This just in from Auburn Magazine art director Stacy Wood:
The other day my daughter and I made the ambitious decision to improve upon God's design for the lowly chipmunk. Like many monumental, life-changing moments, this idea came to us swiftly and quietly and in the most ordinary of ways. And, it just so happens, this particular conversation came to pass at the intersection of North College Street and Drake Avenue near downtown Auburn.
"My daughter, Jonah, also known as "Roo," looks out the window as we wait for a green light and remarks that there are lots of chipmunks out today. She proceeds to explain, in the matter-of-fact way that only 4-year-old do, that "the chipmunks are looking for nuts because chipmunks eat nuts."
"That's right," I say, catching a glimpse of her proud face in the rearview mirror. "And what do you think the chipmunks will do when they find all those nuts?"
"I dunno, eat them?"
"Maybe," I say, and then explain how these clever little guys will also pack their cheeks with the nuts, and then carry the whole bunch back to their house.
Roo looks wide-eyed and doubtful, then perplexed. Immediately I start searching my memory for evidence (in the form of a specific National Geographic special, or at least a Looney Tunes cartoon) that this whole chipmunk-cheek-stuffing information I'm touting is actually correct. Do they? Maybe I'm thinking of hamsters? Or squirrels? Now I'm not sure. But before I can say anything, she asks, "Why don't they just carry them?"
"Good question," I say. Then I start in on a game I've dubbed the "What If?" game. I point out that chipmunks only have two front paws and ask her what would happen when both their paws are holding nuts already. Then, before my eyes, I catch a glimpse of those shiny, brand-new wheels of reason begin to turn. "Oh ... yeah," she says as she turns back to the chipmunks who are diligently going about their chipmunk nut-gathering business.
I mentally pat myself on the back for my June Cleaver-ish mothering moment just as the light finally turns green.
I start to slowly accelerate, thinking I should write a book and share my parental wisdom, when I hear her small inquisitive voice from the backseat ask, "Why don't they use backpacks?" I immediately envision fuzzy rodents scurrying around downtown Auburn loaded with Northface packs and sipping from Starbucks cups as they dart between legs of some equally hurried college student. I smile and start to laugh when two important realizations hit me.
First off, Roo wasn't laughing; she was, in fact, absolutely serious. The second realization was even more sobering. "I have no idea why chipmunks don't wear backpacks," I said.
And that's how, later that evening, I found myself at a kitchen table laden with sticky balls of drying glue, scraps of brightly colored fabric, and enough glitter and sequins to rival Auburn's Tiger Eyes dance troupe. Sure, I may be an artist by day, but, by night, I make backpacks for chipmunks with my favorite companion for the journey ... a very ecstatic little girl who is entertaining her own monumental, life-changing idea.
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