Not very often, but once in a great while a beaver story comes along that captures every part of my heart, It is probably no surprise that when it does it usually comes from Vermont, where Skip Lisle and Patti Smith have spent many lifetimes with beavers. This morning’s tale from Addison County introduces a new player, and one that I want to invite for dinner, beaver festival and a sleepover. This story was written by Elsie Lynn Pareni in the Addison County Independent.
Backyard beavers present a picture of place & personality
Backyard chickens are a thing, but how about backyard beavers? Sure they don’t lay eggs, but they’ll redesign your landscape for ya. Joking aside, having a family of beavers move in is pretty special; and having them stay for five years is incredible.
That’s just what’s happened to a fellow Addison County resident (who will remain unnamed for the protection of the beavers).
“The beavers moved in in June of 2016,” he explained, as he meandered up to their main pond. “The pond is getting bigger and bigger… They dig canals to get to their food easier, but they’ve eaten most of it now.”
What ever your doing today you should plan on clicking on the headline and going to the website to read the entire glorious story as written. I haven’t loved a story this much since I read about Hope Ryden in Lily Pond. The article doesn’t give the name of the lucky man to keep the beavers safe, but I have already written the film maker and implored to be introduced.
He walks his paths, with a small bag of apples and a knife in hand. As he approaches the pond, he may call to the beavers.
“They will respond to my voice,” he said.
And they do. Middlebury College senior Matteo Moretti witnessed it too.
“He seems to have figured out what all their vocalizations mean,” said Moretti, who spent several weeks last fall on the property for a documentary film he made for his thesis. “‘How are you guys doing?’ he’ll ask, adding in a low ‘hmmmmmmm,’ which is some sort of sound of affection… It’s pretty awesome.”
So sweet, of course it’s not HMMMMM that beavers say to each other, but NMMMM, Everything beavers say begins with a N. Of course.
The beavers are relatively quiet during the winter months, especially when their ponds freeze over.
“They build up a pantry cache in the fall to eat on in the winter, and sleep a lot,” said the man. “I chop a hole in ice by their lodge so that I can keep feeding the beavers. It can be a lot of work… This past winter the whole got down to only 18-inches wide — barely big enough for two beaver heads to come out.”
But now, in the spring, activity is picking up. The beavers come out of their lodges (there are seven lodges around the ponds and little side holes, too), swim a few laps with their noses in the air to check and make sure everything is safe, and then “do what they do.”
You are so much braver than I. I’m not sure I would have ever made it out to see a beaver in the winter if I had to cut through Ice. But I did bundle up in my ski cloths and spend first night with them in 2008. I was worried the crowds downtown would harm them so we packed a midnight picnic and kept watch at their pond. I remember because it’s the night I met FROgard Butler, and Jean O’Neil who became staunch beaver advocates and Worth A Dam engines.
“I’m under no illusion I’m their friend,” said the man, who spent a couple decades bartending in Middlebury. “I’m just someone who brings them food.”
But it’s hard to believe that when you see the way the beavers respond to this man.
“I’ve spent five years just watching them,” the man guessed, “probably 2,000 hours…. This is my world — I never tire of it.”
To which Heidi says, “Ahh. I understand.”
Just five?”
