One of my running routes follows a quiet stream. Not long ago, new signs appeared: Dogs must be kept on a leash. