Mamta has been focused on nuts lately.  Not the kind of nuts for which Berlin is famous, but rather tree nuts — acorns and chestnuts, mostly.  Her interest, or dare I say obsession, came on gradually.  I noticed that getting from one place to another in the city seemed to be taking longer, and realized that it was because Mamta was constantly stopping to gather nuts.  She usually hands them to me for transport in my pockets or man-purse (aka bike messenger bag).  Shiny brown horse chestnuts are her preferred quarry, but she delights in finely-shaped acorns as well.  I began to wonder what was motivating this passion of hers, and why, for that matter, were there so many nuts lying around anyway?

Slim pickings in Grunewald Park

Competition

More competition

Stick-flinging hunter-gatherer

Accident waiting to happen

Last Saturday we mounted a chestnut-gathering expedition to Grunewald Park with Mamta’s cousins.  The harvest was surprisingly limited, given our experience elsewhere in the city, the number of chestnut trees in the park, and the enthusiasm exercised in the search.

Annette’s sister Doreen pointed to the churned-up soil under the trees: “Wildschwein.”  Wild boars.  So that helped to explain why there were so few chestnuts in the Grunewald.

But the competition for chestnuts was not limited to wild boars.  I saw one man gathering chestnuts directly from a tree, while nearby a woman was repeatedly hurling a stick into the branches of a chestnut tree, trying to knock loose the nuts.  Not knowing Mamta’s motives, I couldn’t tell if they were shared by these strangers. However, I surmised that they might have safety in mind.

I have found Germans to be quite safety-conscious.  As we walked through the park, we could hear nuts falling when the wind blew. Fewer nuts on the trees would translate into a decreased risk of being struck by a falling nut.  Of course, nuts aren’t dangerous only when they are falling.  A carpet of acorns on a walking path could easily cause slips and falls. Perhaps the adult nut-gatherers are members of a Verein — one of the formal associations of which Germans are quite fond — dedicated to reducing nut-related hazards.  But I don’t think Mamta and her cousins are motivated by safety concerns.

On Sunday Mamta had a playdate with a friend from school at one of Berlin’s many extraordinary playgrounds.  As the girl’s father and I were chatting, I heard a shout from a mother nearby: “Kuck mal! Eichhoernchen!” Everyone within earshot turned to gape at the squirrel scampering across the corner of the playground.  Huh?  It was a run-of-the-mill red squirrel that back home in New Hampshire is considered an obnoxious pest. Here, it was a source of wonder.  I realized that this was the first squirrel I had seen since arriving in Berlin six weeks ago.  So that’s why there are so many acorns languishing under the city’s trees: not enough squirrels! Clearly Mamta and her cousins understand the implications, and are simply doing their part to keep the city from being inundated by nuts.