Thank you, Ramona. It is almost always my instinct to protect them, though my years as a farmer also taught me some things about learning to let them go. Thanks for joining the conversation!
Tam, yesss! I have the same reaction. I grabbed two or three other shots during those moments when mama met up with her little one, but that foot was the prize winner! Thank you for noticing. I'm glad to see you here.
Well, this made me teary. I have been that mama squirrel, clamping down on a leg and hauling my offspring to a higher perch. I am that daughter making daily contact with a mother I'm acutely aware will not always be at the other end of the phone (or email). I'm in the process of becoming the mother of a daughter who will be bound my texts more than physical proximity. And your story touches all the complicated feelings I have about all the roles we get to play, if we're lucky. Also? I am SO impressed by your baby squirrel ramp! We have so many squirrels we think of them as yard rats, but there is almost nothing cuter than a baby squirrel. I applaud your choice to give that one a fighting chance.
Rita, you have indeed walked in all the shoes. So many of us, at this stage, are still juggling both aging parents and unsettled kids. It's hard work. Good thing hearts are mostly resilient, huh?
The ramp was really more of a prod, a way to get underneath his back-end to keep him moving up, up, up. It was also almost unbearably slow and clunky, but it worked out in the end.
We, too, are overrun with squirrels, particularly now that all the neighborhood cats are gone (ours included). The bird visits have exploded, though, so that's wonderful.
Oh gosh, Elizabeth. Hurrah for rescue work, for a story so beautifully told and.... *reaches for hanky* for, golly, that last paragraph. Sending a hug, a smile, and another squirrel story, this one from Gail Sawyer. You'll love it.
You're a dear, and I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who gets misty-eyed at stories like these. Thank you for understanding and relating. I've popped open Gail's story but haven't yet made time to read it. Looking forward to it!
Yes to being connected to the natural world as part of it. I am wrestling with the concept of "other" which separates us from the environment and from one another. Thinking and behaving as if there is "other" has resulted in some exceptionally poor and destructive treatment of the planet and of our fellow human beings, inclluding "other" animals and plants. Part of this thinking is coming from my current reading of "Hospicing Modernity: Facing Humanity's Wrongs and the Implications for Social Activism" by Vanessa Machado de Oliveira. Another part of my reflecting on this topic comes from years of being a social activist for positive changes. An immediate thought that came to mind, seeing your title, is this phrase, taken out of its original context, "it's five o'clock somewhere."
Sounds like a compelling book, Gary. I have great respect for that idea and believe that much of what ails the world stems from the misguided notion that we live separate lives. If nothing else, the Covid years certainly taught us just how co-mingled we are, from the air we breathe to the surfaces we share, to the communities we populate.
And yes, what a nice way to reframe that phrase. It's always the right time to connect with someone! As usual, I appreciate how deeply you consider these ideas. Thank you.
I still struggle with the ‘ otherness’ of humans in relation to the Earth’s great biodiversity,and to the Earth itself . Indigenous Peoples have that connectedness that I as a person whose ancestors immigrated here, do not . I have always felt like a puzzle piece that doesn’t belong .
Melody, as Gary (and Ram Dass) offer, I believe we all have earth ties. What's happened is that so many of us have lost that connection. You belong here. We all do. It's not you who doesn't fit, it's all the rest who have forgotten. We can't ever separate ourselves completely from the natural world, and our years of living as though we can are, in my opinion, at the root of our discontent.
Aw, thanks you Ms. Owens-Bernhardy. (I must note here the happy coincidence that the two comments after yours are also from Susans!) I've done my share of whinging about squirrels, but I also recognize that I'm as much in their space as they are in mine.
I hope the new place is coming together and you're feeling settled in these days. Thanks so much for joining the conversation today.
I used to call my mom every afternoon, telling I didn't call her because I thought she needed to hear my voice but rather I needed to hear hers...now silent. We are fierce, aren't we!? Mother, challenger, victor, like the female musk oxen who circle around, tight with each other to protect the herd, the young and the elders.
We are fierce, Susan! And often intuitively wise. Your words to your mother are dear, and I can imagine how much that meant to her. I hope you hear her voice in other ways these days. My sincere thanks for your support here. It means a lot.
