Keeping Promises

I was going to “go meta” this morning and write about the trials and tribulations of keeping this blog, scouring for beaver stories, dealing with browser inconsistencies, correcting spelling errors and combating ongoing html eruptions, but when I was looking for something else I came across this. Maybe its all the excitement from yesterday’s Scotland news, but since I still can’t get through the first two paragraphs without tearing up I assume its worth posting again.

We were once them,

and now are their custodians.

They know we are different

and their eyes tell us to keep our promise.

Geoffrey Lehmann: The Animals

This poem leaped at me from the pages of this issue of The New Yorker. I was just quietly minding my own business waiting for a Dr.’s appointment, when the beavers sneaked into my magazine and asked about my promise. Saving beavers is hard work. Sisyphus hard. Sometimes in the complexities of being educator, tour guide, researcher and booking agent, it becomes more difficult to maintain my primary role as custodian. Maybe I’m here writing the web page instead of down at the dam at dawn, or preparing for the next talk instead of sneaking down in the evening.

I remember, back when Skip was installing the leveler, and had taken the dam down by three terrifying feet, we were all in a panic that the beavers would leave. The first night a crowd watched while all (then six) beavers worked on repairing the dam, ripping out tulles and even taking sticks from the lodge. There were panicked phone calls and very upset supporters, and I went to sleep with an ache that I might never see my beloved beaver family again.

That night I dreamed I was standing at the shoreline of the Marina and saw the entire family swimming away in a line. I knew in the dream that they were relocating, that they had given up on this habitat and all our intrusions. In the dream I understood that they would never be our beavers ever again, but I was so grateful that I had seen them one last time. They were all together, no child had been left behind or parent scattered in the confusion. And they were all right, swimming away free and strong…and I could say goodbye.

I don’t know if that dream was my promise or not, but I know it felt like a commitment to see this labyrinthian journey through to its sweet and sad conclusions; to let these animals touch and reshape my life; to let the people who care about them build new pathways for understanding. Nothing looks the same as it did that night 18 months ago [five years ago], but the beavers are weaving stories and I will keep my promise.