Danger Rocks

On the weekend Bill took the kids whitewater rafting in West Virginia, one of the things I did by myself was go canoeing on quiet waters. It was kind of a protest. I wasn't too happy about having my family on whitewater, being a rapidophobe myself. I had to chuckle when I saw this warning buoy at Wolf Run:

No, actually, it doesn't. Quiet waters rock.

Phoebe and I were on high alert this day when we went out together, and it paid off in spades, because the beavers I'd spotted on my last visit to Wolf Run were around again. The first thing I needed to teach her was to be conscious of keeping the paddle from hitting the sides of the canoe. I told her that you can spot a rube a mile off over the water by the clunk-clunk of paddle hitting canoe sides. You should always paddle as if you're sneaking up on something, because in all likelihood, you are.

There is great pleasure in silent conveyance on still waters.

In the first cove we checked out, a beaver floated quietly, watching us. It circled, always keeping an eye on us.

Finally, it drew close, and I could tell it was winding up to smack its big flat leathery tail on the water. I could just see it in that glittering eye. So I focused on his back and was ready when it happened!

He's taking a big breath in. Something's going down.

KER-SPLOOOOOSH!

This is one of my favorite pictures of the summer--it shows the enormous webbed paddles the beaver uses to swim so swiftly and dive so deeply. There is a big roostertail of water on either side of the tail, which has been smacked down on the water. Gosh, beavers are so cool. Beavers do this to let you know they see you--it's analogous to a white-tailed deer flashing its big white flag at you. Hey you. Don't bother chasing me. I'm already gone.

Herons were everywhere. I took a lot of heron photos. And no, I don't use the "burst" or rapid-fire/multiple frame function when shooting birds in flight--though I must try it soon. Probably would have been useful for the beaversmack.

Big birds that sit still and then flap off majestically are irresistible to me.Who says pterodactyls are all gone? His croaking rasp only enhances the metaphor--it sounds like someone opening a stuck root cellar door.

Speaking of irresistible, I saw a water naiad on the shore. Where's Maxfield Parrish when you need him?

Another heartbreakingly beautiful September 11 in southern Ohio. Soon enough, rain will come--all these hurricanes have to amount to something. But for now, it's pellucid and clear and the cool afternoon air is like a draught of Riesling. This morning before dawn I stood in the dissolving dark and listened to the calls of dozens of migrating thrushes--pips, peeps and queerps!--headed for destinations only they know. Most of them Swainson's, but maybe a grey-cheeked in there, too. There were so many, calling unseen from horizon to horizon, just as the shivering light broke. We marvel at them, so brave! flying through the starry night, but they have a clearer idea where they are headed than do we, and they have the wings to go.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

from The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

For you, of course, sweet B. Thanks for the sweet canoeing companion and the scowly little Art Elf; thanks for the 15 (17) years; thanks for the acreage and the warblers, and thanks for sticking around. I love you.
*thank you for this poem, Kris.

Twilight at the Beaver Pond

Although I've had some wonderful experiences with large wet rodents during daylight hours lately, in general, if you want to see Castor canadensis, you've got to get out at twilight. (I hope you appreciate my delicate choice of words.) So Chet and I timed our walk so night would be falling as we reached the beaver pond. Baker: Wait, Mether. I have business here.

It's about a 45-minute hike to the pond, so we set out when the sun was slanting low, confident that we'd find our way back by using the roads rather than our tenuous woodland path. I took a lead along for that part. Chet runs free in the woods and on little gravel roads, but if we're near pavement he's on the lead. He knows that, too, runs up to me and grabs at the leash as we near the county road.

We broke out of the flowery woods and onto the place where a stream flows right across the little dirt road. Chet loves to wade there, but he was disappointed to find it dry this evening.
After a well-watered start, our summer has dried up like an old prune. For once, though, they got it right up there: Rain when things are growing; stop raining when things are dying. Generally the southern Ohio weather gods do the converse.

We got to the pond and marveled at its full-summer beauty.
Emergent aquatics have taken over one bank.
Everywhere was the clunk of green frogs; there are two in this photo, who I didn't perceive until I stepped closer, and both launched into the water with their sweet froggy EEP!
I was actually shooting for the beaver food on the well-trammeled bank. Imagine eating bark as your staple diet. Well, I don't have to imagine it...I love Grape Nuts and Fiber One. I bet bark would be cheaper and just as nutritious. Is the root of nutritious ...nutria?