Well, gosh, Susan - thanks for sticking with the essay despite the tricky content! I'm delighted to see you here under any circumstances, but this one gets an extra gold star. ⭐️⭐️
It was a tender and welcome discovery, June. She is still very much part of my life, though no longer here physically. I'm really glad to see you here. Thank you!
Oh, Shauna -- I hear you on feeling the absences more keenly sometimes. I like to think those are the times they are actually more present. Thank you so much for this sweet comment (and for the restack)!
Thanks, Deborah. Photography is a source of much joy for me, so I love that you appreciated the picture story here, too. And I'll be sure to tell my Jim that you didn't associate him with the older host, Marlin Perkins! :)
I love the framing of the story with the 5 o'clock call with your mother, of course. But I love this moment: "Once more that evening, I see mama make her way down to eye-level where she pauses, clutching the dusk-tinged bark of the maple tree, and aims her gaze at the house. Maybe she is on watch for predators. Maybe she is there to express her gratitude." I love this moment of possible or perceived connection, of the chance that the mama had been witness to the efforts you and your husband made to protect the baby. There's something so magical in that possibility.
I try not to impose my human-centered feelings on the non-humans in my world, but I believe they both appreciate, approve, and even cultivate reciprocity and gratitude, if we let them. Possibility is, indeed, magical! I so enjoy your thoughts, Amy, thank you.
Thank you, Jennie. I am so pleased to know you enjoyed it and appreciate the comment.
Thank you, Ramona. It is almost always my instinct to protect them, though my years as a farmer also taught me some things about learning to let them go. Thanks for joining the conversation!
Aww that foot - squweeeeee💗
Tam, yesss! I have the same reaction. I grabbed two or three other shots during those moments when mama met up with her little one, but that foot was the prize winner! Thank you for noticing. I'm glad to see you here.
Well, this made me teary. I have been that mama squirrel, clamping down on a leg and hauling my offspring to a higher perch. I am that daughter making daily contact with a mother I'm acutely aware will not always be at the other end of the phone (or email). I'm in the process of becoming the mother of a daughter who will be bound my texts more than physical proximity. And your story touches all the complicated feelings I have about all the roles we get to play, if we're lucky. Also? I am SO impressed by your baby squirrel ramp! We have so many squirrels we think of them as yard rats, but there is almost nothing cuter than a baby squirrel. I applaud your choice to give that one a fighting chance.
Rita, you have indeed walked in all the shoes. So many of us, at this stage, are still juggling both aging parents and unsettled kids. It's hard work. Good thing hearts are mostly resilient, huh?
The ramp was really more of a prod, a way to get underneath his back-end to keep him moving up, up, up. It was also almost unbearably slow and clunky, but it worked out in the end.
We, too, are overrun with squirrels, particularly now that all the neighborhood cats are gone (ours included). The bird visits have exploded, though, so that's wonderful.
Oh gosh, Elizabeth. Hurrah for rescue work, for a story so beautifully told and.... *reaches for hanky* for, golly, that last paragraph. Sending a hug, a smile, and another squirrel story, this one from Gail Sawyer. You'll love it.
https://gailsawyer.substack.com/p/a-squirrel-totem
You're a dear, and I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who gets misty-eyed at stories like these. Thank you for understanding and relating. I've popped open Gail's story but haven't yet made time to read it. Looking forward to it!
😘
sublime storytelling of snake, squirrels and the passing of time and family
Ah, Rhea - such a kind comment. I know you know. Thank you!
Yes to being connected to the natural world as part of it. I am wrestling with the concept of "other" which separates us from the environment and from one another. Thinking and behaving as if there is "other" has resulted in some exceptionally poor and destructive treatment of the planet and of our fellow human beings, inclluding "other" animals and plants. Part of this thinking is coming from my current reading of "Hospicing Modernity: Facing Humanity's Wrongs and the Implications for Social Activism" by Vanessa Machado de Oliveira. Another part of my reflecting on this topic comes from years of being a social activist for positive changes. An immediate thought that came to mind, seeing your title, is this phrase, taken out of its original context, "it's five o'clock somewhere."
