Blog Post 4

In this unusually warm February week, I found myself sitting outside Googling “How much do squirrels weigh?” on my laptop. I typically try to spend time alone outside, with no technology. I would prefer to live in the moment and write later, after I’ve had some time. The squirrel in my backyard made this impossible for me.

I’ve noticed an increase in animals running through my yard with the temperature rising. They run along the side, as if looking for the garden that has not yet been planted for the year. Squirrels race along the top of the wooden fence, climbing up and down trees along the way. Their balance amazes me. The way they can speed across a surface that is only an inch, maybe an inch and a half, wide.

City squirrels tend to look heavier set than the ones you may see in less populated areas. They don’t just rely on nature for meals around here. I’ve seen them leaping out of garbage cans, grabbing French fries from the sidewalk, stealing berries from my garden, hanging from bird feeders. There seems to be endless options for them here, however good they are for their health.

This particular squirrel looked medium sized. He wasn’t as fit as he probably should be, but definitely hadn’t caught on to the other’s bad habit of eating humans’ left over fast food. His speed wasn’t what caught my interest. He was balancing on a branch on my tree. My tree, with its thin, bare branches. The tree that grew from just a stump. The same tree that made me question how it was able to bear leaves in the spring. I couldn’t believe that it could hold anything, let alone this semi-chubby squirrel.

I searched online as I watched him perched on a small branch, surveying his surroundings. The Eastern Gray Squirrel will weigh anywhere from 0.88 to 1.3 pounds as an adult. Even with their speed and size, I can’t imagine holding one and feeling practically no weight. I’m guessing my squirrel weighs a little more than the average amount. He can’t weigh that much more though.

Once more, I took to the internet and searched “What objects weigh 1 pound?” A can of beans, 4 sticks of butter, a single baseball, a football, 3 medium-sized bananas, half a rack of ribs, 8 Krispy Kreme glazed donuts. The list was never ending. I tried to imagine holding the squirrel in one hand and a box of Krispy Kreme donuts in the other. Both were supposed to be similar weight.

I no longer know what I am amazed by. The tree that I couldn’t believe was capable of holding up to the weight of its own leaves is actually capable of holding the weight of a living being. This grown squirrel with its rounded stomach and bushy tail weighs about the same as the box of butter I bought to bake cookies this weekend. Even more, I could hang that box of butter from a branch on my tree and it wouldn’t break.

Blog Post 3

Memory is a funny thing. I can remember what I paid in rent every month for my last four apartments. I still remember every turn of courses from high school cross-country races. I can picture the look my dog gives me every time I accidentally use the word “walk” in my daily conversations around her. I wonder how my mind decides what to remember and what to forget.

I can’t picture the tree in my backyard with leaves on it in the summer. I know they were there. I specifically remember them almost lighting on fire with the tiki torch we had lit underneath it on the Fourth of July. I don’t remember what they looked like though.

I spent a lot of time looking up leaf shapes online. Were they cordate or elliptic? Oblong, ovate, lanceolate? They all blended together in my mind. Reading the technical terms while staring at the different shapes didn’t do anything for me. If I could remember, it might be easier to figure out what kind of tree it is. With it’s bare branches, different than its original trunk, it is difficult to tell.

It is especially difficult to picture these branches, thin and fragile, holding any other form of life on them. They look as if they would sink towards the ground with even the lightest of leaves growing from them. I remember a full tree in its place, but it isn’t clear to me. It’s like a blurry green cloud rising above my fence.

What I do know is that the tree was full enough that I never noticed how the branches were forming from the old cut down trunk. When it was green, it blended in with every other tree. It was as if no one ever caused any damage to it.