Bears in the Beaver's Pond

By Earl J. Roberts

If you like animals, you'll enjoy this book. If you wonder where we've been or where we're going in America, you'll profit from it. —Roger Alestrom A good read for young or old, for different reasons. —C. K. Chesterson One may think Bears is just a delightful tale, but it is more than that; it is a provocative one! —Mrs. Wilbur Kozinski I wish I had known what I learned in Bears in the Beaver's Pond when I was still in high school. —Ben Stowe  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645449430

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Bears in the Beaver's Pond

Earl J. Roberts

Copyright © 2019 Earl J. Roberts

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2019

ISBN 978-1-64544-942-3 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64544-943-0 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

When Old Beaver

found it convenient

to render aid

to two hungry cubs

he never dreamed

that

he was creating

a system

in Asu Valley

which spelled destruction

to an unique society

this tale

of some remarkable animals

speaks clearly

to our time

1

The old beaver glided to the bank where the grasses grew thickest, giving himself as much protection as he could in the daylight hours. Once on land, he parted the grasses and stood upright, looking toward the woods where his mate and young kit had gone for branches with which to repair minor damage to the dam.

He had been reluctant of their going as the trees grew some distance from the safety of the water. Night was a less dangerous time to work. However, they had all gone, and he had returned without incident. Hopefully, so would the two of them.

Several summers ago when he and his mate had first come to the valley, the trees grew to the water’s edge, and they had not been much afraid of enemies. True, he had heard wolves, but their chilling sounds were a long way-off. Once, he had caught the scent of a wolverine, and his heart had pounded from the terror of it. The family had stayed in the lodge all day, and he, alone, had ventured out during the night, only to test the wind until he could no longer detect the smallest trace of that horrifying odor.

He watched his mate anxiously. She had felled an eight-inch aspen and had sliced off several branches with her strong, sharp teeth. The kit had started back to the pond with a small branch, and she was working a larger one from under the tree when she was startled by a sound from the deep woods.

Not knowing what had made the sound, her immediate reaction was to seek the safety of the water. He saw her running frantically between the stumps and felt her fear. Coming behind her, in twenty-foot leaps, was a young black bear; his mouth open and his head stretched forward, angry and impatient that his teeth were not yet biting into the target that his eyes had seized upon.

When she sensed his nearness, she stopped abruptly and turned to face him. She stood erect, her flat tail steadying her as though she were prepared to resist the onrushing force of a foe many times her weight.

The bear stopped within a foot of her bared teeth as she knew he would without ever having been told. Standing on three legs, the bear aimed a fierce blow at her head, but the beaver propelled herself forward with a sudden thrust of legs and tail, and moving under the blow, she sank her teeth into the bear’s right back leg.

With a frightful roar, the bear pivoted, the force of the turn throwing the frightened beaver nearly ten feet closer to the pond, toward which, she darted at desperate speed. She plunged into the water and felt the bear splash close behind her, but she was not where he had expected. Diving quickly and turning, she sped toward the lodge and did not stop until she was safely inside.

The old beaver slid into the water quietly, and shortly ascended one of the tunnels. He pulled himself onto the floor of the dwelling and shook water from his coat. He tried to remain calm. He knew, however, that his family was in danger and that it was time to consider a new valley where the trees grew closer to the water’s edge.

The season of spring had come. Nights were shorter, and the work that had to be done filled the hours from dusk to dawn. Sometimes, when damage to the dam had been greater than normal, it was necessary to carry branches during the daylight hours and risk another confrontation with a bear, or worse, an itinerant wolverine on his rampaging rounds through the area.

The old beaver felt the water change, as it had after every winter. Snows on the mountain melted and sent fresh, cold water into the pond. It was clean water with the scent of no other animal on it, and the old beaver felt elated just swimming in it. It felt good flowing past his body. He surfaced and dove, twisted and turned, and played with the water as he had when he was a young kit. He was pleased with the promise of the new year.

His family heard his splashing and came out of the lodge to watch his strange antics. He was such a steady fellow, normally, and this behavior so unusual, they could not easily understand what had come over him. Soon, however, caught up in the moment, they were following him around the pond, one behind the other, in a game probably known to all animal life.

The kit climbed onto the bank and began running along the edge of it. Crossing a short stretch of wet, bare ground, he was surprised when his feet flew out from under him, and he went sliding back into the pond. This was as much fun as swimming, and more fun to make a great splash when the land ended, and he dropped hard against the water.

Birds chattered overhead at the queer noises coming from below. The kit’s mother disapproved of beavers who called attention to themselves, but she did not, this once, restrain him. Instead, she became more attentive to danger and was ready to sound an alarm, with a sharp slap of her tail on the water, should the play attract unwelcome visitors.

The old beaver was just as worried as his mate, despite his reluctance to show it. He tested the wind for danger.

