Those doggone squirrels 🐿️

Like them or don’t like them, you have to agree they’re more often than not a nuisance. My dad hated them. He took it as a personal affront when they so much as crossed the yard. He’d see them from the window in the den, cross over to the patio door window and pound on the glass, yelling “Those doggone squirrels!” 

Of course, the doggone squirrels paid him no mind and went on doing whatever squirrels do. Dig holes. Chase each other. Climb bird feeders. Hang upside down to get every bit of seed.

In our own yard, I’ve witnessed their gymnastics climbing bird feeders that resemble armored cars, supposedly sealed so only a bird could possibly get into the seeds. Duct tape, slippery poles, slanted roofs. The squirrels just scoff.

Especially insulting is when I’ve pounded on the window, not yelling as my dad did, but just to get their attention and scare them (yeah, right). Well, I do get their attention and I know this from the way they at least momentarily stop eating, if that’s what they’re doing, and look at me. Whereupon they resume their greedy munching. Of our bird seed.

But the latest last straw was when they chewed through and devoured every last bit, from the outer skin to the flesh, of not one, not two, but three of the large pumpkins we bought to create what was to be a picturesque autumn scene in our garden and on the front entry steps.

The first ones to go were the small ones which they simply knocked off the bench and devoured. They then ate their way through the thick shell of the larger ones, sticking their entire heads inside and feasting on every last bit of the innards. I had to laugh at the sight of a squirrel with its head completely inside the pumpkin, the only visible thing being its furry tail sticking out. I resisted the urge to pound on the window.

In doing a bit of research 🧐 (using the term loosely), I discovered that squirrels actually have some pretty amazing instincts coupled with logic and memory. When they’re not pilfering our bird seed, they forage for nuts and acorns in a systematic fashion, knowing when certain trees produce and which are the early ones for collecting winter food. I thought they just busied themselves digging holes in our yard to bury their nuts for later feasts, but it turns out they have all kinds of hiding places inside tree hollows. 

They have a keen sense of smell and rely on memory (imagine that) to find all their hiding places when winter hunger pangs hit. My research, ala Google, also informs me squirrels are great at thievery with their belief that it makes no sense to deplete your own stash when you can steal from another’s. And they’re particularly cagey as they often fake hiding a nut while keeping it in its mouth, thus “fooling” any of their own watching and plotting their own thievery.

Some people, I further learned, love these little critters and treat them almost as pets, feeding them, naming them, etc. Even talking to them.

Well, not me. 

I don’t mean to offend any squirrel lovers out there, and I don’t mean squirrels any harm, but I still think of them as those doggone squirrels!

Thank you for reading my sometimes ridiculous thoughts.

It’s the berries

Two weekends ago we took the most beautiful and picturesque fall drive, five and a half hours northeast from Staples, Minnesota to Eagle River, Wisconsin. 

Tree-lined highways, rich with golden poplar and brilliant red maples were breathtaking. Mile after mile, nature’s colors were a picture show. We agreed it was one of the best autumn drives either of us had ever experienced. Our destination was Eagle River’s annual cranberry festival—its 45th—an event that had long been on my bucket list.

It was everything cranberry and more, from recently harvested fresh cranberries and craisins sold in bulk, cranberry pastries of every variety, butter-rich cranberry brittle, cranberry beer and cranberry wine, jellies and preserves. We enjoyed the tasting tents, and yes, free samples led to sales. Vendors and their tents were packed into the Vilas County fairgrounds selling their homemade goods, clothing, paintings and other arts and crafts. Read crowded.

Eagle River’s downtown area with several streets blocked off was another whole craft fair experience, one we found more manageable. It was here that I bought 25 pounds (you read that right) of fresh cranberries and five pounds of infused craisins, some with raspberry, pomegranate, orange and even watermelon. I use craisins in my homemade granola and love using the different flavors.

