Oh, The Irony Of His Picnic Spot

Let me tell you something about being at a cemetery. Motion catches your eye. Instantly.

Mostly, things aren't supposed to move, there. And if they do, it's supposed to be at night. Not in the middle of a sunny summer afternoon with blue skies above.

We'd just set flowers at the base of Dad's headstone and stepped back to enjoy the summer sun when the grass moved one headstone over. It caught my eye. Then a little head popped up.

It was a thirteen-lined ground squirrel. They look like a chipmunk, but much bigger. They can get to about a foot long, but this little fellow was smaller than that. Perhaps a whole seven inches tall.

I stood as still as the statues in the corner of the cemetery, lest I scare the little fellow away. Quietly, I turned on my camera and slipped off the lens cap.

The smallest movement would scare him away, I knew, so I tried to stay as still as humanly possible. I guess I wasn't still enough.

Off he ran.

I slipped my feet out of my sandals. Still and always a farm kid, I knew I could be more stealthy in bare feet.

You go ahead, little fellow. I'll just follow.

He stops and pokes his head up for a look. He's fairly quivering with excitement. Such a shame I couldn't capture that in a still shot, but I promise you it was absolutely enchanting to watch through the zoom lens as his little whiskers twitched.

Then he scampered closer to the find. Stopped to examine.

I was crouching in the grass as close as I dared get.

Does that look tasty, little fellow?

He glanced over at me nervously. In the softest whisper, I croon that it's okay, I won't hurt him. I just want a few pictures, if he doesn't mind. I tell him he's so pretty. So tiny and precious.

What life is not precious?

We're at an impasse for a moment. He looks back and forth from me to the leaf a couple of times. Wondering if it's safe to eat or if he should run. I whisper that it's okay. Go ahead. Never-mind me.

It's like he understands. He settles in and begins to eat.

Chomp, chomp.

He shoves the leaf into his mouth and drops his hands.

Continues chewing.

Look ma, no hands. I keep clicking, half wondering if he's hamming it up now, because he knows he's not in any danger.

I crawl forward a little, hoping he won't bolt and he doesn't. I crawl a little closer again, wondering how close I dare get.

Zoom in even closer.

Omg, look at those claws. Wow!

I watch as he finished chomping the leaf down. Without even holding it. He just chews and it disappears.

Too funny. Little ham.

He looks me in the eye as if to let me know he sees me. But he doesn't seem afraid. As long as I don't move too suddenly.

And then he's off again.

He scurries through the grass as I follow, scuttling along on my knees. I watch as he hunts around for the next tasty find.

He stops. Scuffles around in the grass. Then he stands up and holds up his next tasty find. Gross. Pretty sure that's a grasshopper.

But I'm still snapping photos.

Oh, the irony of his picnic spot.

In a cemetery full of farmers. Every single one of them would have wanted to shoot him as much as I did. Just not with a camera. lol.

These little fellows burrow.

Usually their tunnels are pretty shallow. Maybe a foot under ground, two at most. The openings are the perfect size to trip grazing cattle, resulting in falls and perhaps a painful or fatal broken leg. No one wants that, me included.

I glance across the old country road to the farmland across from the cemetery. Cattle are gently lowing in the field. One raises her head and looks at me with brown velvet eyes.

Better here than there, little fellow. You won't hurt anyone here.

But honestly. Just look at those whiskers!

On a sunny summer day, the joy and beauty of life is everywhere, if you just look for it. Even in a cemetery.