Sounds like a compelling book, Gary. I have great respect for that idea and believe that much of what ails the world stems from the misguided notion that we live separate lives. If nothing else, the Covid years certainly taught us just how co-mingled we are, from the air we breathe to the surfaces we share, to the communities we populate.
And yes, what a nice way to reframe that phrase. It's always the right time to connect with someone! As usual, I appreciate how deeply you consider these ideas. Thank you.
I still struggle with the ‘ otherness’ of humans in relation to the Earth’s great biodiversity,and to the Earth itself . Indigenous Peoples have that connectedness that I as a person whose ancestors immigrated here, do not . I have always felt like a puzzle piece that doesn’t belong .
We’re all part of the same humanity and in words of Ram Dass, “We’re all just walking each other home.”
Words that catch my heart each time I hear them.
Melody, as Gary (and Ram Dass) offer, I believe we all have earth ties. What's happened is that so many of us have lost that connection. You belong here. We all do. It's not you who doesn't fit, it's all the rest who have forgotten. We can't ever separate ourselves completely from the natural world, and our years of living as though we can are, in my opinion, at the root of our discontent.
Love this! And love you guys ~ I too get annoyed with squirrels digging up my gardens, but my heart went out to the baby - you done good, both of ya!
Aw, thanks you Ms. Owens-Bernhardy. (I must note here the happy coincidence that the two comments after yours are also from Susans!) I've done my share of whinging about squirrels, but I also recognize that I'm as much in their space as they are in mine.
I hope the new place is coming together and you're feeling settled in these days. Thanks so much for joining the conversation today.
I used to call my mom every afternoon, telling I didn't call her because I thought she needed to hear my voice but rather I needed to hear hers...now silent. We are fierce, aren't we!? Mother, challenger, victor, like the female musk oxen who circle around, tight with each other to protect the herd, the young and the elders.
We are fierce, Susan! And often intuitively wise. Your words to your mother are dear, and I can imagine how much that meant to her. I hope you hear her voice in other ways these days. My sincere thanks for your support here. It means a lot.
As always heartfelt and beautifully written
I am a snake phobic so scrolled quickly past Jim and his catch😘
Well, gosh, Susan - thanks for sticking with the essay despite the tricky content! I'm delighted to see you here under any circumstances, but this one gets an extra gold star. ⭐️⭐️
What a lovely way to find a connecting memory with your mother.
It was a tender and welcome discovery, June. She is still very much part of my life, though no longer here physically. I'm really glad to see you here. Thank you!
Beautifully written and bring a tear to my eye as I think of my own mother.
Oh, Monica, what a gift to know I've brought you and your mother together in this way. So very glad you are here.
This made me miss my own mom. Thank you for such beautiful, talented writing. I 💛 🐿!
Oh, Shauna -- I hear you on feeling the absences more keenly sometimes. I like to think those are the times they are actually more present. Thank you so much for this sweet comment (and for the restack)!
What a thriller!
With a happy ending, thank goodness! Great to see you here, Lorraine.
Wow, that's quite the story, but even more impressive are the photo's you captured to tell the tale. Cheers to super 'moms', and your 'Jim Fowler'.
Thanks, Deborah. Photography is a source of much joy for me, so I love that you appreciated the picture story here, too. And I'll be sure to tell my Jim that you didn't associate him with the older host, Marlin Perkins! :)
I love the framing of the story with the 5 o'clock call with your mother, of course. But I love this moment: "Once more that evening, I see mama make her way down to eye-level where she pauses, clutching the dusk-tinged bark of the maple tree, and aims her gaze at the house. Maybe she is on watch for predators. Maybe she is there to express her gratitude." I love this moment of possible or perceived connection, of the chance that the mama had been witness to the efforts you and your husband made to protect the baby. There's something so magical in that possibility.
I try not to impose my human-centered feelings on the non-humans in my world, but I believe they both appreciate, approve, and even cultivate reciprocity and gratitude, if we let them. Possibility is, indeed, magical! I so enjoy your thoughts, Amy, thank you.