Panicked, they raced from the front yard to the backyard throughout the day. Jumping from limb to limb in the oaks, sometimes scurrying across the roof, then down through the coral bark maple, they made the whole yard their workspace. The squirrels were making their final search for acorns and seeds, storing and hoarding them high in their nests, before the earth went into its winter freeze. They will persist and be seen scavenging throughout the next few moths, when it’s easier to spot them without the benefit of camouflaging foliage. But these are their busiest days, when things are simpler to find without a foot of snow obscuring their location.
Only once did one manage to find its way into our attic one cruel winter, and it was quite the scene to eradicate, or so I was told. No way was I going to battle with a squirrel up close and personal. I can appreciate them from a distance, where they look fun and slightly cuddly, a puff of gray fur slightly skittish and slightly playful. I can admire their resilience and persistence in the face of the coldest winds. But there is no way they are invited in. Sorry, squirrels. Your madness must remain outside. You deserve to be wild and free.
