Living in a city, away from a natural forest, it is easy to forget seasonal sounds made among densely growing trees. It certainly was that way for me. In Germany, I lived surrounded by large pine trees mixed with an occasional deciduous and even an acorn-dropping oak. The pines frequently bombarded the red tile roof of my house with cones, especially when coaxed by wind. Acorns fell mostly unheeded because I was gone so much. In Blacksburg's Preston Forest, acres of trees surround the house. When we first arrived here in March of this year, leaves were uppermost in my mind--trillions of them--so when feeling the onset of our first Fall here, leaves again factored into my thinking. Acorns were not on my radar until I was outside recently for a long period of time messing with mulch. Suddenly, all around me I heard thunk and plop noises and felt as though someone unseen was hurling stones at me. Then it happened. A fat green acorn plopped to the ground in front of me and another and another. I quickly realized nature was the pitcher and acorns her object of choice. The hair on my arm went back down as I looked around and realized acorns come in several different shapes and sizes--at least ten different kinds of oak trees each with a slightly different acorn, according to my field guide to trees. A cursory inspection of the acorns around me revealed at least 4-5 kinds of oak trees grow on our land. Deer and squirrel love this fall delight. The roof bangs and pops with the impact of falling acorns. Our deck was covered with acorn bits one morning. Had the squirrels thrown the acorns to the deck and then feasted on them or had they munched them high in the branches overhead and let the crumbs fall for me to sweep? The deer must be satisfied with this extra taste, too, because they haven't nibbled on my flowers and bushes lately. Maybe I should wish for acorn harvest all year long.
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