The Summer the Squirrel Disappeared

An Uncle Toby McCarley Porch Story

Night Twenty-Nine: The Decision

The twenty-ninth evening arrived with a faint breeze moving through Hughes Street. Summer was beginning to feel tired. Not finished. Just tired.

The Porch Club gathered as always. Folks brought chairs, desserts, and a whole bunch of opinions. Nobody had ever successfully prevented that last item. Uncle Toby emerged carrying sweet tea. The applause followed. Again.

The old man stopped. Looked over the crowd. And sighed.

“I have become a victim of my own success.”

“You caused this,” Pearl replied.

“I know.”

The crowd laughed. Toby lowered himself into the peacock chair. The wicker creaked. The lanterns glowed. The audience quieted. And the old man nodded.

“The decision.”

The crowd immediately leaned forward.

Spring, 1991. The Golden Squirrel Committee meeting continued. Maybelline’s boxes remained spread across the table. Photographs. Articles. Letters. Programs. A lifetime of evidence.

The committee members examined them carefully. Some smiled. Some nodded. Some looked surprised. A few appeared embarrassed.

Back on Hughes Street, Earl grunted.

“As they should.”

The old man nodded.

“A little.”

In 1991, nobody disputed the facts. Not one person. Nobody argued Clayton hadn’t organized the fundraiser. Nobody questioned the creek rescue. Nobody challenged the church repairs. The coat drives. The storm work. The years of service. Everything was documented. Everything was true.

That wasn’t the problem. The problem was the rules. Eventually the chairman cleared his throat. The most dangerous sound in committee work.

And said: “The committee recognizes Clayton Reynolds’ contributions.”

A pause.

“However…”

Back on Hughes Street, the entire crowd groaned. Even the children. The old man pointed.

“See?”

“Everybody hates a however.”

In 1991, the chairman continued. “The award has never been given posthumously.”

A pause.

“And changing that tradition may create complications.”

The room grew quiet. Very quiet. Because everybody knew what complications meant.

Nothing.

It usually meant nothing.

It was simply a more respectable way of saying: We don’t want to.

Back on Hughes Street, Beulah Mae snorted. The old man smiled.

“Exactly.”

In 1991, several committee members had the decency to look uncomfortable. One finally spoke.

“I think he deserves it.”

Another nodded.

“So do I.”

Another.

“Absolutely.”

Yet somehow those statements changed nothing.

Because everybody agreed. And nobody acted. The old Toby sighed.

“That’s a mighty dangerous combination.”

Nobody disagreed.

In the end the vote was taken.

Respectful. Polite. Civil. The motion failed. Not by much. But it failed.

Maybelline sat quietly. Listening. No anger. No tears. No argument. Just silence.

The chairman offered apologies. Kind words. Explanations. Sympathy.

Maybelline thanked everyone. Gathered her boxes. Smiled. Then went home.

Back on Hughes Street, the porch remained silent. Because everybody knew that kind of disappointment. The quiet kind. The kind that settles deep. The old Toby stared out into the darkness. Then softly said:

“That’s the day Maybelline stopped askin’.”

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. “What do you mean?” Pearl finally whispered. The old man nodded.

“After that day… she never asked another committee for permission.”

The crowd sat perfectly still. Because suddenly the story felt different. The mystery felt closer. The squirrel felt vulnerable.

In 1991, Maybelline returned home. Carried the boxes inside. Placed them beside the scrapbook. Then she noticed something. A reflection. The late afternoon sun had struck a framed photograph hanging on the wall.

The photograph showed Clayton Reynolds standing beside the football team. Those very uniforms. The first uniforms. And for just a moment she smiled. Not sadly. Not bitterly. Almost thoughtfully. As though a new idea had wandered into the room.

The old Toby rose from the peacock chair. The protests came instantly.

“Tobe.”

“Don’t you do it!”

“Come on.”

The grin returned. Broad as ever. At the screen door he paused. Turned, and said:

“Tomorrow night… Maybelline buys a piece of walnut.”

The yard froze. Then fifty people began talking at once. The screen door slammed.

And for the next twenty-four hours, Hughes Street debated what in the world a piece of walnut had to do with a missing squirrel.

About Ol' Big Jim

Jim L. Wright is a storyteller with a lifetime of experiences as colorful as the characters he creates. Born and raised in Piedmont, Alabama, Jim’s connection to the land, history, and people of the region runs deep. His debut novel New Yesterdays is set in his hometown, where he grew up listening to stories of the past—stories that sparked his imagination and curiosity for history. Today, Jim lives in Leeds, Alabama, with his husband Zeek, a tour operator who shares his passion for adventure and discovery. Known affectionately as “Ol’ Big Jim,” he has had a diverse career that includes time as a storekeeper, an embalmer, a hospital orderly, and a medical coder. There are even whispers—unconfirmed, of course—that he once played piano in a house of ill repute. No matter the job, one thing has remained constant: Jim is a teller of tales. His stories—sometimes humorous, sometimes thought-provoking—are often inspired by his unique life experiences. Many of these tales can be found on his popular blog, Ol’ Big Jim, where he continues to share his musings with a loyal readership. Jim’s adventures have taken him far beyond Alabama. For seven years, he lived in Amman, Jordan, the world’s oldest continuously inhabited city. His time there, spent in smoky coffee shops, enjoying a hookah and a cup of tea while scribbling in his ever-present notebook, deeply influenced his worldview and his writing. When Jim isn’t writing, he’s thinking about writing. His stories, whether tall tales from his past or imaginative reimagining is of historical events should read from his past or imaginative reimaginings of historical events, reflect a life lived fully and authentically. With New Yesterdays, Jim brings readers a rich tapestry of history, fantasy, and human connection. Visit his blog at www.olbigjim.com to read more of his stories, or follow him on social media to keep up with his latest musings and projects, one of which is a series that follows Bonita McCauley, an amateur detective who gets into some very sticky situations. His book, New Yesterdays, can be found at Amazon US, Amazon UK, Smashwords, and Barnes and Noble.

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