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Tag Archives: squirrels


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abundance. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

for reasons we will not elaborate on, we are writing these blogs ahead. and, in true fashion of the times we are living in, there are zillions of things that have happened or are happening between now – as i write this – and now – as you read this. in the chaos in which we now exist, it is impossible to stay afloat of all of it…

because we care about the littlest creatures around us, we have several surfaces we line with birdseed, in addition to our birdfeeder. barney, the upright piano in our backyard, is one of them. another is our potting stand, these pieces of barnwood that stretch beyond our deck, sitting on metal piping, waiting for planting season when it will sport our basil and jalapeño, dill and chives, rosemary and cherry tomatoes.

our birdies love dining on these flat surfaces and gather together on the piano or the stand or off to the side, waiting their turn. the squirrels are zealous about these flat surfaces, as the birdfeeder gives them a tiny run for their money, a small challenge that is, however, most definitely not insurmountable. either way, they fill up to run off and provide food to the others.

we try to keep these surfaces with food, replenishing them to help these little creatures, particularly through the winter. we want them to feel abundance, not lack.

because helping others – people or creatures – to feel abundance seems like goodness, kindness, the right thing. and, in a world where we all unintentionally do things that are right and things that are wrong, it is a good thing to intentionally do some right things.

last week the administration of this country declared in unconscionable screeds that he was going to obliterate an entire civilization. that he was going to make them live in hell. there were moments – after that particular weekend of his screed – that i could not breathe.

in a really stunning opening to his show the night that the administration decided on a two week reprieve before reconsidering his big obliteration, lawrence o’donnell called it what it really was – an obliteration of OUR nation – THIS place – every ideal for which we have EVER stood. i could not agree more.

we sometimes intentionally do things that are wrong – start an argument, go over the speed limit, fail to put recycling in the correct bin. we sometimes unintentionally do things that are wrong – step on someone’s foot, push the grocery cart into the back of someone’s ankle, cuss in the wrong situation, cough suddenly without covering our mouth. most of these things are presumably forgivable, solved by apologies or decisions not to do it again. sometimes there are wrongs that are bigger, that require grace, true humility, olive leaf amends.

we sometimes intentionally do things that are right – give a bigger tip than recommended, donate money or food or other staples to a person, an organization, a pantry, help our neighbors, friends, family without being asked, pick up trash on the trail, listen when someone needs a listener. sometimes there are rights that are bigger, that are stunningly altruistic, that set examples.

we wish those around us to feel that we are generous in those things – the right things – that we hold abundant love and care for those around us.

we watched the rescued hearts film. it is an incredibly moving piece about the heart that horses hold in space with humans. with abundant love, these big, beautiful creatures reach across any boundary of language to extend love – in heart-opening abundance. these horses are catalysts for healing. it is not a film about control – it is a film about connection. it is a film about transformation. it is a film about sheer potentiality of what we – with all of nature – can provide each other.

this film is the antithesis of the threat of obliteration. it is not about lack. it is the epitome of abundance.

the rescued hearts film and this squirrel on our potting stand also make me catch my breath. because goodness is all around us.

and how anyone could not choose goodness over the worst cruelty is beyond me.

to hell with THAT.

*****

YOU MAKE A DIFFERENCE © 2002 kerri sherwood

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a tulip in the yard. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we don’t officially compost. but the side of the garage (it used to be the back, but there is a fence there now) is a place of great organic matter. decaying leaves, wilted lettuce and spinach, bits of broccoli or parsley for the possum, shriveling blueberries for the chipmunks.

i walked past and it caught my attention.

a volunteer tulip.

years ago i planted a couple hundred tulip and daffodil bulbs. the squirrels – who are intrepid at our house – dug them all up. every last one of them. i had zero tulips, zero daffodils. i haven’t tried again because the squirrels would giggle and smirk, just waiting for me to bring my tired joints back into the house after planting. then they would make short order of digging or, in a slight (tormenting) nod to letting me think i might actually have bulbed flowers one day, planning to unearth them at a later date.

needless to say, we don’t have tulips or daffodils in our yard.

but here was this beautiful tulip! in all its glory, growing out of the mound next to the garage.

i’m thinking some squirrel – with eyes bigger than its belly – had one too many bulbs. it laid it down or dropped it. maybe it was on purpose. maybe it is a thank-you for all the birdseed it had been scrounging out of our birdfeeder. maybe a thank-you for all the goodies at the side of the garage through the years. maybe gratitude for the squirrel highways above our house or a gesture for the acorn holes scattered throughout our grass. or maybe it just simply forgot about it. either way, we will work around this beauty.

happy that it’s there, i’m a little bit gleeful that i finally – at long last – have a tulip in the yard.

