Gathering Nuts
This is the story about a squirrel named Lucky.
Welcome to Gangletown, where you’ll receive original writing by David Kimple each week. If that is good for your vybe and you’d like to support the work financially, subscription options are below.
This is the story about a squirrel named Lucky.
Yesterday, while coming out of the subway station at 25th and 8th, I came face to face with a man. He was shorter than me, probably around 5’8”, and wore a tired and heavy grey (or green?) jacket. He bent over, and I saw that he had a small box with him. It looked like the kind of DIY toolbox that one might make in a beginner’s shop class or the scouts. The man was hanging the box onto the fencing that guards the subway’s staircase, caked in layers upon layers of thick paint.
Inside the box? Not tools. No, no. Walnuts. Dozens and dozens of whole, unshelled walnuts.
Seeing the nuts gave me a jolt of adrenaline. What the fuck were these walnuts doing on the eighth avenue? What was this man doing?
That’s when I saw the squirrel. Well, squirrels. I looked around a bit, only to see five squirrels and two pigeons gathering around this man, waiting impatiently for their morning’s distribution.
I moved toward the intersection on my way to work but had to wait for the light. It made me think of the various other times I’d seen people feeding animals in the city like this. The woman from Home Alone 2 with the pigeons, or the Black homeless man at Washington Square Park in 2012 that stopped me and my date to ask if we “wanted to feed the squirrels.” Naturally, I said, “Hell yes!” and took a nut from him. He shouted into the park -“Obama!” A jet-black squirrel came running toward us.
I looked back at the man with the walnuts. He used metal tongs to pull walnut after walnut out of the box and hand them off to a growing crowd of his fluffy-tailed park friends.
One of the squirrels was shy, though. She seemed to have lost a bit of her tail, and her fur was spotty. The man slowed down for her. He used his tongs to select a walnut, then dropped himself into a squat. Slowly and tenderly, he extended the tongs out toward her and said, “Hey baby, here you go. Here’s breakfast. Come on, lucky girl. Here you go.”
The squirrel’s trepidation decreased as she sniffed and inched closer to him. She wanted the walnut, and there was an apparent familiarity between her and the man. Then, someone came barrelling out of the subway station and spooked her. She braced for danger, then retreated into the grass on the other side of the sidewalk. The man stood up and, with understandable frustration, waved the person past him. Come on, come on. He gestured. Get on with it; this is important.
As soon as the feeding zone was clear again, the man dropped himself into position and waited patiently. I could see Lucky off in the distance, assessing; her intelligence and sense of caution were undeniable.
She started to come back to him.
Bodies moved around me with sudden force. I looked out into the street to see that the other commuters were crossing. I almost started walking with them, but I couldn’t. I had to make sure Lucky got her breakfast.
When I looked back at the man and the squirrel, they were almost touching. Lucky must have sprinted toward him just as quickly as she’d run away. She had decided the coast was clear. The man’s arm was extended with the tongs again, and she put her face next to the walnut. She sniffed, she examined. Then, she reached out and touched. The tongs stopped her, though. She was seemingly unclear about whether they were another barrier to entry. Instead of pulling on the walnut, she pulled at the tongs with her tiny fingers and nails, trying to pry it open. Though not so far as before, she retreated again, seemingly determining that the tongs were some threat or enemy.
The man adjusted his strategy. He put the walnut into his hand and extended it without the tongs. Resting on the dark fabric of his gloved palm, the light brown walnut glowed. It was bright, free, and available. It caught a ray of February sunshine and looked perfectly attainable; Lucky would be able to grab it with ease. Unfortunately, the other squirrels could also see the treat. They got closer and closer, and the man had to shoo them away with his one free hand. He did it well, though, all the while keeping a laser focus on Lucky. The man had a mission, and it was to ensure he took care of the squirrel.
One other brazen squirrel snuck behind the man and went directly into the box of walnuts. He grasped one in his tiny arms and another in his teeth before running away with mischievous celebration. I’m still not sure how he managed to carry two at one time, but I swear it happened.
Finally, Lucky got closer once more. She took each step with precision, constantly diagnosing her surroundings. First, she smelled the man’s hand and looked up at the walnut in his palm. Then, in a move that made my heart jump out of my chest and tears well in my eyes, she jumped into his hand and scooped up the walnut. She didn’t just grab and go, either. With the evil tongs out of the pictures, Lucky luxuriated in the man’s palm and held the walnut in a hug. It was a familiar resting place for her, and she nestled upon him in a nook of comfort.
Lucky turned to look at the man. She wriggled her nose, and tapped her teeth onto the hard shell, then breathed a sigh of relief. The man and the squirrel stared at each other for a moment and a calmness came over them both. Lucky looked safe, excited, and appreciative. The man looked pleased, satisfied, and relieved. She stared at him, and he stared at her.
She was thanking him. Genuinely and specifically, she was expressing her gratitude.
“Good girl,” The man said out loud. “good girl.”
The squirrel kissed at the walnut once more before gripping it into her teeth and hopping off of the man’s hand and traveling back to her hideaway.
He was loving her. In the best way that he could, showing that he cared.
If you love what’s happening here, will you consider sharing this week’s gangletown (or another piece from the archives) directly with one person? It is the best way to help as gangletown grows. You can also follow & Tag me on social media @DKimps.
What a lovely story❤