OLD HOLLOW TREE

"A child's world is fresh and new and beautiful.Full of wonder and excitement..." - Rachel Carson

It seems like it was forever, probably was, but THEY were always there.  First time we noticed them was in the summer. In June. In the Old Hollow tree. My father liked to lean his ear close to the rotten bark and pretend to hear the wind. 

They were little balls of butter sliding down that old hollow tree. We sat  on the porch most days. Six of them plopped down at the base. Very old tree that was threatening to topple. Tree that had the wind  blowing thru it, rain pounding it, moss hugging it.

Their Momma  came out of the underbrush. She  "Chirr chirred Mm-mmmmed" at them. The sixth one slid down to meet her and the others. Bandits. The lot of them.

They weren't scared. Just Curious.

And the summer lingered on. Babies became big babies. They tended to slide down the hollow tree ever day. Over and over. Like a child's game. Autumn came and they grew up.

Then next June came. First time we saw one was when we came into the kitchen. I'd left the door open. One baby was sitting in the cat's food bowl. He seemed happy there.  Chomping away on chow.

The cat glared at him. From on top of the table. He made weird noises at the baby. That was HIS chow. Baby was unpertured. We picked up the cat and tiptoed out to the hall. Put the cat in the bedroom. Closed the door.

My mother decided to sing. Her tuneless, off-key sort of singing. She went back into the kitchen and sang at the baby. Trying to get him to leave. Believe me, anyone would leave if she sang at them. It was awful. And she knew it.  Baby just  chewed. He left after a long while. His bloated belly rolled out the door.

That year there were only four babies. One was afraid to climb or slide.  Momma would "Chirr chirr" at him and he would come to the sound of her voice. She would cuddle the four of them at the base of that old tree. That old hollow tree. My father attached a plastic swing to that tree when I was little.  It was still there. The babies liked to sit on the swing.

Following year, the new litter developed a habit of sitting in a row, in front of the porch. They had figured out we left the cat's chow out on the porch. They liked that. They would steal it.Handouts.

My mother thought they were cute. At first she let them eat the cat chow. But then they were ending up in the kitchen and were hard to shoo out. And the cat didn't like it. So the cat chow was kept inside, with the door closed. But the lot of them would still in front of the steps. The cat would bug his eyes at them,  thru the glass. Na na na na naaaaah, is what I imagined him thinking.

Every year went by there was a new batch of bouncing baby butterballs.  Squirming. Sliding. Dancing. Playing in the hollow tree. the sounds of "Chir Chir Mmm-Mmm" echoing from the rotten bark.

A few summers later, we had company. They came in a big red car. Parked it in the old driveway.  They planned to stay just for a couple of hours...When they were ready to leave we went to see them off.

 Five babies were clambering all over the  car. They grabbed the windshield wipers , sat on the roof, peed on the hood. Momma circled. My mother broke her cardinal rule. She took a bowl of cat chow, rattled it and spoke to them in her sing song voice. 

They  perked up their bandit ears.  She put the cat chow at the base of the hollow tree. And they scampered to the bowl. Company escaped. They never returned. Can't say I didn't blame them. The cat clawed at the glass door.  We sat on the porch and watched them.

Every summer  they slid down that hollow tree, chewed on the swing cord, plopped on the ground, like shrimp balls. And the cycle would start again.

Until one winter a storm finally took down that old hollow tree. The one my dad thought wouldn't last and would finally fall. It never did, while he was alive. It took twenty years.  Not realizing how many bandits, and birds and garter snakes took refuge in it. 

Following year, there were six. Not sure if the  if the Momma recognized us. Instead of sliding down the old tree, her babies hopped and played on top of the bark, tussled with the fallen swing my dad had strung up for me.  No longer did they get to steal cat chow.   The cat guarded his bowl, from behind the glass door. Muhahhahahaha. While we watched them gamble about that old hollow tree, rotten and wonderful.

The "Chir Chir Mmm-Mmm" that signalled their arrival once more.....

Photographs 2021