My trees are trying to kill me. Their weapon of choice? Acorns.
In the thirteen years I’ve lived under these trees, I have never seen so many acorns. Some people say this increased production is a sign we’ll have a harsh winter. Bah! I know the real reason. It’s in retaliation for this:
Yes, this summer I had the tree guys come and trim some branches off the trees. I even had them cut down a few scraggly specimens whose branches were scraping on the garage roof. And they removed two that were dead. They did a great job and the “canopy” looks so much better. They even cleaned up every leaf and twig of their mess. Very professional.
But now the trees are on the rampage, getting back at me. These acorns aren’t just falling, they’re being hurled. Thrown with force. You should hear the noise these things make when they hit the roof. And the gutters. Do you know how much it hurts when an acorn traveling at high velocity hits unprotected body parts? Walking to the end of the driveway to get the mail is courting serious injury. If the acorns don’t hit you, you risk turning an ankle when you step on them. This morning I backed out of the garage and was barraged by a series of violent explosions bouncing off the roof of the car. Acorns. Personal injury isn’t enough, now they’re going for property damage. I’m surprised I could even hear it though, since there are so many acorns covering the driveway it sounds like driving across acorn-filled bubble-wrap.
I’m convinced the squirrels are in on it. It’s a conspiracy. They’re miffed that I disrupted their travels on the super-highway from the maple tree in the back yard across the roof to the big oak in front. I had the branches trimmed so they couldn’t do that.
Hey, they’ve got plenty of trees. They don’t need to be climbing all over my house too. I can picture them up there, three and four in a group, pulling back on the leafy end of an acorn-laden branch, stretching it tight like a slingshot, waiting for just the right moment and then letting go, releasing a hail of acorns, strafing the siding and pelting the roof over my bedroom. They do this several times each night. Yes, it wakes me up. Every single time. I see them the next morning when I open the blinds, sitting on the branch outside my window. Smirking.
But I’m onto them and I have a plan. I’m going to stay inside until they run out of ammunition. I figure it shouldn’t take more than another month. Or so. Okay, I didn’t say it was a particularly good plan.
Next thing I know, they’ll be trying to smother me. With leaves.