The young jays we've watched grow all summer — the jays who live in the laurel and quince behind the house — have decided that gleaning acorns from a tree is decidedly old-fashioned. They'd much rather use modern food storage methods, stealing from the bucket of acorns on our front porch. (These are acorns that the birds and squirrels forgot to horde for themselves last autumn; Kris picked up their leftovers.)

It's not just the jays who have found the nutbucket. Tiffany noticed last week that there was a pile of acorn shells on the porch. A bold squirrel had made its way onto the porch sometime when there were no cats around, and he had helped himself to an acorn feast.

We don't mind of course. We have no plans to eat the acorns. (I tried one last fall. It was awful! Bitter, foul-tasting, and mealy...) Truth be told, we don't even mind that the army of coons has laid waste to our corn. It's nice to grow our own corn, yes, but it's also nice to wake up to wildlife in the yard.

On this day at foldedspace.org

2003 — On the Dock   In which I gaze at the stars. In which I admire a reflection in the water. In which I encounter three raccoons.

— Easter Island   In which Harrison and I read an atlas. In which I finish my Johnny Cash mix.