PumpkinBlossomAnd so the dance begins.  Me and varmint, circling, wary, eying for tiny advantages.  We pretend we are above this.  Who me?  Yes, you, Rodent.  That squash?  No, that one—paws off, it’s mine.

Pumpkins know that all of squirreldom loves their scrumptious skins and so they try to hide.  Beneath mildew-dappled Paleolithic leaves, their camouflaged sides grow as quietly as possible.  Alas, the members of Rodentia still hear their vegetable breaths.  As vast kingdoms of juiciness stretch the edge of stripey globes, a chorus of critters wait impatiently, scratching here, nibbling there.

They care not for harvest festivals; they heckle Hallowe’ens.  And, by the way, pampered person, what can you know– you with refrigerator and pantry?  If you’ve left your lovely veggies lying around, what’s a squirrel to do?  Ignore?  Resist?  Abstain?

So, go ahead:  Fence (if you can).  Spray (if you will).  Pray (all you want).  Any unattended cucurbita will feed me for a week.  (Or my family for a day.)

All is fair in hunger and motherhood.

I’m hungry.



Copyright 2013, Lori Fontanes