The Tenacity of Beavers

Beaver at Dam, Courtesy Pixabay
Beaver at Dam
Courtesy Pixabay
The most important lessons I can give my daughter are not through me, but instead those found best in the wild. Though she can’t talk, I know she still listens. Though her childhood amnesia is inevitable, I know that neural circuits are still being formed. Those circuits will do her good one day.

Our favorite lesson is in the tenacity of beavers.

This winter, we took one of our favorite hikes through knee-deep postholing snow to one of our favorite beaver dams. The dogs trot ahead, sniff snuffing at the path, darting to the stream that runs alongside our trail and back, and lead us as they have many times before up the trail. When we come to the great beaver dam, one that assuredly took not just years but generations of beavers to build, we stop for a snack and water, and let our daughter sit quizzically in the springtime slush. I explain to her the parts of the beaver’s home: the dam, the lodge, how they store their food. She listens while she smushes snow in her mittens, neural circuits are formed, and we pack up to start the slushy walk back to the car. A good day’s hike and lesson. A Greek proverb is dusted off in my mind, that a society grows great when old men plant trees under whose shade they know they shall never sit. Those beavers are good Greeks, but likely poor hoplites.

Later that spring, we return to the dam, our trail shortened by melted snow. Snow is gone from the trail, but still holding fast in the mountains above. The travel is easier, muddier, but the beaver Platonic Republic justly endures. I explain the parts of the Castorian city-state yet again, and explain what the beavers are doing now as we see fresh aspen fells. They’re collecting good sugars and preparing for their kits. Kallipolis endures, as it has, another year out of dozens of millennia, and even without a cud of pulp in sight. I wonder if beavers have oral traditions?

Time then passes as we all pass through space, and summer buds, blooms, and begins to fade. The cattle have come, grazed, trammeled, and been driven off yet again. We return to Xanadu in the early morning before the sun beats hard. We can get even closer to the dam now that the Forest gates are open, and we prepare for our adventure. My daughter looks around excitedly and drinks water from her cup. The dogs look around excitedly at all the leftover cow pies to investigate. Luckily they’ve dried.

We exit the car and make our short way to the beavers only to discover that tragedy has struck between spring and now. The dam has burst. Like the River Isen, a great work of nature has blown a hole in the waterkeep, and drained the promised pond. The shoreline has receded like a tonsure, the lodge’s secret doors exposed as if by moonlit ithildin, and the water flowing with Newtonian determination towards Great Salt Lake.

It’s shocking at first, seeing this anchor of time heaved asunder, the work of generations of beavers up and smote by spring runoff. All that labor. All those lives well-lived. Perhaps not wasted, but at least now remembered with a sigh. I sigh out as well, and explain this all to my daughter. She listens, pulls on cow-mown grasses, synapses fire, and circuits connect. We complete our hike and eventually go home.

Finally, early this fall we set off for the utopia-that-was once more. Colors have begun to change to golds and crimson. The air is more crisp; the heat more bearable. We saddle up in the toddler backpack, and see what there is to see of the beavers. We arrive to the wonders of hope and joy, and the tenacity of beavers.

The dam it appears is not abandoned. The labor of generations is honored with the restoration of the work. Not in its entirety mind you, for that will again take years and perhaps generations, but the work is underway regardless. Greek thinking again prevails. Whether by purpose or itch it matters not, but slowly the pond is regrowing. The shoreline has risen to swallow back and douse bare earth, and the water is a bit more wine-dark. I excitedly show my daughter, who excitedly is playing with my hat, the work that has happened, and the work yet to do. The beavers will not quit when allowed to do so. They are tenacious little buggers whose teeth grow forever. We take it all in and continue our hike, and eventually go back home. A new proverb pops into my head. A society grows great when we get to work and, figuratively, give a dam.

I’m Patrick Kelly and I’m Wild About Utah.
 
