“I am I plus my surroundings, and if I do not preserve the latter, I do not preserve myself”. – José Ortega y Gasset. 

We finally enjoyed a beautiful day a couple of weeks ago, so I went to the shed to retrieve some gardening equipment and begin my spring clean-up. I knew very well that March could also bring another storm, but cabin fever had set in, and on this day, I wanted to pretend that winter was behind us.

I was shocked when I opened the door and was greeted by a disaster. I had purchased a bundle of leaf bags in the fall and had only used a few, which were now chewed apart and strewn around the building. I heard a noise and saw a black squirrel throw itself between the shelves and exit through a new hole in the upper wall. I closed the door and decided this job could wait for another day.

Today was that day! Out I went, masked for protection against rodent feces, gloved for bag removal, and armed with steel wool to patch the hole. Again, I opened the door and noted that the squirrel had made little effort to clean, and this would rest on my shoulders alone.

Piece by piece, I removed shovels, lawnmower, pails, and lawn ornaments until the final item was reached. An orange snow fence that I had wound up and placed in a corner for any future need. Odd about this fence was how my gardening gloves were now woven into its holes, and rags placed strategically. Aha! My squirrel friend had been wintering in this spot! I grabbed the fencing and started to drag it out of the shed when I heard the littlest of cries, as did my dog.

There, having dropped to the floor, was a baby squirrel. I have since investigated and estimate its age to be 4 weeks. My first response was to get that door closed before Stella identified where the cries her ears had heard could be found. Second, I brought her inside to figure out what to do with this infant. I pondered whether I could move it and possible siblings over the back fence, but I couldn’t face the fate this might mean.

I returned to the shed; no cries were heard. I opened the door, and there was silence. I decided to move the fencing back gingerly and hope Mama Squirrel would return to repair my mess. As I shifted the fence, I heard the cries and realized that all was not lost. I got my big stuff back in, closed the door, and crossed my fingers that everything would be alright.

If I wait until late May, the young one will have grown enough to survive safely in the wild. I will postpone the gardening until then and hope I haven’t caused too much unrest.

Life has taught me that my definition of a mess is someone else’s definition of home, and perhaps preserving life is more important than keeping my shed tidy. I will, however, reinforce for next winter.