Those Aren't Gumballs

I love trees. The more the merrier, I say. I love the shade they provide in summer, the vivid colors in fall, the wildlife they attract for our viewing pleasure, and their practicality in the convenient way they hold items like swings, hammocks, and adventurous children. There is one tree, however, that many either strongly dislike or flat-out hate. 

The American Sweetgum. The fall foliage is pretty sweet. Its byproducts are apparently sweet to various birds, chipmunks, and squirrels. But their spiky balls of death that litter the yard and driveway are anything but sweet. 

Growing up with these little treasures, I have memories of making Christmas ornaments involving hot glue, ribbon, and gumballs. If you can’t beat ‘em, decorate with them, I guess. I have not carried on this tradition with my kids. However, those little boogers still end up in the house and the car. Their spikes are the Velcro mate to such items as fleece pullovers, shoe strings, and dog fur. Isn’t that just “sweet?”

Now, when our massive dog is overdue for a haircut, he transforms into a sheep-bear-Chewbacca-dog hybrid. His fur becomes a magnet for pretty much everything. He brings half the backyard inside with him on a regular basis. And we never know what will greet us as we pet him. We’ve pulled leaves, wood chips, and yes, gumballs out of his fur many times. There was even one special occasion a small drone had to be cut out of his fur after a flying mission turned ugly. Magnetic Velcro, I tell you.

So, what happened one beautiful sunny day should not have come as a surprise. The kids and dog had been outside playing for hours. But later my brain tried desperately to understand what my eyes were seeing. 

“Son, what are you doing to the dog with that blanket?” I asked my 6-year-old.

“He has two of those gumballs from the yard stuck in his fur by his bottom and I’m trying to get them out.”

I don’t know whether I was more shocked by the words I had just heard or the fact that the dog was lying perfectly still. I think it’s safe to say that shock had overtaken him as well. Or maybe I had intervened right before the moment our scheduled neuter appointment would no longer be needed. 

“No!” was all I squeaked out before I was consumed with laughter. 

The look of relief on the dog’s face paired nicely with the look of disbelief on my son’s face, as I promptly shared that those were not in fact gumballs. At least not of the American Sweetgum variety. 

After a quick anatomy lesson for the son, apologies made to the dog, and fits of repeated laughing outbursts by all in the house, I knew that I would never look at gumballs the same way again. 

Now as I stumble across the driveway, navigating a dangerous minefield of Sweetgum droppings, I smile. This is the stuff you just can’t make up. The stuff good memories, inside jokes, and future wedding day toasts are made of. The stuff we will laugh about together years from now when he’s raising kids, dogs, and gumball trees of his own. And that’s, well, pretty sweet.

Copyright © 2023, All rights reserved.