The title of this post is a take off on a book I enjoyed called The Work of Wolves by Kent Meyers of Spearfish, SD. (Thanks for the tip Tim)
When I got back to camp after my excursion up to the Apostle Islands, having donned a pair of dry jammy bottoms and my fleece lined crocs, I sat out in my camp chair having a cigar. It was still raining lightly but not enough to penetrate the canopy. But only if you don’t count the occasional leaf giving up a large drop that would plop on my head or knee. I thought about a shower, which I generally do for about a day before actually taking one. I brush my teeth every few days whether they need it or not. Wait. What? Oh c’mon people, I’m kidding. Anyway, the shower got further and further away as I became entertained by the fall busyness of a red squirrel gathering food. It all was happening right in front of and above me like I had a front row seat.
He would scamper up the tree, go way out on the branch ends with the leaf clusters, cling precariously to the branch as it bobbed and drooped under his weight, and pluck his prize. Then, with it secure in his rabid little mouth, he would scurry down the tree and off into the woods somewhere behind me. This process would repeat itself over and over, although occasionally he would make his way to more secure footing, chew and clean the little gem as if to assess it’s value, and then do the scurry part. Squirrels are very good at scurrying and scampering. He would take a different route each time back to his storage unit seemingly to keep me confused and prevent me from discovering and raiding his stash of stores.
This repetition was interrupted by one hair raising (if you’re a squirrel) attempt at thievery. Along the way in his work he had knocked five or six of his targets to the ground. They fell next to my truck in the little access drive to my campsite so they were easy to spot by pirates. Eventually another squirrel came sneaking down from the road with his eye on the easy pickins. The squirrel that had been doing all the work came tearing (squirrels also tear) down the tree, making a racket that belied such a little body. He chased the raider off, disappearing into the woods nose to tail. When he returned he had obviously decided it was too risky to leave them in the open and, one by one, carried them off to safe storage.
Eventually, cigar smoked, the rain chased me into my camper. Crawling into my sleeping bag for some reading felt exceptionally good after a long damp day.
As I’m finally finishing this post it’s Saturday morning and the rain is thundering on the roof of my camper. I was going to move on today into Ontario but decided to stay put one more day with the forecast giving me a better chance to pack up dry tomorrow morning.
I am well and hope you all are too.