Beaver highways led up from the pond into the woods. They're whaling on the trees all around the pond.
This highway crossed the road, leading up into the mystery of the woods.
To be truthful, I heard, then spotted the beaver immediately upon coming on the scene, but I've saved him until the end for dramatic tension. What you hear in the twilight sounds a little bit like a baby crying, but it's the beaver, muttering and commenting on everything he does. Watching him, I thought of a big, wet guinea pig, weee weee wee ooga ooga ooga.
He chomped noisily on his sticks, peeling the bark off them, sounding like a giant mouse somewhere in the wall.
He swam closer in a big loop, complaining the whole way. Chet stood riveted on the bank, not moving except to tremble. Good boy.
At the closest point, he rared his hinders up and slapped his tail on the water--ker SPLOOSH!! just to let us know he knew we were there. Then he went back to chewing and mumbling. Oh, it was wonderful. This is my best photo. I know they're not fabulous, but it was dark, folks, and the Chimp doesn't use flash on unsuspecting crepuscular animals.

I could hear a second animal somewhere near the bank, but never saw that one. This must have been Boss Beaver.

It was more than time to turn for home. It is so delicious to walk at night. But it's something that mothers rarely get to do, because children get antsy when their mother is out there somewhere in the dark. Thank you, B., for taking the kids camping, and letting me stay home to wander a little.
The lights of a nearby farm twinkled, and the moon rose over the tulips.

Changing a Stream's Course

Trees around here take a beating. Here are some fresh pileated woodpecker workings. I ain't sayin' nothin' about bark adhesion or big woodpeckers. I'm just showing it to you.


With a wisdom that is theirs alone, the beavers near our home have changed the course of a stream. They diverted it from its original bed at the base of a rocky slope and have sent it running smack down the middle of a hayfield. For some reason, no one has tried to stop them by trapping them out. That's saying something in Appalachian Ohio.
We're watching and enjoying them, and I'm trying to find out a bit about the landowners, to see how long we might expect to be graced by the presence of these incredible aquatic rodents. Does the landowner dig beavers? Has she simply not gotten around to hiring someone to trap them? I don't know. I'm praying it's Option A.

There's something about a small stream that implores a child to jump over it.
Liam's got a funky style all his own, and he always makes me laugh.
Phoebe's a bit more self-conscious, but still great fun to shoot in action. She sails over the water like the Thoroughbred colt she is.
She found a gas well pipe standing in the meadow, and peered inside. "Mom! Come tell me what this STUFF is, coming out of this RANDOM PIPE." I always jump when they ask me to look at something on our walks. I want to reinforce their innate curiosity. If they get nothing else from me, please let them be curious.
She'd noticed the wasp nest, and then wondered about the other stuff. Science Chimp to the rescue. I pulled the stuff out, to peals of EEEEEYEEEW's from Phoebe and Liam. White-footed mouse mummy!
Didn't warn you. Not sorry, either. I think it's cool, especially the way his organs are still intact. Did he get stung to death by the wasps? Poisoned by a blast of raw natural gas? Dunno. But there he is. We put him back in the pipe for the next curious person who might happen along.

The new stream runs along its course, flooding the road. Surely someone's going to object.
For now, though, we'll keep watching, and rooting for the beavers. Baker adds his contribution to their stream.

The Beaver Dam

Walks with a destination: one of our favorites is a beaver dam on a county road to the east of our place. To reach it, we cross a wide, wide field. It's so nice to fall behind one's children, after so many years of patiently waiting for them to catch up. I've said elsewhere but it bears repeating: From the very start, I've told my children that I'm not strong enough to carry them. I started telling them this once they started walking on their own. I remember my first walk with little Phoebe toddling alongside. We went to the mailbox, a distance of perhaps 1/5 mile. "Boy, it's a good thing you learned how to walk like a big girl," I told her. "Because you were just about too heavy to carry any more." From that point on, she walked on her own two feet, and neither she nor Liam have ever had the option of being carried by me, unless they were hurt or asleep in the car. They take great pride in being troopers. I love to get them completely tired out.

The beaver dam is maybe a mile away, but it's fairly strenuous hiking, involving some climbs and descents. Oh, the reward once we're there! We get to see what they've done since our last visit. It's usually a considerable amount. On our first visit, this tree was almost all gnawed through. Only two days later, they'd dropped it into the pond. How I would have loved to see that! but I would imagine they fell trees at night. KerSPLASH! It would be interesting living near a beaver pond. The things you'd hear in the dark!

The beavers have cleared the blue-eyed heck out of the woods. They have rodent logging roads running up from the pond into what remains of the forest. This would probably be a good place to set a wildlife camera. Hmmmm.


Here's the main dam for the big impoundment, quite an impressive piece of work:About 50' below that is a second impoundment, contained by this dam:Below that, they've started to work on the hayfield, thinking to turn that into a long, shallow pond:I'm not sure what their plan is here, but I'm fascinated by these long, curving earthworks they're building in the low wet meadow. I can't wait to see what it all pans out into, especially as the spring rains come on.A beaver pond. What a perfect place for a boy to dream. I hope he's still coming here when he's sixteen.