Tree squirrels nest alone most of the time but do turn to one another to share their space and warmth during the coldest days of winter and during mating seasons. Each squirrel will build several nests in the crook of tree branches, old bird’s nests or in the abandoned hollows of trees. Their nests can be spread out across a forest or entire neighborhood. Each little rodent led by its belly, sleeping in the nest closest to where the day’s foraging has come to an end.
It’s a lovely arrangement with the freedom of a nomadic habit contained within the safety that familiarity and a warm bed can offer.
At this time of year I find my attention drawn to these nests, also known as dreys. At first glance they appear to be piles of leaves stuck in the crook of a tree, noticeable only once the canopy starts to thin out, the bulk of the leaves decorating the soil, a colorful feast for microbes and soil organisms. It’s a small noticing that marks the transition of seasons.
As I have grown in age, I’ve started to track the ways in which my inner world also transitions in alignment with these cyclical processes. The turning toward the hearth, toward tending the creative fire.
The squirrel uses each tree to construct a protected habitat and as a source of food. In return, squirrels plant thousands of trees and spread countless seeds in the course of their short lives, leaving a true legacy that will outlive generations of their offspring. They are the architects of the forest due to their behavior of burying food caches and thanks to the size of their brain, recall isn’t flawless.
However, the actions of each squirrel carry far more weight than a perfect memory ever would. In fact, it is precisely this flaw that makes them irreplaceable in the larger ecosystem.