Credits:

Images: Beaver & Dam Image Courtesy Pixabay, Public Domain
Featured Audio: Courtesy & Copyright Friend Weller, Utah Public Radio with and Anderson, Howe, & Wakeman.
Text:    Patrick Kelly, Stokes Nature Center, https://logannature.org
Included Links: Lyle Bingham, Webmaster, WildAboutUtah.org

Additional Reading

Greene, Jack, I’m a Beaver Believer, Wild About Utah, December 19, 2022, https://wildaboututah.org/im-a-beaver-believer/

Bingham, Lyle, Welcoming Rodent Engineers, Wild About Utah, February 7, 2022, https://wildaboututah.org/welcoming-rodent-engineers/

Hellstern, Ron, Leave it to Beaver, Wild About Utah, July 30, 2018, https://wildaboututah.org/leave-it-to-beaver/

Leavitt, Shauna, Beaver–Helping Keep Water on Drying Lands, Wild About Utah, April 17, 2017, https://wildaboututah.org/the-beaver-helping-keep-water-on-drying-lands/

Strand, Holly, Beavers: The Original Army Corps of Engineers, Wild About Utah, April 29, 2010, https://wildaboututah.org/beavers-the-original-army-corps-of-engineers/

Goldfarb, Ben, Eager: The Surprising, Secret Life of Beavers and Why They Matter, Chelsea Green Publishing, March 8, 2019, https://www.amazon.com/Eager-Surprising-Secret-Beavers-Matter/dp/1603589082/ref=asc_df_1603589082/

Freedom in a Land Called Utah…

Green River Meanders
Courtesy NASA, September 18, 2018
NASA Earth Observatory
Green River Meanders
Courtesy NASA, September 18, 2018
NASA Earth Observatory
I am sitting next to friends on top of the skeleton of an excavator from the 1950s at an abandoned uranium mining site. All around us are tamarisk chokes, redrock fortifications, and the bleached steel bones of Pittsburgh’s former glory. We descend off of what we imagine the remains of a great steel minotaur which used to rule this dead tributary, and head up the wash into a side canyon. Following old trails and roads, we find stone sculptures pitted and bored by wind, scorpions avoiding our misunderstood company, and the remains of camps left by those the scorpions take us for.

We scramble past ash mounds, graffitied rocks, and discarded tin cans to each find a perch on one of the many boulders which have in time broken and cascaded down from the high red cliffs above like magnificent apocalyptic rain. Each dwarfs what we think possible to exist surviving such a fall, yet it does and will continue to do so long after we have ceased. Our expectations cannot deny their reality.

I sit on one of these great cleaves, facing west, enjoying life as the last rays of the deadly August sun hits my cheeks. I close my eyes and hear three ravens. When I call, they call back. Their dialect is not like those back home, but we both understand and appreciate the good company. They call from on high, and I from on low. Together we fill the canyons around us with the joyful elixir of rendezvous comradery.

Those other humans with me begin to wander around, discovering where water once fell and may again, where the ancient deep sands have laid new claim to man’s tin and iron waste, seeking to bury it and create the world in its own granular image, and where hardy shades of greenery have used their roots like vices to cling first and drink second.

I stay upon my boulder. The ravens stay upon their wing. I dream of being nowhere but where I am.

There’s a place in Utah where the sun burns a bit hotter and the air smells like home. Down the Green River with her tangerine mornings lies Labyrinth Canyon and the lair of the steel minotaur. This Labyrinth, the river’s hand at Daedalus’s task, can also in the same make and destroy and make again. True to its name, the canyon allows all to meander into its fluid center, and gives opportunity for you to meander into your own if you’re willing to disconnect from what lies above the crests of those ancient concretized dunes, and see the world for what lies within a cradle older than time itself.

This wisened world, a world holding evidence of man’s potent messages in petroglyph, graffiti, and iron beast, holds an even greater message of hope found etched by the thumping course of the Green River. That message tells not of man’s stories looking back, but of the joy, warmth, honest decision, and echoes of time found in looking ahead.

By our freedom in this world we have license to hoot n’ holler like the wild animals we are into the amphitheaters given by the river’s mind. Let those without joy or heart file a noise complaint, for the river holds no objection. She responds back in our words, whispered to us with unbridled power by her own red and rough maw. Hearing me howl and the walls rebuttal, somewhere in the distance a beaver slaps its tail upon the water. The river calls back to him as well.

