I drove over to Charlie’s Truck Stop this past week to pick up a few things I need around the house. It has been hot as summer begins to come to close. Time was, not so many years ago, when summer was hot and dry. It mostly did not rain from sometime in mid July until after Labor Day. Farmers would stand out and search the sky for a wandering thunderhead, hoping any stray cloud would be the first sign of approaching rain. Crops would wither in the fields for lack of water. Men sitting around Charlie’s would pass most of their time complaining about the weather and the old guys would always say it was a lot hotter and dryer back in the days when they were growing up. Old guys are always saying it was much more extreme back in the Good Old Days.
Jake was stocking shelves when I came through the door. He looked up and waved as I walked up. I asked about Maureen, Jake’s wife, and Jake told me she was getting on just fine. Maureen had come down with a nasty respiratory infection that had laid her up in bed for a couple days. She normally doesn’t go to the doctor with a common summer cold, but she had finally decided to go in with this one. The doctor had given her a shot and a prescription and she had started feeling better right off. Jake is of the opinion she would have improved in any case without the expensive medical bills. With all the miracles of modern medicine, there is still no cure for the common cold. It runs its course and you get over it, pretty much if you go to the doctor or if you stay home in bed and drink plenty of liquids. But Jake figures it was worth the expense of going to the doctor just to have Maureen stop complaining about how bad she was feeling. Jake and Maureen get along together about as well as any couple I know who have put up with each other over forty years, but they still get annoyed with the antics of the other on occasion.
Hermann Spencer and Ronnie Clayton were over by the pot belly stove and I wandered over to see what they were talking about. Hermann grinned as I walked up and asked if I had seen any beaver on the creek down below my place. Hermann and I share property lines along the edge of my woodlands and a creek runs pretty much along the line for several hundred feet. I told Hermann I was not aware of any beaver in the creek. Time was, when I was younger, I would wade the creek just to explore what was there. It was a nice way to pass the summer days. The creek was always shaded from the summer sun and wading the cool water was almost as nice as going for a swim. I had never seen any signs of beaver back then. I have not been down to the creek in several years.
Apparently a family of beaver have moved in recently and Hermann is not too pleased with his new neighbors. He first discovered the squatters when he was down in the field and decided to cross the creek at a place where the banks have been torn down so as to allow a tractor to drive down into the creek bed and climb out the other side. The creek runs pretty full after several heavy rains, but there had only been scattered thunderstorms for a number of weeks and Hermann did not think the water should be so high. His first thought was that a tree might have fallen in the creek downstream and brush washed up against the log and thus blocked up the water. He went along the bank to investigate, planning to burst up the jam. When he came to the blockage, what he saw was a beaver dam. There were no beaver in sight as Hermann had been blundering through the brush making no attempt to keep silent. Hermann Spencer is no Daniel Boone.
Hermann climbed down into the creek and busted up the beaver dam, letting all the water drain out. He said the stagnant water had the most awful smell you can imagine. He believed it was the beaver who had given the water such a foul aroma. I had some doubts that might be the case. Back when we were kids, you could wade down the creek and stoop down and drink the water if you were so amind. My grandmother was known to go down to the creek to wash her clothes in the water. But things have changed. Civilization has come to our part of the world. As I mentioned, it has been a while since I was down to the creek myself, but the last time I was there, the small puddles of water where it collects between rain runoffs was covered over with a film of scum. People have moved in and built houses upstream and have let their waste drain into the water. I would no more drink the water from the creek now than I would make an evening meal from rat poison. The stink of the water the beaver had damned up may have had to do with the smell from the beaver, but I know from my observation the beaver had help from the runoff of humans and their livestock upstream.
Of course the beaver did not take to their new home place being vandalized by human invaders. The next time Hermann checked a few days later the beaver had repaired their home good as new. Hermann decided stronger measures were required. He investigated the option of using dynamite to blast the beaver out, but dynamite is mostly impossible to come by since terrorism has become so fashionable. Hermann called the Wildlife Management folks, but they were not so keen to help evict the unwanted squatters. Hermann decided a shotgun might be his only practical solution. He snuck back to the creek, this time making more effort to act like Mister Boone. He came upon several beaver playing in the water, took careful aim and blasted away. He killed the beaver he was aiming for and the rest went into hiding. Hermann continued his anti beaver campaign for several weeks until he saw no more sign of their presence. He says he hopes he has discouraged them from returning. I have some doubts. If one family of beaver found the area desirable, I expect more beaver will soon make the same discovery and move into the neighborhood. I also suspect, if Hermann wants to keep his neighborhood beaver free, he has a long and difficult campaign ahead.
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