Squirrels make for an average food-grubbing friend

Photo by Florence Hu

Bubbles the squirrel next to a pile of walnut shells.

In the past, I have sometimes awoken up to the rustling and jostling of riled up squirrels scurrying across my family’s roof, squeaking and clicking at each other.

When food started becoming scarce during winter, the squirrels then picked a new target: They went after the remaining leaves of my grandmother’s kale plants. My mother never remembered to water the gardenia plant sitting in a shallow pot outside, but she couldn’t have salvaged it anyway — the bite marks were unmistakable. The squirrels had leveled it, gnawing the shrub down to its roots.

Recently, however, the yard had been pretty quiet, and I started wondering how the squirrels were doing. Stray cats that sometimes came around had long since moved to a different residence, but I doubted it was the same with the squirrels. I decided I wanted to see the squirrels again. I was onto something, and it would be an interesting challenge — what if I could summon a squirrel on will?

I began by leaving a tangerine peel out on the backyard fence, adding in an unopened walnut for good measure. For several days, the walnut and slice of tangerine went untouched, so one night I cracked open a few more walnuts and arranged the morsels along the lower edge of the fence.

Photo by Florence Hu

Squirrels frequented this backyard fence.

The next morning, I could tell from a distance the fence was empty. My hopes had risen too fast — I realized that the squirrel had only taken a few nibbles of the walnuts before swiping everything else onto the ground.

After several days of seeing no activity in the mornings and returning under the moonlight to find the walnuts gone, I decided to try somewhere else. Perhaps the front yard would work better; this way, I would notice if any of them came by. Standing outside and looking up, I suddenly remembered a handful of squirrels lived in the cluster of dead branches that hung down from the palm tree.

Kneeling down next to a bush before my windowsill, I cracked two different types of walnuts open and arranged the colorful assortment in the corner of a bush. 

Photo by Florence Hu

Red and white walnuts as bait.

As I rose, a squirrel came bouncing across the driveway. When I stepped toward it, the squirrel scurried up the trunk of the palm, which angered another squirrel among the dead branches. Seconds later, the first squirrel was kicked out, tumbling 20 feet and miraculously landing on all four feet. It stole a glance at me before darting into the safety of a nearby bush.

Photo by Florence Hu

A squirrel nibbling on a walnut.

I froze for a few seconds before quietly tiptoeing back inside. Peeking over the windowsill, I waited and watched. About a minute later, the first squirrel emerged once again and picked up the walnut with its tiny paws. I poked my nose in the window blinds, and the squirrel turned back at me, probably trying to figure out if I was real or not. I decided to name the squirrel Bubbles after staring into its round, black eyes.

After Bubbles had eaten through half of a walnut, I returned outside. Bubbles scrambled away quickly, but I remained hopeful and cracked open another walnut. I had to leave soon afterwards, but I was optimistic that Bubbles would be able to make the connection between the big friendly ape that frequently stopped by and the nutty morsels that she left behind.

Though my hopes of becoming a Disney princess were hopeless from the start, I had rekindled a wonderful curiosity in observing the slow life and quiet greenery right under my windowsill.

Photo by Florence Hu

Bubbles enjoys its treats.