The world does not discriminate against those who choose to live within it and not simply upon it. It feels good to belong to such a place. It feels good to have such a place belong to no one, for who can be deserving of such creation but the riverine creator?

Lucky for us in Utah, our land still has more creation than not, even given the efforts of our minotaurs. Wherever you are right now, find a window. Look outside of it. There, just past where you’re looking, lies more of Utah to be found. Just past where you can see lies another labyrinth, another message of hope, another space to dream of being nowhere but where you are, where the sun burns a little hotter and the air smells like home. So go out and be free and wild as Utah makes all who live not just on it, but within. Find your freedom in the land that we call Utah.

My name is Patrick Kelly and I am Wild About Utah.
 
Credits:

Images: Image Courtesy NASA Earth Observatory, Public Domain
Audio: Contains audio Courtesy & Copyright Friend Weller, Utah Public Radio
Text:    Patrick Kelly, Director of Education, Stokes Nature Center, https://logannature.org
Included Links: Lyle Bingham, Webmaster, WildAboutUtah.org

Additional Reading

Wild About Utah Pieces by Patrick Kelly: https://wildaboututah.org/author/patrick-kelly/

The Uranium Mines of Bowknot Bend, Green River Utah, AZ Backcountry Adventures, Ernie Parks, 2014 Trips, http://www.azbackcountryadventures.com/uran.htm

Watching Bird TV

watching bird tv: Flicker, Courtesy Pixabay
Flicker, Courtesy Pixabay

Two American Robins and a Northern Flicker Drinking from a Bird Bath Copyright © 2012 Linda Kervin Two American Robins and a
Northern Flicker Drinking from a Bird Bath
Copyright © 2012 Linda Kervin

bird tv: Chickadee Courtesy edbo23, photographer and Pixabay Chickadee
Courtesy edbo23, photographer and Pixabay

There are some days that I just don’t have it in me to get outside. Maybe it’s the winter blues; maybe it’s exhaustion from a full day’s work. Either way, there are days where all I want to do is sit in the shelter of my home next to the heat ducts, or under the shade of a porch, and just exhale for hours. Sometimes, getting into the thick or exploring one of the many unmapped nooks of Utah’s majesty just isn’t happening.

I used to feel bad about this. I have but one life, one short blip of time upon this earth, I should be making use of every second. Whether it’s laboring on an overdue chore, or out testing my grit in harmony with Utah’s character, I need to be doing or I am dying; wasting the one life I am given.

It took me some good time to not overcome this mentality, but see my struggle with new eyes: to wash them and see the world fresh. My ablution began by asking a simple question: how can I love the still wild land that has provided for my family, my nation, my species for millennia, even when I don’t have it in me to go out and commune with it as I know I should daily?

The answer for me was to find a way to appreciate and give in such a way that allows me great joy and relaxation, yet fulfills that higher narrative which only the world beyond human influence can provide. My answer was watching birds at my small backyard bird feeder.

While it may not sound as exciting as fording a river while carrying my dog, or submitting a mountain that still holds on to deep winter snows (again with my dog), it gives me a chance to still learn about the cut of my jib, to see what character I’m made of, and to see my place in the world, in creation, and in life.

I test my grit upon the stillness of my mind when cheerful chickadees begin to see me as a part of the scenery and perch ever closer and closer to the branches above me, or my honest acceptance when rackets of starlings come to steal the suet left out in hope of a Stellar’s jay or lost mountain bluebird, or my reflection on where my body will one day go as scraps from my last hunt are eaten by the local neighborhood magpie clan.

This is an activity I have dubbed Bird TV for those who will often find my attention turn suddenly from conversation with them to quickly confirming the flicker drumming on the feeder’s home tree marking its stake. Through the lessons of my wild neighbors and in my observation of them, I can still hold true to myself in seeking to commune with the real world daily. By watching Bird TV, I can learn the calls of different species, notice when they change with the food supply or weather, and reflect upon my place within this world and within this life, no narration but the sounds of the real world, alive and vibrant in front of me.