Then, it was that he noticed how different the air had become in just a few days. Carried on gentle winds was the scent of buds being formed of sweet sap oozing from breaks in the bark of poplar and pine, of green shoots of grasses piercing the tangled web of last year’s remnants.

It was certainly spring, and the old beaver felt the urge to get busy with the work of the season: repairing, extending, or strengthening that wall of wood and mud and rock that held the precious quantity of water like a moat around his lodge.

Only this year he had made up his mind that the work would be done on another stream in a faraway valley.

He called his family together, and looking back on the old home one last time, he turned away and began the second great move of his life, the first since he had left his parents’ lodge as a young beaver to find his own place and establish his own family.

Swimming during the night and hiding from prying eyes during the day, the beavers covered many miles of twisting stream before dawn made them visible. They kept to the main channel, always going against the current, since they must go to the very end of the old waterway before they could search for a new system and a new beginning. Every day the stream became smaller.

Occasionally, they passed by small rushes of water, flowing down dark banks. They heard water dropping from high places, and the pleasant musical sounds invited them to explore. But they had little time for such enticements and continued their steady swim upstream.

After some time they came to the end of the river on which they had once lived. The old beaver was not surprised to learn that the river began in a mountain flatland, a spongy green meadow that was nearly a marsh from which water was slowly released…first a trickle, then a rivulet, then a stream worthy to be walled by beavers.

Guided by instinct and a sense of urgency, he led the way through the meadow and into the hills beyond. It was hard walking for beavers, and with no water near, it was dangerous as well, for who could know what enemy might suddenly appear on the other side of any rise that lay before them? It was not his choice; he was resigned to doing what was necessary…whether he liked doing it or not.

Scattered ribbons of snow lay carelessly on the north slopes, bright decorations fallen among the sparse vegetation of the upper hills. The beavers plodded on and, after what seemed a very long time, reached the divide. It may not have been easier moving downhill, for sometimes one or another would stumble and fall, rolling over once or twice before regaining balance, but there was a feeling of excitement that made them indifferent to small annoyances. They were past the halfway mark and looked forward cheerfully to the next turn of the path.

Not many days later, they stood together on a rise and caught the scent of a great valley with many waterways. If they could see as the eagle sees, they would have seen splendid stands of maple and beech, of oak and white-barked birch, and of wood they gathered for food such as poplar or aspen. And through the trees like sparkling flecks of silver, they could have traced winding streams gathering towards the valley’s center to form a sizable river coursing through lowlands to some distant sea.

The old beaver could not see these things, for the sight of a beaver is limited, but he could sense them. He could smell the growing woods, and he knew there were fine trees in it that he could use to construct a dam and a lodge. He knew that aspen grew in the valley—aspen that would feed his family during the winter for however long that winter would last.

And so, with his survey completed, he trudged forward, leading his mate and the kit down the slopes toward a stream whose waters he could sense in the distance. Somewhere he would find a stretch of river on which to build a new home, perhaps better than the one he had left.

He became aware of a thought…no…an impression…that he was entering a wonderful world, a world different from any he had known or had heard of in the old world. It was a strange impression…as though the valley had been touched with magic.

2

The sun had cleared the eastern horizon when Slo Bear ambled down the slopes toward a stream where he hoped to satisfy an early appetite, courtesy of a fat fish or at least a frog or two that had been noisily burping throughout the night. His nose told him that all was as it should be in Asu Valley. At, nearly three hundred pounds, there wasn’t much he need fear, but he was, by nature, cautious and peaceful; he would rather sidestep trouble than meet it head-on.

Slo Bear reached the stream, a flow of water about six to eight feet across at this point. Finding a narrows, where the water was squeezed between large rocks, he positioned himself flat on one side and waited. He was careful to face the sun so that no shade, of his making, fell on the water beneath.

Twice he swung a mighty paw at fish sliding through the narrows, but it is a lot easier to see fish in the water than to know exactly where they will be when the great blow descends. On the third try, he was successful, landing a fine rainbow on the bank behind him. He seized the struggling fish in his jaws and carried it to a nearby clearing where he could, at the same time, enjoy his meal and feel the warmth of the new sun. It was starting out to be a good day.

He soon finished his meal. Sitting on his backside, he began cleaning his face and paws, his long tongue making strong sweeps across his dark coat to lay the soft hairs in one direction. Suddenly, in front of him, he caught sight of three frightened beavers. They had reared up, having seen him at the same moment; and they stood, petrified, too far from the river to run and too close to the bear to retreat.

Slo Bear smiled. You needn’t be afraid, he said calmly. I mean you no harm.

The beavers looked at each other in amazement, not believing that they had actually heard a bear speak and, furthermore, not believing that they understood what he had said.

The old beaver had done his share of thinking because there is much in this world worth thinking about, but never had he been able to tell anyone what he had thought…not even his mate, who probably would have guessed most of what he was thinking anyway.

While still puzzled at the wonder of what was happening, he felt his own mouth open and his throat work in a