Patterned Life

April 4, 2010

Shoots of green grass tentatively poke their young heads through the pine needle strewn floor. The lilac buds have burst on the sunny side of the bush, showing fragile young leaves where there were once only small green nubs. The smell of a neighbor’s Easter ham is wafts by, carried by the incoming breeze, mingling with the fresh scent of pine trees, refreshed and rejuvenated by the seventy-degree weather of the preceding days. There is the distant beat of drums mixed with the rustling of old leaves in the wind. My squirrel friend is eying me yet again. We stare for at least five minutes, my inquisitive gaze meeting the cautiously terrified stare of the poor creature. All the while my partner in watching is voicing its nervousness with a creaky cry, and I wonder what exactly it is saying and who it is talking to. I am the first to look away, but I find something equally intriguing: holes, bored into the pine trees, dripping fresh sap. Were they chewed or drilled? Did a bug or a bird or a squirrel do this? The holes exist only on the trees with few understory branches, with evidence of boring from previous seasons. Fascinating… but I’m not sure how to answer my questions yet. The pattern of vocalizations from my squirrel is what I find myself drawn back to again, and I wonder, could I talk back? I give it a try and am met with a curious and confused glare from around the back of the tree that my squirrel has retreated to. I think that this squirrels series of cries and mumblings are my favorite pattern in this spot. Although the cries do not come in a pattern, there is a distinct similarity between varies vocalizations. This squirrel’s voice seems to convey emotions, fears, upcoming events, and I find it interesting how squirrels from far separated trees are responding. I know that she (I’ve decided this squirrel is a girl), must be warning her friends and family, and I can’t help but think of the evolution of one cry into a more complex one. Imagine starting with one call and moving on to new, more intricate ones. I wonder if her vocabulary is as diverse as my own. I leave, and look back to see her watching me go. Maybe she’ll be a little kinder upon my return. Or maybe she'll have a new call to signal that "it's just that human who sits and watches us."