A holiday by any other name

In Brevard, N.C., WSQL radio is broadcasting the news that most of us already know: That Memorial Day - this past weekend's holiday - is also known by another name.

Decoration Day? True. That's what this occasion for military honor was once called, in fact. But in North Carolina, the focus is on the white, when it comes to the red, white and blue. And the stars among the stripes are the real stars of the show: the state's white squirrels.

Memorial Day marks the 7th annual White Squirrel Festival, a celebration of all things related to the beloved pale rodentia.

Granted, it's not a particularly military theme. The most combative encounters are the 5K and 10K foot races, a white squirrel dance-off (featuring two-footed hoofers) and a box car derby. Not the stuff of which patriotism is crafted, for sure.

But as a celebration of one community's natural resources, and a reminder to treasure those things that make a town, a community, a state unique in its own right, it is a fitting reminder at the start of this season of outdoor living.

The other blizzard

The discovery of a rare white squirrel in Massachusetts has made news, just as another white blizzard - of a meteorological nature - is grabbing headlines up and down the East Coast.

As easterners brace for the first major snowstorm of the season - a pre-Christmas one, at that - the Whitman, Mass., area is celebrating the winter white squirrel who has been gracing their trees and their yards.

Unlike the weather, this white marvel's arrival could not have been predicted. And unlike the weather, this squirrel will not require use of shovels or snow blowers. There'll be no icing of sidewalks. No cancellation of schools, meetings, shows or appointments.

All that's needed to do right by this sudden appearance of winter white is to sit back, enjoy and throw nuts.

That's nature's holiday gift to Whitman, Mass. Who'd want to exchange a gift like that?

Grief casts its spell

It's funny what grief can do to people, particularly when it's grief over an animal. Grief softens the hard edges of human society. Grief blurs the distance between the animal and human worlds.


Grief leaves a wanting that won't go away.

This is how a small town in Surrey, England is in mourning. A week ago the people of the town lost something rare and much-loved - a white squirrel the townsfolk had adopted and named Snowy - when, in a tragic act of fate that befalls so much wildlife, he died after being struck by a car.

So deep and sorrowful was this town's communal cry that the BBC noted it in its daily news report.

"A little light has gone out," said the local woman who arranged for the squirrel to be buried in the yard outside the local church. She said Snowy deserved a final rest with dignity. The squirrel's death, she added, "has taken some magic away from our lives."

She may be wrong about that, however: For a town to grieve as this one does for a squirrel, and for a sacred space to be reserved in a church yard for an animal who lived with such grace and beauty - and who inspired such love and loyalty - is magic too.

A spritely little light may have indeed been snuffed out by a careless driver in a small British town, but Snowy's existence, however brief, burns brightly still for all who remember and will share his story from this moment forward. And for all who may visit his grave.

The magic lives on.

One statuesque squirrel

Members of the Richland County Rotary Club in Olney, Illinois - a city blessed with an infamously abundant white squirrel population - have come up with an idea of monumental proportions: The idea is, itself, a monument of big proportions and even bigger ambition.

Rotarians hope to commission a white squirrel statue as a tourist attraction in that southeastern Illinois community. The Olney Daily Mail, that community's newspaper, broke the story on July 31, quoting one Rotarian, a member of the local convention and visitors bureau, as drawing his inspiration from another statue - this one in Minnesota - of two figures from American folklore: the mythical giant lumberjack Paul Bunyan and his blue ox, Babe.

Now, a blue ox is no white squirrel, to be sure. And while Bunyan remains the stuff of folklore, white squirrels are an everyday reality in Olney. But like the towering Bunyan and Babe, they are indeed oversized attractions, if only by virtue of their reputation.

I had the pleasure, years ago, of posing beside an oversized wooden statue carved of Punxsutawney Phil, the prognosticating woodchuck/groundhog, while visiting that town in rural Pennsylvania. And I learned from that experience that, when it comes to tourism, Humongous Statues of Rodents are Humongous Tourist Magnets.

I encourage the people of Olney to embrace a white squirrel statue as they embrace their squirrels. They should throw it some nuts - and then throw it their support.

The color of spring's squirrels

At about this time of year, when we are halfway through winter, people start thinking that soon they'll be trading snow's white for spring's green. At least that's how it is here in the Northeast.

In Brevard, N.C., however, folks stick with white, right up through May. And it's not because of unseasonally late snow storms.

This is the fifth year of that community's White Squirrel Festival. I've never been to it - in fact I have never even been to a Gray Squirrel Festival or a Black Squirrel Festival - but you can be sure the whole town goes (appropriately) nuts.

What's extra nice is that this year's festival is occurring within the Chinese New Year of the Rodent (or the Rat, to be more precise).

For some squirrels, it doesn't get much better than this!

On campus, another tragedy

Much earlier in this blog, I'd reported the news of a white squirrel who met with a senseless death outside a Wisconsin elementary school. The animal was much-loved and the killing - a malicious act by someone in the area - was preventable.
This story referenced below, which marks the death of another beloved white squirrel, took place on a college campus and was not as avoidable, sorry to say, and might even be called a fact of nature: Whitey the squirrel was killed by a hawk. His white fur probably made him an easier mark than most squirrels.
I'm not a fan of hawks by any stretch of the imagination - they kill squirrels and other small animals below them in the food chain - and I find the article's accompanying photo upsetting and gruesome.
It's hard to love nature sometimes.

South Oval-kill - Campus