A Mighty Nut

 

The last time an acorn got my full attention, I was seven or eight years old. I disguised one in a wax candy wrapper and presented it to my older sister while she was walking with her schoolfriends. She opened it and Gotcha! I don’t remember if she threw the “candy” at me once she unwrapped it, but she should have done. I was kind of a brat.

That momentous prank occurred in Sorel PQ, where autumn differs vastly from autumn in Victoria BC. Many trees shed leaves out here, but cedars, pines and firs generally dominate the landscape and so do their cones and needles. Horse chestnuts often nail unwitting pedestrians on Cook Street, and I code-named the mystery trees along Bushby Street “cereal trees” for clogging the gutters with a windfall resembling Kellogg’s “Special K”. Victoria is also known for harbouring (or should that be “arboring”?) Garry oaks in sundry locales, but I have never noticed an abundance of acorns in any of the ’hoods I’ve called home.

Until this year. At some point in the last few weeks, acorns have appeared almost everywhere. No street seems exempt. The main drag is choked with them. The parking lot is sticky from acorns crushed beneath car tires. Walking anywhere is chancy when you can’t tell by looking if the shell is soft enough to give underfoot. Some are, many aren’t. No wonder the squirrels around here are so tubby; they can’t possible consume every acorn they see, and storage becomes a problem for everyone once the attic is stuffed.

Now I know why it’s called Oak Bay.

The most memorable card my mother ever gave me was very simple. On the front, a watercolour sketch of an acorn and encouragement to stand firm. “Remember,” the message read inside, “each mighty oak was once a nut that stood its ground.”

Mum was a riot.