One would think that any self-respecting squirrel would make his life inexorably easier by simply dining in my driveway. There he would find a cornucopia of acorns lined up in a random, but still swanky manner, all ready for either consumption or stashing away. No more high risk jumping from tree branch to tree branch. No more muscle strain from trunk climbing.

But, no, squirrely is as squirrely does. The bushy tailed rodents ignore it all. You’d have to wonder if snubbing Mother Nature’s goodwill like that—after she’s gone to all the work of growing and then blowing those nuts off the tree—isn’t a gamble of the first order. Like, really now, one shouldn’t mess with a solicitous Mom when she’s gone out of her way to make grocery shopping easy.

I got to wondering about squirrels’ brains and just how functional they are. It doesn’t take a whole lot of intelligence to wonder why they work so ferociously hard at burying their acorns in our yards only to realize that they will soon be covered with two feet of snow. No way in heaven’s green earth will they be able to find them then, let alone dig down to them. Makes me think their brains are no larger than those acorns which I suppose would not be too shabby for such tiny creatures.

Well, it turns out that not all squirrels bury nuts. Gray squirrels do, but red squirrels do not. While the Gray Team is busy clawing away at the dirt, the Reds hoard them in piles above ground. Dumb and dumber comes to mind. It also explains why we see more gray squirrels. Additionally there is the even more important question of how do the Grays find those buried treats? Well, they do not find them all, thus decoding the mystery of why we have so many oak trees in Minnesota; hence why we have so many oaken kitchen cabinets in Minnesota.

Scientists have determined (and I seriously hope this study was not a multi-million dollar federal grant) that squirrels, like we humans, often can’t remember where they buried their nuts. Sounds like car keys and eye glasses, huh?

Winter is when the gray squirrel’s intelligence really shines. While the rest of the animal kingdom is out in search of food, he is holed up in his hollow chomping away at his cache. And get this … he has two storage areas. One is at home and the other is in a fake location where he has meticulously piled up an acorn display meant to deceive other animals who might want to steal his food. Truthfully that sounds an awful lot like my well-stocked kitchen pantry, while I carry a small stash of peanuts and granola bars in my purse just in case of predators. Squirrely of me, I know.

Have you noticed how the acorn crop has boom or bust cycles over the years? This year it’s booming. The kind of acorns on my driveway look like little hairy bowling balls. The abundance, or lack of it, is all weather driven. Spring frosts, summer droughts and fall rains are, like George W. Bush, the deciders, with the spring frosts being the most important. Therefore, don’t blame the trees if you have a skimpy acorn harvest. It’s not their fault. Also, be patient. Even though your tree may look mature, it takes twenty-to-thirty years of growth to produce its first acorn.

Here’s a shocker. Squirrels’ and crocodiles’ brains are both about the size of a walnut. That, of course, makes the squirrel smarter and explains why the crocodiles cannot climb trees, but must resort to eating earth bound jungle natives or the occasional missionary. But, the squirrel can do something remarkable with his walnut. The part of it that has to do with memory is 15% larger in the Fall when he is gathering and hiding his nuts. Wowzer! Couldn’t I use that all year round?

Some years ago I used the extra 15% of my brain and came up with the world’s best solution to cleaning up acorns from a driveway. It is an industrial sized squeegee … one that is used to clean up water in your garage or around your swimming pool. I think you’ll be aghast at how easy the job is, and what a debt you owe me for telling you.

When I was a kid, a hog farmer hired us neighborhood kids to gather acorns for his pigs who favored them above all other delicacies. For us it meant raking them up, cleaning them off, and shelling every last one of them. This required the skill of a neurosurgeon, the patience of Melania Trump and the fingernails of an emu, traits which none of us kids had. Working under Dickensian conditions, ours was a misspent summer that even Charles at his most imaginative could not have construed. Still we were unstoppable, our first dabblings into the world of commerce spurring us on. The paltry pay was ten cents a half gallon. The job left its mark on me. It was not an occupation to pursue. Coal mining would have been easier. I think.

Yesterday I cleaned off my back patio where there is another kind of acorns. There were enough of them for at least one gallon of hog feed—twenty cents! The amazing thing was that in falling from the trees, their rough outer shells had cracked off. All that was needed to scarf them down was the removal of the remaining thin brown covering. In other words, it was a veritable ready-made squirrel feast though there was nary a trace of a critter. What’s up with that, anyway? But, then, who can decipher the work ethics of a squirrel?

For those of you rink rats who yearn to return to your old roller skating days, I invite you to my acorn covered driveway and patio. It will be like the old days gliding across the pavement. And you won’t even need skates! Note: organ music will not be provided.