The Fircone Apostle
an essay
We share the land where we live with a variety of creatures. Deer, coyotes, bears, raccoons, mice, chipmunks, birds of all kinds, weasels, frogs, fish, snakes, salamanders, so many bugs and insects…the list goes on and on.
But one companion we did not expect was the squirrel. A very specific type of squirrel, called the Douglas squirrel.
Much smaller than the invasive gray squirrel we were familiar with from city living, the Douglas squirrel is native to the Pacific Northwest where it makes its home and gets its main source of food (around here, anyway) from Douglas fir cones. They sit in the branches and shred the cones to get at the seeds, leaving big piles of scales on the ground below.
The sweet little pumpkin-bellied critter is also very famous for its loud chatter, shouting a repeated pew-pew-pew sound at anyone passing too close. This leads to one of their regional nicknames: chickaree.
We call every Douglas squirrel we meet “Peter”. It saves confusion.
Lately, a particular Peter has taken up residence in the big fir at the bottom of our driveway. Every morning, the dog and I pass under the tree to admire Peter’s handiwork: he or she spends their days running along the big boughs of the fir to the ends, where they nibble the fircones loose and let them drop, tumbling, to the ground (and onto the unsuspecting heads of anyone passing below). Every morning, we are impressed by the number of cones littering the gravel to be collected up and shredded for food.
I am always amazed by the sheer enormity of the squirrel’s task. The tree is huge and dripping with hundreds of cones. To get at them, the tiny creature must run along each branch, balance carefully, and nibble the cones loose. Then, once they’ve nibbled enough for the day, they must run around and collect everything they’ve dropped. Dozens and dozens of cones. Day after day.
Thinking about it makes me tired.
There’s really only one way to accomplish this task. If you’re a squirrel, you don’t have time to get overwhelmed. You just have to move. One bough at a time. One cone at a time. Repeat. And repeat.
It’s no coincidence to me that a Douglas squirrel—a different Peter, I imagine—was the first creature we ever met on the land, after we bought the house. On a branch of that very same big fir, we looked up and saw him shredding cones. An apostle, giving us the gospel that would carry us forward:
To do the good thing, you cannot look at how big the tree is. You just let God’s good grace like the freshest air carry you up and up, out and out, to where the nourishment is.
Every morning we see him there on his branch, little paws folded as if in prayer around his meal. Our little evangelist, our Fircone Apostle, teaches us how—and why—to keep moving.
Thank you for reading!
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Not only did I need this message, but I needed the mental image of a Redwall-esque Douglas Squirrel dressed in clerical robes holding a bible bound in pinecone scales. "You are Peter and on this branch I will build my Church".
Thank you, as always, for this! A good reminder (frequently needed) to take a deep breath and let God do the heavy lifting.