At lunch today, my boss was saying how he was surprised to drive by a rich red bog not so long ago on his way to the Cape, when he thought all the little cranberries had been taken in for the winter. “Must be a bumper cranberry season,” he said.
Which somehow led my co-worker turning to me and saying, “Oh, that reminds me. I heard a sad harvest story on NPR and thought of you.”
How my person calls to mind sad harvest stories, I’m not sure, but we indulged her.
“The squirrels are in trouble,” she said. “Apparently, there’s a serious acorn shortage this year. Oak trees experience bad cycles, but this one is particularly bad.”
This has me feeling sad indeed. I don’t have any special affection for squirrels, but the thought of them scurrying around the Common seeking and not finding flavorless little nuts makes me want to hunt and gather on their behalf, maybe host an acorn bake sale. But then I’d risk becoming the crazy squirrel lady, so forget it. Sorry, squirrels: it’s every rodent for himself.