You know how Chesterburgh prides itself on being a close-knit, all-ears kinda town? Well, apparently, that openness extends to our local squirrels too. Last Tuesday morning, the new “Squirrel Park” popped up on Maple Avenue, right next to the usual “No Parking” sign that people consistently ignore. Except nobody knows who put it there. No city announcement, no committee approval, no official ribbons cut—just a charming little wooden sign that reads, in curly green script: “Welcome to Squirrel Park: Take a Nut, Leave a Smile.”

    If you thought Chesterburgh didn’t have room to get more delightfully weird, you’re sorely mistaken. The sign, complete with an awkwardly carved squirrel clutching what looks like a peanut, appeared overnight, as casually as cats commandeer the library steps on a sunny afternoon. The spot itself is a tiny patch of grass between the post office and Jim’s Diner, previously just an overlooked strip full of cigarette butts and the occasional discarded grocery list.

    Naturally, as soon as I spotted it during my usual mid-morning photo stroll, I grabbed the camera—because if it isn’t documented, did it even happen? Nothing like a spontaneous community art piece to make your weekly “Snapshot Chesterburgh” truly sing with passive-aggressive charm and oddball whimsy.

    Over the next few days, the park not only gathered squirrels but also ignited local curiosity. A handful of townsfolk began dropping nuts and seeds at the base of the sign, some even left tiny notes like “For your nutty neighbors” or “Thanks for the smiles.” Meanwhile, others treated it as a serious “No Trespassing” zone for humans—though the squirrels, of course, seemed blissfully indifferent to human territory wars.

    What makes this ‘Squirrel Park’ particularly fascinating isn’t just its unauthorized origin or its unofficial mascot. It’s the perfect embodiment of Chesterburgh’s unofficial unofficialness—and the very kind of visual contradiction that makes me sneak out of the office to chase down these oddities. A public space with absolutely zero public consultation but still sprouting its own charming community spirit? That’s a visual story worth a thousand snarky captions.

    I reached out to City Hall, half-expecting to hear some bureaucratic spiel about rogue art projects or squirrel-related zoning violations. Instead, I got Deputy Clerk Marlene’s chuckle over the phone. “Honestly, Casey, we just noticed it yesterday. No one’s claimed responsibility. It’s... adorable, so we’re letting it slide for now. Though, the Parks Department did grumble about nut safety.”

    Meanwhile, local business owners have turned the surprise park into a subtle boon. Jim, who owns the diner next door, reports his morning coffee sales ticked up by 15% ever since squirrels started parading past the window like tiny, furry flash mobs. “People come just to see the sign, then they stay for pie,” Jim said, polishing a mug while his tabby, Mr. Whiskers, eyed a suspiciously squirrel-shaped shadow flickering nearby.

    The town’s social media went mildly nuts—pun absolutely intended. The community Facebook group is flooded with everything from genuine admiration to curiosity-fueled speculation. “Is this a message? A protest? An art piece? A squirrel’s dream?” This prompted a local poet to post an impromptu ode to the “nutty guardian of Maple Avenue,” which has since been printed and posted next to the sign itself. Classic Chesterburgh: halfway between a mystery and a monument, with a little bite.

    Of course, no good mystery in this town would be complete without a conspiracy theory or two. One persistent trail suggests that Chesterburgh’s eccentric resident artist, Helen McTavish, might be behind it all.