Thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands of them. Courtesy of my prolific red oak. The one that wasn't content to tear up my driveway with its roots. Or clog my gutters with its fuzzy pollen each spring. Or prolifically scatter leaves each fall that NEVER ROT. (Why the world isn't hip deep in oak leaves is beyond me. They simply never degrade. There are oak leaves beneath my foundation plantings from 1982, I swear.)
Anyway, all these acorns make a trip out to the mailbox a perilous excursion across a mine field of little organic ball bearings. Every time you pull in the driveway you crush another few thousand into a gritty powder that gets tracked into the house. And when my lawn guy mows this week it will be like shooting off a shotgun when his mower slings volleys of these acorns at the house.
You get the idea I don't like the oak tree? Well, I'm not crazy about it. But it's the healthiest tree on the property. The prolonged drought in the southeast hasn't fazed it. It also shades a large portion of my house, and in air conditioning season that's very welcome. It's kind of a mixed blessing.
In the next few days I will get to watch the squirrels and chipmunks gathering cheek-fulls in a delirious fit of greed, and see acorns crammed into every crack and crevice within a mile of the house. It's like rodent manna from heaven, I guess.