I leap out of bed at 7 am. Yes, I mean that literally, and please don’t ask me why. Looking out my perfect Owens window, I stretch, watching the first golden beams of sun stream through the clouds. I say first — I have no idea when the sun actually rises, and why should I bother learning? Soon it’ll be winter, and there won’t be any sun. Or any light. Or any warmth. But hey! For now it’s fall: campus is at its prettiest, and when the breeze comes from the right direction it carries a hint of cold air, along with the usual sweet, sweet smell of Post cereal. But as much as I’d like to wax poetic about the weather, I have places to go and people to see. The places are classes, and the people are — well, to be frank, the people are squirrels.
This time of year, most Carls lounge on the Bald Spot. Some go apple picking. My autumn activity of choice? Squirrel-stalking. After classes have ended, I walk through the trees between Anderson and the Bald Spot, looking for some friends. Finally, I see them. With matching bushy tails, it’s Louie and Tim, two of Carleton’s coolest squirrels. I recognize them; they recognize me. Louie and Tim haunt this area and they’re super friendly — at least, I consider them friendly. A (human) friend of mine informed me recently that they spend most of their time chittering angrily — but not at me, of course, because I would’ve noticed. Besides, a warning bark is really a welcome in disguise, if you squint at it just right.
Tim’s put together. He’s stylish, he’s fun; he’s the type of person who wears a tux to the nut store. Actually, he’s like Tim in the English department, which is an odd coincidence. Louie, meanwhile, is lax. He’s up for anything — every garbage can, a fist fight with any raccoon, etc. I sat down with both of them for a 60 minute style interview.
ME, AS JULIA: What’s your favorite trash can on campus to frequent? Let our audience know where we can find you.
LOUIE: I love the Sayles cans. Lots of students dump food there, so it’s good for a quick meal. Scaring students when they dump their food is my favorite part.
TIM: Trash can? Do I look like I would get near a trash can?
JULIA: Which book do you love most to nibble on?
LOUIE: I found a version of Tar Baby by Toni Morrison the other day. Something about munching on a Nobel Prize winner makes me feel successful. [Editor’s note: If you’ve lost a copy of Tar Baby, please contact any of us at the Miscellany and we’ll see if we can put you in contact with Louie].
TIM: My copy of Paradise Lost is old and crunchy and well annotated. That good book smell gives it a lovely nose. And the variation in ink gives it a certain…. a certain je ne sais quoi.
JULIA: Are you friends with the raccoons that live in the drains next to Watson? [At this question, both of them start chittering, and Louie gets visibly upset. I regret asking.]
LOUIE: Not at all.
TIM: “Friends” is very close to “enemies” in my head.
JULIA: Is your name actually Louie?
LOUIE: That’s private, sorry.
Louie and Tim left after that — I have no idea why, I thought we were really getting along there — and I made my way to visit the Weitz. If you frequent the Weitz, you might have made the acquaintance of our very own albino squirrel! Don’t tell Louie and Tim this, but Albie’s my favorite. He’s special and he knows it, hence all the confidence (to the point of cockiness). Still, his sense of civic duty makes up for it. Albie often plays Central Park with the local children; community service, he calls it. Today I find him sitting on the swing set and we get to chatting.
JULIA: Where’s your favorite place to store nuts on campus?
ALBIE: I rely on other people to feed me through the winter.
JULIA: So do you practice burying things, or do you know instinctively how to do it?
ALBIE: I’ve never buried a thing in my life. Do you think I play with these kids for fun? Look at the trail of snacks they’re dropping.
JULIA: If you were around during the Winter term, what would you imagine the students do?
ALBIE: Oh, well, I imagine they drink lots of broth.
Albie spots some more charity cases (I mean, children) and he disappears. I slowly make my way back to my townhouse, considering the insight the squirrels shared with me. It’s sunset now; something about the orange and pink settling over Northfield makes me all philosophical. Wisdom comes to us from the most unlikely of sources, and it’s crucial that we remain open-minded enough to listen, even if that means we sometimes have to interview some squirrels. Think of it as a form of Absurdist theater.