By Denise M. Carpenter

Gary drives all of us quickly to our piece of paradise at the dam. It is the best site, surrounded by young alder and vine maple you can bend to the ground. The en-trance is lined with tart little huckleberries, and the juiciest blackberries. I can’t wait to taste them all.

He is driving and I know he is hoping there is a site. He looks anxious in the rising August sun. The grandkids are singing silly songs in the back on the van. I am holding my breath and crossing my fingers, the whole while whispering soft-ly – please be empty, please be empty.

We enter the camping park. Already in our thoughts, we are staking claim to our sacred spot. Please be empty. We are both grinning like Cheshire cats at the sight as we round the corner. Our pine-nettled and tree-surrounded heaven sits emp-ty, the fire pit inviting the lick of flame. The picnic table starves for our stash.

The grandkids are running here and there, laughing filled with innocent won-drous abandon. The squirrels disappear under fallen, lifeless trees to pop up on the other side alert, anxiously anticipating scrumpious morsels soon to be falling to their world.

Wait, I tell the grandkids. Look at the squirrels. We don’t want to scare them. Here, come, let’s try to feed them. I’ll show you how to feed them out of their hands. We are perched on a fallen cedar log. I tell you to sit real still. Don’t move, not a muscle. Stay very still, like a statue. Don’t be afraid – the squirrels won’t bite. See how they jump and run.

Oh, here the squirrels come. Be very still. Look, see! Shaking with excitement, the grandkids eagerly watch as, one by one, the skittering squirrels return, cau-tiously peeking, sniffing and inching closer, our breaths held we wait. Please don’t scare them, I whisper.

One squirrel is hanging back. She is uncertain, but another comes. Be still, right up to you he is coming. Feel the tickle of his tiny feet. Hear the whisper of his touch as he takes the chip from your hand. He has claimed his treasure, now he runs. Look, the other squirrel races behind him.
Where are they going? I don’t know. Probably to their secret hiding place. Maybe it’s a hollow log or a fallen cedar. They have a secret home.