But with the help of us younger squirrels, who collect food stuffs especially for her, she is able to make big, wonderful meals several times a week that are then happily shared among all the squirrels of the neighborhood who come to the Dinner Branch. That way everyone—especially the older folks, mothers with new babies, the sick, the injured—knows they can count on having something to eat.
Mrs. Fidgets makes delicious corn muffins and seed cakes, and, in the spring, mixed petal stew. Occasionally she tries new things, like bird egg scramble, but mostly she relies on the old “stand-bys,” like her famous peanut butter pie, which is a neighborhood favorite. She doesn’t often try a new recipe because she worries it won’t be well liked, and food is too limited to waste. But as far as I am concerned, Mrs. Fidgets can always be counted on to make something wonderful out of whatever anyone brings to her.
“’Continued on Leaf 2: Cake. See also, Lipton Coupon.’” Nutmeg read aloud.
“Uh-oh! Where’s the rest?”
But Hazel, having already realized that there were Leaves missing, was digging deeply into the hollow, searching for that next part. She was reaching so deeply that she nearly fell in twice, her tail madly waving from side to side as she frantically attempted to maintain her balance. At last she emerged triumphant. “Here it is!” she exclaimed, a chunk of cake-mix box in hand, a dirt smudge on her nose and a maple seed wing stuck crookedly in the fur at the top of her head, like a misplaced bow. Nutmeg took one look at her disheveled sister and choked back a laugh, then cleared her throat for cover. She took the Leaf and read:
Mr. Chase is a special friend of Mrs. Fidgets. Mr. Chase is also known to be a little forgetful, and although he never forgets a date at the Dinner Branch with Mrs. Fidgets, he has always had trouble remembering the location of his own buried food stores. This was an especially big problem for Mr. Chase in his younger days, when he liked to roam far and wide, burying his nuts in every corner of the city. But Mr. Chase also realized that many other squirrels struggled with this kind of forgetfulness, too. So he attempted to solve the problem for all with his plan to create a squirrel mapping system. On the trunk of the largest oak tree in the town park he carved a diagram in which he systematically divided the city into squirrel sectors, each identified by a landmark tree. There was the Poplar Arms sector, marked by a giant tulip poplar tree with branches that curved outward and slightly back in, as if it was preparing to give a hug. Next to that was the Maple Lodge, which featured a maple with a hollowed out trunk that for years had been home to many squirrel families. And there were the Sprawling Oaks,
But, poor Mr. Chase! After working so hard to create the grid and establish the sectors, he had been unable to devise a way to further pinpoint and identify nut locations within each subdivision. He had thought small sticks and pebbles on the ground could serve as pointers, but unfortunately they were too easily disturbed and often disappeared altogether. And so he eventually had to abandon the plan.
“It was a good idea—on tree-bark anyway. Oh, here’s the Coupon.” Hazel handed her sister the small addendum, and Nutmeg continued reading:
I think that sometimes it takes a failure to make a success. Take Mr. Chase’s mapping system for example; the sector names didn’t work out as a Nut Location System but they turned out to be very important reference points for all of us anyway and we use them all of the time. All we have to do is name a sector to quickly describe where something is happening: “Squirrel Games at Cherry Bridge
“It would be hard to get by without our sector names, wouldn’t it?”
“They’re handy.” Hazel agreed. “Wait. Isn’t there something on the back of that one?” Hazel pointed to the Coupon, which Nutmeg had just tossed onto the nearest pile along with the first Cake box leaf, so they wouldn’t become separated again. Nutmeg retrieved it and flipped it over. “Hazel, you will never be accused of wasting space or being at a loss for words.” She read:
These days Mr. Chase no longer travels as far nor as wide nor as often as he used to. He seems content to spend his days mostly in the company of Mrs. Fidgets, who at this time in her life never goes anywhere at all.
“I think they’re in LOVE.” Nutmeg added, stretching out the single syllable of the last word so that it nearly became two, for emphasis.
“Have you found your Leaves about any of the others in the neighborhood yet? We should make sure to pile those all together,” Nutmeg advised. She was beginning to see possible strategies for this organization thing.
“Here. What’s on this one?” With her head still submerged in the darkened hollow Hazel couldn’t see exactly which one she had found, but not wanting to stop searching she just reached over her shoulder and handed over a ripped portion of a Barbie doll box that still had a couple of twist-ties stuck to it, as well as layers of sticky clear tape barely holding down tangles of thin, white, dangling strings, all of which Hazel had had to strategically write around. “Oh this is a good one.” Nutmeg read the Leaf:
Among the younger squirrels in the neighborhood, Shimmy and Digs probably find the most
adventure. Or maybe it is the adventure that finds them! Although older than Nutmeg and me,
they get themselves into and out of the most amazing jams.
Dreamer and Diver are just a little older than Shimmy and Digs, and although opposite personalities in many ways, they are the best of friends and frequent diners at Mrs. Fidgets’ Dinner Branch. Diver is a traveler, like Mr. Chase had been. He is restless, an explorer at heart. Dreamer is an artist. He is always on the look-out for things he can use for his creations—the odd-shaped nut, an intricately twisted twig, and Boxel throw-a-ways too, like a bit of ribbon, a piece of glass, or a bottle cap. He says he likes nature’s offerings best, but of the Boxel-made stuff, he especially loves the shiny things. I think his creations are wonderfully inventive, and for most anyone who sees them they are sure to spark new ways of thinking about the world.
“Yeah,” Hazel answered quietly. She had just pulled her head out of the hollow, “I wrote
that before…you know…before everything happened.”
At that moment a small corner of the Barbie box separated from the rest, fluttering down onto the branch. Nutmeg picked it up. “Oh! Here’s one of Mrs. Such’s favorite Dinner Branch sayings.” She read:
“A squirrel could not but be gay, In such a cheerful company.”
“That’s part of a longer poem, isn’t it?” asked Nutmeg.
“Yeah, about finding yourself in a field of daffodils, all gloriously blooming.”
“Mrs. Such has thought about things I wouldn’t even think about thinking about! She’s an extraordinary Squirrel, isn’t she.” It was a statement, not a question.
“She sure is. And yet, somehow she makes all of us feel like we are the extraordinary ones,” Hazel added as she sat down on the branch. “I think it’s awesome how much she knows…how much she remembers…all the tales she can tell….”
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