Many people would look out my back door and see an empty yard.
I see a squirrel playground.
The gymnastics apparatus starts with the metal stair railings leading down to the concrete patio installed some 20 years ago by the landscaper who owned our house back then. My squirrels aren’t fazed by the wiggle in the railing. That’s nothing compared to the undulations of the skinny outermost branches of our maple tree.
On the far side of the patio lies the squirrel bungee, dangling an ear of corn from a shepherd’s hook. To its right is what looks like a hedge to humans. But to squirrels it offers a series of corridors protected from predators. They scurry back and forth. Not only at ground level, but also jumping from branch to branch in a stealthy approach to the squngee.
When I look outside in the morning, there’s plenty of squirrelly activity. There’s one sniffing, her nose to patio cement, hunting for food. She runs up the heavily sanded stairs — Iggy is paranoid that he or I might slip and fall on ice — leaping onto the railing, then down to the kiddie table/squirrel snack bar next to the stairs. A tray of sunflower seeds hides under its cover.