The real highlight of our trip was visiting and touring Lake Nokomis Cranberry Farm, seeing the marshes and learning about growing and harvesting the berries. The farm is a third generation family farm and has more than 320 acres of beautiful, rich fields of these luscious berries. It’s a fun place to visit, again with samples, free tours, entertainment, food and a gift shop (aah, yes). 

Did you know that each cranberry contains four “air pockets”—which is why they float when farmers flood the bogs to harvest them. The air pockets also make raw cranberries bounce when they are dropped on a hard surface—a good indicator of whether they are fresh. 

 So many new things to discover and learn about in the autumn 🍂 of our years. Nature never disappoints.

Thanks for reading my cranberry musings today.

             CRANBERRY HONEY BUTTER       🐝 

1 cup softened butter 

1/3 cup finely chopped dried cranberries 

1/4 cup honey

2 teaspoons grated orange zest

1/8 teaspoon kosher salt

In a small bowl, beat all ingredients together until well blended.

Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator 

for up to two weeks or freeze for up to three months.

My new life

 Well, actually it’s just the same me. But different circumstances in my life make it feel new.

So, this happened…

It was a perfect day and a lovely way to formally celebrate our commitment to each other. After some years of widowhood for both of us, we met a year ago and as our relationship grew so naturally and easily, we found life is much better together than alone. And this next step seemed just right. 

We consider ourselves very fortunate to have had loving spouses and many faithful years with them before their passing. We acknowledged both George and Joyce in our ceremony and we keep them alive in our hearts by readily sharing stories and memories with each other.

Living 150 miles apart, we had been informally sharing residences, going between my Chisago City condo and David’s country home in Staples. We have gotten to know and love each other’s families, spending time with each—summer vacation get-togethers, dance recitals, holidays with both families and even a rock concert, compliments of the bass guitarist, my 17-year old granddaughter. Both sharing our Lutheran faith, we have enjoyed worshipping and joining in our respective churches. 

The support and encouragement we have received by all our family members and our friends has been amazing. We have both been made to feel welcome in our circles of love and friendship.

So the next step in this new life: I have moved—not withstanding the boxes in every room waiting to be unpacked—into my new Staples home. Though I have previously stayed here and have brought some belongings, this feels much different. It’s real, it’s permanent, and it’s HOME.

I am ready. I am grateful. I thank God, the master matchmaker. And I am very happy. 🥰

Thank you, as always, for reading my random thoughts and believing I have something to say.

On being late

I know someone who is always late for everything. Meetings, church, work, social events, birthdays, you name it. She’s likely to be late for her own funeral.

This tends to frustrate others especially if they're waiting for her. Car running, keys in hand, all they can do is sigh and wait. This strikes me as being, well, thoughtless and yes, irresponsible.

Yep, it is me. Guilty. 

But I come by it naturally. Growing up, we were always the last family to file in to church, the last ones to arrive for any event, and even the last to eat dinner while our neighborhood friends were playing outside and waiting for us. At school we were often marked “tardy.” Seems I have just kept repeating this behavior.

Most of my own lateness—and I do own it—comes from being distracted. My intentions are good, but there are so many things that divert my attention from being fully prepared to be on time, and I grossly underestimate how long a task will take to complete. 

Scientists call this the planning fallacy and have found that people like me underestimate by a significant 40 percent how long a task will take to complete. And, according to The Wall Street Journal, it’s estimated that the U.S. loses a whopping $90 billion each year as a result of people running late.

Being embarrassed by walking in late to a gathering or upsetting someone’s schedule by being late to an appointment would seem to be a disincentive to repeating this behavior, but I am late despite the consequences. 

I’ve heard it suggested that chronically late people subconsciously like the attention they get from being late. They’re noticed. Another suggestion is that it’s a control thing, like “I’ll decide when I want to show up.” 

As for me, besides being part of a long-practiced habit, it just comes down to poor planning.

So there you have it: New Year’s resolution #1. 

But now I have to run. I’m late.  ⏰ 

                   Thank you for reading my random thoughts. 💭