It’s one of those Saturdays when the sky has been a typically November gray all day. It’s not cold, but the dampness in the air quickly soaks into one’s body, chilling the very soul.
Even the hungry Chickadees have abandoned the feeder for the time being.
I took a walk along the road below our house for the sole purpose of getting a little fresh air and to see what there was to see. Along the edge of the road the grass is still green, but in the ditches, shrivelled remnants of the autumn’s brilliant hues hang by mere threads. Most have been ravaged by November’s winds, but the stronger ones hang tough against the elements.
Seed pods for some mysterious vine are clinging to branches, waiting for spring when they’ll no doubt burst to spread their seeds wherever the wind can carry them.
Further down the hill there’s a pond that flows out through a culvert under the road. There used to be a large beaver lodge in the pond. One year a crew with a backhoe and saws came along and demolished the dam that the beavers had built that had resulted in keeping the pond fairly deep and the entrance to their home well under water. With the dam gone, the pond drained and the beavers either left or were captured and removed by hunters.
I felt terrible when they disappeared just so snow mobile riders could traverse the pond on their trails, engines roaring at all hours of the night. Surely, they could have found another route to leave the beavers alone in their home?
But now, it appears that the beavers (or their descendants) have returned. On either side of the road there is evidence of their tree felling activity.
Here’s hoping they are left in peace for a while to build their home again, birth their babies and remain undisturbed by the hand and machines of man.