Heading outside on a beautiful Autumn morning to gather my thoughts and develop a work strategy for the day, I encountered a squirrel in the yard.
I had a list in hand.
The squirrel had a walnut.
At first glance, I appeared to be the better organized of the two. My intentions were written down in a reasonably orderly fashion, with little boxes waiting to be checked.
The squirrel had no notebook, no calendar, and nowhere obvious to keep a pencil.
Nevertheless, he was making considerably more progress it seemed.
I watched him cross the grass with his walnut, stop beside a tree, and look around.
Then he changed direction.
I understood that part. I had done much the same thing already three times that morning, although my changes of direction had mostly involved deciding which unfinished task to begin.
He headed toward a patch of bare ground, paused, looked down, looked up, and reconsidered.
Autumn does this to me, as well. I begin thinking about everything I would need to finish before the days grow shorter, then remember everything I meant to finish while they were longer.
There are stories to write. Writing pieces in process to edit. Pictures, images, and illustrations to prepare. Things to put away. Things to find before they can be put away.
And somewhere, probably beneath something I intend to put away, there is an earlier abandoned, unfinished list to be rediscovered. If there is one thing I seem to excel at it, it is making lists. Completing them is a subject for another day. But if you are in need of making a list, then I’m your guy.
Outside, meanwhile, the squirrel had begun digging.
At least one of us had moved beyond the planning stage.
I will admit that I admire a creature who can approach a patch of dirt with such conviction. I can spend ten minutes choosing a document filename.
He tucked his walnut into the little hollow he had clawed out, worked the earth back over it, and gave the spot a few finishing touches.
I wondered whether I ought to make a note of the location for him.
He did not seem concerned about it.
Perhaps he had a system. Perhaps the tree, the fence, and the nearby flowerpot supplied all the information and reference points he needed.
As it turns out, squirrels have rather more going on than their hurried little errands suggest. Researchers from the University of California, Berkeley report that fox squirrels may stockpile between 3,000 and 10,000 nuts in a year. A squirrel’s spatial memory expands in the fall. During autumn peak caching season, the hippocampus — the part of the brain responsible for spatial memory and navigation — physically grows in volume. This seasonal neural growth helps them create precise mental maps to remember the thousands of hidden nut caches they bury for the winter. In addition, research suggests they can even organize their hiding places by the kind of nut.
Thousands of nuts, scattered hiding places, and no notebook. No visible list.
I occasionally enter a room and cannot remember what brought me there.
My system involves writing the stored location of something on a list, in a place where I am certain to find it, then remembering every detail except where the list is that told me where that certain place was to begin with.
Finishing his work, the squirrel bounded away.
I looked down at my list.
Nothing had been checked off during this consultation.
I considered adding “Observe Squirrel” so the morning would have something to show for itself, but that seemed to be a somewhat against the spirit of the thing. But then again, I actually had paid attention to something beyond the next deadline. That seemed reasonable enough to count for something I figured.
A breeze stirred the leaves. The squirrel reappeared near the tree, empty-mouthed this time, and stood for a moment with his tail curved over his back. He seemed to be looking back and forth in my direction.
I could not tell whether he was surveying his work or wondering why the fellow watching him had still not accomplished anything.
Either possibility seemed fair.
“Working on it,” I told him.
He went back around the tree.
I took that as encouragement, to have left me unsupervised as he had.
There is nothing wrong with a list. Mine keeps important things from wandering entirely out of reach. It also provides the pleasant little satisfaction of drawing a line through something when finished. I love crossing off the little boxes. That simple little act counts for a lot in my world.
But I have found over the years that a list can seem to take on a life of its own at times, grow ambitious, and downright ravenous in its consumption of hours. Given half a chance, it will claim the whole afternoon. Then the evening. Then tomorrow, which already has obligations of its own.
Meanwhile, Autumn is happening outside.
A leaf turns. A shadow stretches across the grass. A squirrel carries something nearly as large as his head with more confidence than I bring to certain household decisions.
I would hate to reach the end of the Autumn season with all my notes in order and little boxes crossed off but with very little recollection of having enjoyed it.
So I watched the squirrel a little longer.
Then I chose one thing from the list and got back to work.
One thing seemed a reasonable beginning. The squirrel had carried only the one walnut I had observed, so felt I had a reasonable chance of tying the score. for the morning.
By late afternoon, I had finished one task, made progress on another, and added three more. That is quite how it goes sometimes with lists, isn’t it?
The squirrel’s bookkeeping remained unavailable for inspection, but I suspect he had a good day and scratched off a goodly number of things from his list. Kept mentally, as it is. Conserving paper, if nothing else.
My morning was made better for having taken the time to watch him, I decided.
Something New for Saturdays
Beginning this Saturday, we are making room on The Front Porch for “Tales” of various sorts. Short stories and little vignettes featuring critters, exotic wildlife, colorful characters, and the curious situations they get themselves into — a little humor, a little heart, and pleasant company for your Saturday morning.
First up is Wilder Tales — “A Giraffe in a Hurry.” Come settle in with us on Saturday. Apparently, the squirrel is not the only neighbor with somewhere to be.
Till next time then —
Jim (and Red!)
A Little Red Bear P.S.
I offered to help Jim with his list. He asked whether I could take care of a few things.
I took care of the afternoon snack.
He should be more specific.
— Red 🐾
Images have been created for this piece with the assistance of AI . . . lovingly prepared and styled for Honey Hill Country and the world of Little Red Bear.
