The Nut-Gathering Extravaganza of 1026
Woe paced in a circuit from his kitchen through his living room and back again. Everything was clean. The urge to wash the dishes again fluttered into his inner monologue but was overruled by a cacophony of concerns that he might get his tunic wet, lose track of the time and be late, or bump into his fruit and nut platter destroying the miniature appleberry tree he had labored overall weekend.
He was excessively proud of it. Showing off was the best part of the Annual Nut Gathering Extravaganza, and this year he wasn’t going to be outdone by Prudence the squirrel. It wouldn’t matter how rich her cream pat was or that she had hybrid her own hazelnuts with a naturally occurring cocoa center, his tree was delightful and this year everyone would be talking about him.
He was tired of waiting, but he wanted to make an entrance, and it needed to be timed right, too soon and no one would know it was his, too late and all the good spots on the tables would be taken. Gone were the days where being an outsider gave him a free pass to praise and social acceptance. Being a furless bipedal boy who could cook was no longer a novelty, and if he wanted to be appreciated he needed to compete on their level.
The sun was setting. He was excited and anxious, and glad he had built his home on the ground instead of in the trees like his friend Sam had suggested. He didn’t like to imagine putting his creation in a basket and lowering it down to the ground. One gust of wind and he’d be on the ground sobbing like Emerson the squirrel had three winters past.
No, he had his route carefully planned. He had cleared and swept the path earlier and it was a mere four hundred and eighty-eight steps to the glade where the extravaganza was being held. Prudence had almost double that distance to go and being that he was ten times bigger than her the advantages were finally stacking up in his favor.
All he needed to do was pick up his platter and walk out the door. He had mentally been through this and now he just had to act. He shut his mind off. Thinking wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He needed to move, so he did—out the door, through the trees, past Emerson’s retrofitted treehouse, and into the glade.
The energy crackled. The chittering and scampering were infectious. Woe had been excited before, but now he just wanted to set his creation down and prepare to stuff himself into a coma.
“Woe, Woe,” Sam the squirrel chiripped. “You have to try my walnut buttercream tartlets. Samantha made the same thing. She’s even called them Sam’s Sensational Sensations, but hers are rabbit crap compared to mine, so don’t be fooled.”
Woe nodded, but Sam had already scampered off with nary a chirp about Woe’s fruit and nut platter. His anxiety began to churn. This was his year. He had worked so hard. Every twig and leaf on his tiny triumph was bursting with nutty deliciousness, and it was just a matter of time before all the squirrels in the woods knew it.
He had to find a place for his platter, then he could stand back and enjoy the festivities. His creation was a centerpiece, but this year everyone’s offering was a centerpiece. The pots of acorn soup were gone, so were the nut butters, the nut breads, and nut beers. Table after table was heaped with cakes, creampuffs, meringues, tarts, sweetbreads, and pastries of every imagining. Surrounded in a sea of decadence, his little tree looks more like a floral arrangement than food. He said it down anyway and stood back.
Prudence the squirrel came up to him. “Can you believe the nerve of everyone? They all brought desserts! Well, I guess it’s understandable, who’s going to give a prize to stodgy old soup or an upstart nut platter when there’s a fifteen-layer honeycomb cake in the running.”
Woe faltered for a response. He never knew what to say around Prudence, and the few times he managed to do so he just said something embarrassing. Her cake did look enticing though; a glistening tower of spun honey, drizzled with chocolate and accented with caramel spires. He was tempted to walk up and cut himself a piece, but he didn’t have the heart to cut into such a lovely creation, and even if he did there was no way he would give Prudence the satisfaction.
He had promised Sam that he would try his walnut tarts. He knew he hadn’t actually, but how could he look his friend in the eye if he didn’t. The problem now was to find them. Samantha had positioned her tarts well, not far from Prudence’s cake, they were easy to spot and hard to pass up. He grabbed for one without thinking and got a fierce nip for his efforts.
“Some gratitude to the squirrels that raised you,” snipped mother Dora. “You will not be trying that pathetic excuse for a tartlet before you taste my almond meringues.”
Woe found himself being led off. He hated almonds, and he hated meringues, but when mother Dora said to eat, you eat. Sam wouldn’t be happy, but he would at least understand. All around sons and daughters, husbands and wives, grandchildren and grandparents were in the same situation. The customary excuse of, ‘But I haven’t had ____ yet’ was irrelevant. Except for Woe’s lonely fruit and nut platter, everything was a dessert.
The battle lines started forming fast. Mother Dora had numbers on her side. She fed everyone, she took care of everyone, and no one could say ‘no’ to her. After her meringues, came Sam’s tarts, then a tidal wave of macarons, macaroons, shortbreads, cream horns, bonbons, crepes, eclairs, and several other things that Woe couldn’t even name.
Woe was dragged from table to table till he fell in a heap. All around him squirrels were piled around, and the festive spirit had been sucked from the night and replaced with the groan of overworked digestive systems.
Sam belly-crawled over to Woe. “They’re giving you the prize. You won!”
“Did you try it? Was it good?”
“No, no one did,” Sam replied. “But it was unanimous. Not only did you not make a dessert, but you also didn’t force anyone to eat it. This year, that’s the best thing anyone did.”
“Wonderful,” Woe replied. “I’m glad all my hard work paid off.”
