big-reach-upright

Did you ever see the remarkable movie “Defending your life”? It’s set in the afterlife where you’re evaluated to see if you’re ready to move on or need another shot at learning to be a human being. Albert Brooks plays his funny, neurotic, fear-laden self, with all the hang ups and foibles humans have. His co-star Meryl Streep plays a graceful, giving, fearless woman who has lived an exceptional life.

The pair meet and court while they’re waiting for their trial, (his is going to be NINE days because his life was so shoddy while her panel tells her they’ll do the second day just for enjoyment’s sake) As they connect they learn that they have very different circumstances based on their standing going into trial. She has a jacuzzi tub, a hotel that serves champagne and caviar, amazing meals, and a best friend for a lawyer. He has motel 6 and a DVD with popcorn. In every possible way their situations are contrasted with often hilarious results. He notes their differences without resentment. It never stops them from being friends.

At the end of his grueling trial (where they show you clips of your life and lawyers discussed whether you did the right thing) he is eviscerated for his weakness and walks dejectedly over to see how Meryl is fairing. He finds her curled up in a comfortable chair while her judges wipe away tears and comment on her extraordinary life of courage and kindness. His trial has been – well a trial. Hers has been a celebration.

I thought of this movie today when I read the new lovely beaver article from Vermont. Naturalist & author Patti Smith wonders how the beavers fared after Irene was done with them and wades out to check. Not only do her beavers have idyllic conditions, a compliant media and civic safety, they also have better luck. Her beavers survived the storm, she sees and feed them, one dam is saved, the lodge is preserved and she finds a new baby who moves mud with his nose. Then she lays out under the stars to nap.

Here I found three more beavers. When I sat down on the bank, two of them swam over eagerly, the two young beavers. I handed out apples and they settled down, making their proprietary squeaky whines. I then directed my attention to the third beaver, the one that approached uncertainly, the one with the very small tail, a new baby beaver! She swam up and prodded her siblings. They squeaked at her. She paddled over to the dam, ducked her head under the water, and came up with a pile of mud on her nose. She poked it onto the dam with all of the gravity and industry of her clan.

The only beaver missing was Bunchberry, the patriarch. For the past month he had been recovering from a wound inflicted in a territorial dispute. He could well be off surveying the damage or scouting for new dam sites. Still, even a beaver might have been seriously injured in that epic high water.

Night settled upon the pond with an intense blackness, and the universe sparkled above. I turned off my light and settled back to enjoy the perspective gained by a tour of deep space.

In an infinity of blazing stars and black holes the events of this little planet seem safe and predictable, even with the odd tropical storm. I returned to earth when I heard the hum of a rodent greeting. When I turned my flashlight on, I found a large damp beaver sitting beside me, hoping I’d brought him some rodent nuggets. Bunchberry had weathered the hurricane, too.

Patti Smith

Sigh.

What a lovely article. Again. Thanks for letting us read about how beavers fared in Vermont. You know, Martinez Beavers may have no lodge, no mom, no protection, no naturalists, and no babies – they may have to put up with train whistles, homeless urine, city council, garbage trucks, beer drinkers and angry weed whackers.

But they have US and many more children who love them, and that’s got to count for something in this life and the next.

Happy Labor day to all our working and not-working beaver friends out there!

I found this lovely account of “Ducky” which appeared this weekend, not surprisingly, in Skip Lisle’s home state. It is second only to “Voyage of the dam med” for sheer respect and admiration of the animal. It’s beautiful, intimate writing of one woman keeping watch on a beaver. Gosh, I can’t possibly imagine why it appeals to me, can you?

I will never forget the evening of Ducky’s formal debut, an event that took place during my first summer of beaver watching. I had waited for weeks to see the kits, but they never appeared when I was there. That evening, Willow, the matriarch, arrived to sample the picnic I brought for her, as had become her habit. Instead of finishing her refreshment, however, she ate just a little and then swam away.

She soon returned with a miniature beaver bobbing beside her. Willow strolled back up to her picnic while Ducky sat up in the shallow water, little paws tucked up to her chest and watched. Her wonder could not have equaled mine. I like to think that Willow had decided it was time to show off her baby. At the very least, allowing the kit to follow her to the picnic site demonstrated the degree of trust she felt in me.

The delightful story follows the details of Ducky’s growing up, and youthful habit of taking more from the larder than she saved. The author follows the stream when she disperses and identifies her selected territory. It’s a beautiful look at compassionate stewardship for beavers, which I believe we can all benefit from! Go read the whole thing and maybe then you’ll feel like writing the author to thank her.

As I approached an old dam, I saw that water had collected behind it again. Sure enough, a beaver’s wake sliced across the dark pool as I approached. Ducky swam right up for her apples. This site did have an abundance of winter forage, and though just a 15-minute stroll from my house, it was still remote from other humans.

Beaver trails, canals and a harvest of alder branches suggested Ducky was not just passing through. As I gazed upstream, admiring the pretty valley, I saw the second beaver. He swam right over. Ducky, busy with an apple, greeted him with a few little squeak-whines. The new beaver emitted a low growl-like hum, then a warning huff and for good measure, slapped with his tail. When he surfaced, I explained that I’d known Ducky since she was in pigtails, so he’d better get used to my visits. He huffed again and swam off.

Despite this cool reception, I was delighted to meet Ducky’s mate. In the fairy tales this is where the story would end, and perhaps in the relatively uncomplicated world of a beaver, I could conclude with “and they all lived happily ever after.” I prefer to think of this as the beginning of a story. You bet, I’ll keep you posted.

Patti Smith is a naturalist at the Bonnyvale Environmental Education Center. The View From Heifer Hill, a feature on the nature of our region, appears in this space the first Saturday of each month. Patti welcomes your feedback at grayfox@vtrocket.com.

More good news from our Raging Grannies friend Ruth Robertson (Part I) whose article (Part II) appears in “Positive News“. It’s a fun read, but if she had ran it by me I would have told her that the photo was wrongly titled by about 45 lbs.

That’s a kit. Dad is much, much larger! Think labrador