*****

DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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three fat and furry squirrels. [merely-a-thought monday]

there were three of them. up and down. up and down. up and down. it went on and on and on. over and over and over. and i watched.

three fat and furry squirrels working together.

one squirrel ran down the hulking street in the backyard, tail flying behind it. it scampered into the bushes, out of view for a couple moments. then it emerged back on the tree, on its way up. first-squirrel encountered a second squirrel on its way down. they met on the tree, sniffed noses, twitched tails and parted. first-squirrel ran up, its mouth full of leaves. second-squirrel ran down to the ground, while at the notch in the tree, way above, third-squirrel began its run down. each one ran up to the big-branches-notch with decaying leaves and underbrush and then ran back down again. up and down. up and down. on and on. over and over.

it was mesmerizing.

i stood at the sink and marveled at their work ethic. after a bit, i moved away from the window. but from time to time i would go back to check and, sure enough, they were still at it. a long day of tree-climbing and nest-stoking. from what i could tell, there was nary a grumpy moment, nary a nasty action, nary an agenda but for nest-stoking…together.

the squirrels worked hard – all day and in community with each other and i can only assume they wore little buttons that read “be kind”. one could get kind of crabby running up and down a tree all day. and squirrels are known for being somewhat territorial. i’m guessing that they were working to shelter from the extreme cold, doing what they had to do to get through it – together – to stay well, safe, alive.

we drove past the neighborhood elementary school and the sign out front read “choose kindness”. i looked at david and said, “let’s use that! you can’t beat THAT drum too often.” we went back to take a photograph.

national random-acts-of-kindness-day is february 17. a specific day marked and set aside to perform – yes – random acts of kindness.

hmmm. in a world fighting a pandemic, a country politically divided, communities marked by despair and illness and economic instability, families facing loss and grieving time spent together, i’m thinking that this scurry of squirrels would encourage us to celebrate this every day.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

click here to purchase smart-squirrel “be kind” buttons

and in other news, i am craving entenmann’s crumb cake. i haven’t had this in yearsss, but right now this ny staple has risen to the top of my consciousness and won’t let go. it must be random-bits-of-inessential-information day.


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a festival of branches. [k.s. friday]

long island’s ice storm of ’76 was a doozy. crunch was over, hanging out at our house when it started. though we encouraged him to stay, his big green four-wheel-drive truck made it to his home through what was heavy slush at the time. in the middle of a snowglobe world, magically coated in sparkle, he was back the next day and we wandered the neighborhood, taking photographs of everything encased in ice. it was stunning. the graceful mimosa tree, tall stately oaks, forsythia bushes, azalea, rhododendron, rose of sharon…all wrapped in crystal, the sun’s glare making sunglasses an absolute.

i can’t remember an ice storm like that here, at least not in the last three decades since i’ve lived here. wisconsin is more of a sub-zero-temps/snowfall state than an ice-storm state. but there was a pretty devastating winter storm in 2020 when everything along the lakefront was frozen, trees bending to the pressure of wind and water.

in predictions for this next week or so, accuweather uses terms like “limited outdoor activity recommended” and there is the emotionally wrought overuse of the word “bitterly” used next to the word “cold”. negative windchills are prevalent and even miracle mittens aren’t enough.

so when you look outside and see blue skies only interrupted by the artful limbs of trees, you are fooled. it may appear to be the perfect day for a walk, but warnings not to be outside – “hypothermia likely without protective clothing” – are pause for thought.

we haven’t walked on the lakefront path past the marina lately. when the water starts churning from north and northeast winds, the lake pounds the shore. ice forms along the coastline – sometimes in those circles called ice pans or ice discs – and the metal railings jutting out over the lake along the walk have collections of giant icicles. we’re not sure what’s there right now.

in this neighborhood of big old trees and above-ground power lines we hope ice storms continue to be a rarity. each time a huge beautiful limb is down or a tree succumbs i feel a sense of sadness. though i believe the soul of a tree is somehow left behind and surrounds us with the wisdom of the ages, i wonder how the squirrels will move about. for here, in our ‘hood, there is a festival of complex travel high above the ground, branching every direction. savvy squirrels scamper from tree to tree to high wires to tree – squirrel highways.

out the window next to me, even now, i catch the shadow of a squirrel running south down the line parallel to the driveway. it makes me smile every time.

*****

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