So when you don’t have the energy or time to be upon the land from which has given life to your family, our nation, and all species, consider setting out sunflower seeds, nuts, raw meat, or even jams for the birds. Set them someplace you can catch yourself noticing who’s visiting out of the corner of your eye through a window at any moment, and if another human asks as to why you’re being distracted by a what’s outside and not by the usual glowing rectangle, just let them know that it’s Bird TV. Invite them to watch too, and catch them up on what’s been going on in the world. Hopefully then they’ll learn to tune in too.

I’m Patrick Kelly and I’m Wild About Utah.
 
Credits:

Images: Image Courtesy & Copyright Patrick Kelly, Photographer, all rights reserved
Audio: Contains audio Courtesy & Copyright Kevin Colver
Text:    Patrick Kelly, Director of Education, Stokes Nature Center, https://logannature.org
Included Links: Lyle Bingham, Webmaster, WildAboutUtah.org

Additional Reading

Project Feederwatch, Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Cornell University, https://feederwatch.org/

Axelson, Gustave, 30 Years of Project FeederWatch Yield New Insights About Backyard Birds, All About Birds, Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Cornell University, January 11, 2017, https://www.allaboutbirds.org/news/30-years-of-project-feederwatch-yield-new-insights-about-backyard-birds/

Short Works

Avenue Road Path Trees, Courtesy Pixabay,  Peggychoucair, Contributor
Avenue Road Path Trees
Courtesy Pixabay, Peggychoucair, Contributor
Now with a baby and persistent lacks and gaps in sleep, longer-form writing is gone. Lost. Kaput. The big thinking bits of the brain where creativity lies are in perpetual short-circuit from having to deal with so much else, that the only way I can write and get enough material is in the shorter form. I wonder to myself if this is how George Saunders or Rumi started. I reflect, maybe, but I’m also no George Saunders or Rumi. Probably for the best.

Regardless, I rarely find myself with the time I need to write in general. My time has been otherwise accounted for by care. That’s not a bad thing, but I don’t have the same allocation of space. Now, there are just the spaces in between care, where normally chores are done in the style of feudal ninjitsu: as fast and quiet as possible so as to not wake the sleeping. Sometimes though, there can be spaces in the spaces, where a nap goes longer than usual, and I can sit with presence, and write a few words on why, in the midst of it all, I’m tired, but still Wild About Utah.

Grandmother

Summer’s heat is now just warmth as the sun sets lower in the autumn sky. I listen to the last rumbles of lawnmowers and leaf blowers and reflect upon the high hot season gone by. I think about the adventures, the growth, the newness, and the labor. I think back, too, on what has passed, and whom — family, friends, mentors, and confidants. Loss never gets easier; it gets harder. Each loss is another hole in our being, which lets in the cold, and so that just as summer’s light wanes, memories fade and darkness seems inevitable as it seeps through the gaps. The challenge that is always easier said than done, though, is to take that hole and make it a window in our souls; to try to look out those new windows upon new vistas; to see that they also let in the light, even of just the stars when that darkness falls. And then it is still work to know that we can shine through them a beacon of the hearth which requires stoking. Light is given then to those who gave. It sounds easier than it is, because healing is hard, but without hope through work, it will never be. And work we do. All wounds heal soon enough, but we save the scars to remember that life is tough. And so are we.

Let the leaves lie.

When worlds collide, let the leaves lie.

Ask what is right, and do not bide

Your time making arguments for “clean” or “pure”

For trees’ ears are full of sap and so are yours.

Use your better senses, and let the leaves lie.

Season of rest

I can’t wait to slow down,

take a breath,

and warm my bones with tea by the fire.

Morning commute

Crimson canyons and golden hills

Blanket my eyes in awe

Termination snowcapped bliss

Premonate the frigid maw

Temporotone

Waning sunlit days

Fowl all fleeing imminent

Refrigeration

I’m Patrick Kelly, and I’m Wild About Utah
 
Credits:

Images: Courtesy Pixabay, Peggychoucair, Contributor https://pixabay.com/photos/avenue-road-path-trees-landscape-3850799/
Audio: Courtesy & © Anderson, Howe, and Wakeman
Text:    Patrick Kelly, Stokes Nature Center, https://www.logannature.org

Additional Reading

Wild About Utah, Posts by Patrick Kelly

Stokes Nature Center, https://www.logannature.org/