Sheltered Islander by Sally Flynn

The Attack of the Killer Acorns

The local Indian tribes call this time of year the season of the popping trees. For those of us who still live in wooded areas - about 70% of people on Shelter Island - the reason for the term "popping trees" is pretty clear.

When there's a sudden drop in temperature, acorns literally pop off the trees. Where I live it sounds like gunfire all around the house, especially at night. Acorns ping off shingles, cars and lawn furniture with surprising force. Last week, just getting the groceries into the house was quite an experience.

"Jake, " I said to my son as we pulled up the driveway with a full load of groceries, "this is gonna be close. As soon as I say, GO, jump out with the bread and eggs and run for the house. Get your sister to come to the door and help us."

"And why do I have to take the point on this mission?"

"Because I'm the Commander here. You're thin, fast and expendable. Now get ready, GO!"

Jake jumped out and ran for the door, one acorn pinged him in the back. "Ouch!"

"Keep going, soldier!" I yelled. I watched as he made it to the door, swung it open and threw himself to safety.

My daughter, Chenoa, appeared at the door. "Hang on, Mom, I'm coming!" She took the steps in two jumps and crossed open ground under heavy fire to reach me. God, I'm proud of these kids.

"I got hit three times," she exclaimed as she jumped into the van. I handed her four bags. It was a lot to carry under fire, but I had faith in her. At some point you have to trust in the training you gave them.

"Wait, Chenoa, wait for an opening...there! GO!"

Like a gazelle navigating a minefield, she made it to the steps. Her brother grabbed the bags and, to my surprise, she turned and ran back to the van to save her Commander.

"Damn! Those acorns are killers! I got hit like, eight times just getting back here!" she said.

"Take a break, you've earned it," I said as we sat together for a few minutes watching the reign of terror around us. One acorn struck with enough force to ding my windshield.

"I have an idea, Mom. Let me run to the house and get the umbrella for you."

"No, I can't send you into a situation that I'm not willing to face myself. We'll just run for it together."

"But, Mom, you don't run. You do the weeble wobble."

"Weebles may wobble, but we don't fall down. I'll make it, even if I'm a little slow," I said.

Chenoa loaded up with bags and paused, looking out across the yard as she planned her path. She straightened up, squared her shoulders, leaned out of the van and committed.

Carrying two grocery bags and two milk cartons, she dodged incoming acorns that were nearly breaking the sound barrier.

I jumped out, and in my mind, I ran. But in my body, I lumbered. One hit me in the back, then two on the chest. I had gone barely five steps. I reminded myself that a wounded animal could travel far, the Discovery Channel taught me that. Another hit my cheek. I looked and saw Jake about to run to me with an umbrella.

"No!" I yelled. "Don't try it!" But it was too late. He was already next to me. "Take two bags, son. Run, save yourself!" I pushed him, with the umbrella and bags ahead of me. Just as Jake and the umbrella cleared off, I felt two acorns strike the top of my head.

I gripped the railing to the steps and pulled myself into the house. "They got me, I got two shots straight to the head," I said to my daughter as I sat to recover.

She began to laugh. I failed to see the humor, having just taken two for the team.

"What's so funny?" I inquired.

"The acorns are in your bun," she said, giggling, as she plucked the two would-be assailants from densely packed coils of hair.

My bun acts as a solar power collector and fuels my super powers. Everyone knows that. I'm just hoping the acorns didn't damage my power coils. It could affect the way I think and act. People might think I'm some kinda loud-mouthed nut, and I wouldn't want that to happen.

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