NATURE'S CHILDREN: Stop and Look

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Each morning at first light two baby squirrels appear on the trunk of the hickory tree.

After spending a long cold night snuggling with Mama in their nest cavity, they're ready for the day to begin. They scamper down the tree like kids out of school. When they reach the lowest branch, they run out and tumble together, a grey knot of skinny legs and furry tails. I can't hear them through the sliding glass door, but I imagine they chitter and chatter with squirrelly joy. One breaks away and makes a mad dash for the tree trunk. The other follows and soon there is a merry chase. Up and down, round and round they go, skittering and careening dangerously, 30 feet above the ground.

Every morning, coffee in hand, I watch as the little squirrels play. And every morning they become more daring and more sure of themselves. They hang upside-down from branches. They jump from the trunk and dangle from twigs that look too insubstantial to hold their weight. They teeter; they slip; they almost fall, but they hang on. And they get better. Within a week they are venturing all the way down the trunk of the tree. After a few more days, they're out on the fence learning to navigate the pickets. As I watch, one little fellow disappears into the Russian olive. Emboldened by his sibling's courage, the other jumps headlong into the huge shrub. I see the leaves move as they scamper around deep inside the labyrinth of green. Then one morning the bravest of the two ventures out on the open lawn, nose down, tail up, looking for breakfast. Suddenly he stops and sits up, a small version of his mama, tail folded over his little back, paws crossed over his heart. He scans the sky, nose a-twitch. There may be hawks. Somehow he knows. He abandons his explorations and hops to safety in the hickory tree.

Where's mama in all this? Sometimes she's nearby scratching around under the next door neighbor's fence, or up the oak tree looking for acorns. Sometimes she's gathering leaves in preparation for another frigid night. She's paying no attention to her little ones, letting them learn to be squirrels on their own as they play and explore. No helicoptor parenting here!

But squirrel mothers do pay attention, and they do teach their youngsters important lessons. I remember many years ago watching a mother squirrel on my neighbor's tree. She was nose to nose with a young one. Suddenly she took off up the tree. Her baby followed. Mother stopped briefly at the end of a limb, then launched herself through the air to land on a nearby tree. Again she paused and looked back at the little one hesitating at the gap. Finally the young squirrel jumped. Success, but no "Atta boy!" from Mom. She took off, repeating the process as she navigated the squirrel highway through the tree tops. When she had shown the way, she raced away leaving her baby to find his way back alone.

Why am I blogging about squirrels? I guess it's to say something about parenting, about letting children play, even when it's dangerous. About the importance of showing (not telling) kids how to navigate the tricky bits of life. But it's also about ignoring that voice that echoes in our grown-up heads, the one that tells us to go, to do, to accomplish. And it's about the wonderful world outside our window, the one that's there if we simply stop and look.

Betsy Saunders,

January 16, 2025