Me and the boys, and the squirrels of summer
Man versus beast.
It’s early.
Right in the sweet spot of the morning where the sun just starts to poke its nose over the horizon and fill the sky with light.
Soft pinks and yellow clouds kiss the pale blue sky and the birds clear their throats and rub the sleep from their eyes before filling the morning with a chorus of tweets.
In these quiet moments, I sit.
Stillness and clam.
Sacred hours with the boys.
And by boys, I mean our tomato plants. There are five of them. And for reasons I needn’t get into, we named them Earl, Quincey, Pierre, and the twins.
These tomato plants—the boys—have a big job ahead of them this summer.
They need to survive an onslaught of attacks from the troop of squirrels that march around our apartment.
Squirrels are pesky f*ckers. They’ll chew, gnaw and claw their way through anything to get to their loot. Whether that be fruit, meat scraps, leftovers, or pieces of cardboard soaked in bin juice, they’ll get after it like a man drinking to forget.
I’ve known this for a little while now and I’ve researched a myriad of options to prevent them from assailing the boys, who stand proud and luscious in our courtyard after only 5 or 6 weeks in the dirt.
When we initially planted the boys they were only a few bricks high. I went down to the local hardware store—a family-run joint that’s been around for two generations—to seek out some supplies for building a protective enclosure.
I found some plastic mesh fencing made with a high-tech formula that was purpose-built to protect plants and trees from nibbling mouths.
‘Protect your plants and garden from rodents and critters such as squirrels, rabbits, mice, and more!’ The text on the packaging claimed.
But before buying, I consulted the man in the store and he shot it down quicker than a two-card draw.
“Them squirrels will chew right through it,” he said, dismissing me and his own product in one swift interaction.
I walked to the front to ask the store’s owner—a man who’s been in this business for decades. I was sure he’d know how to keep the squirrels out but he gave me little hope. Instead, he left me with a warning.
He told me squirrels will be the mightiest foes we face and every veggie garden in the city faces the same plight.
Weaker men would wilt and dissolve upon receiving such a stark warning.
Not me.
The battle ahead fills me with resolve.
Man versus beast.
Over the next few weeks, I drew up plans to barricade the boys in an enclosure that resembled a state penitentiary. Steel chicken wire, posts, buckles, clips, fasteners, repellent. I’d need all of it to fortify my sprouting lads and protect their juicy treasures from the mouths of rodents.
With each week that passes, and the empty pages of my notepad fill with scribbles, notes, measurements, and ideas, the boys continue to grow proudly.
One foot becomes two, then three, four…
Earl, who resides at the far left of the garden is now nearly as tall as me. Quincey, to Earl’s right, is sprouting fruit that reaches above my eye line. That’s one hefty tomato plant by anyone’s standards.
On one hand, I’m excited to see them thriving like this. Laying witness as they stretch their green stems to the sky fills a man with pride. On the other, it only adds to the stress. Because with each new growth spurt, my blueprints for the earthy Alcatraz I’m building need overhauling.
That brings us to today. After a handful of abandoned shopping carts, I’ve resided to the fact that there’s no longer anything I can build for my boys that will adequately protect them from our fluffy-tailed nemesis.
And the squirrels know this. I see them prancing around the back parking lot, waiting for the tomato fruits to ripen. Only then will they strike. They’re smart like that.
Today, the tomatoes are too green and too firm for picking.
So instead the squirrels send scouts every morning.
Give it another few weeks and those green tomatoes will turn bright red and the cries of the battlefield will snap through the early morning. The boys will be pillaged, ransacked, and gorged upon every morning.
For now, though, we wait.
The boys stand tall, proud, and grossly exposed.
No cages, no bars, no barriers of any kind.
Just me and my early morning pep talks.