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.
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!
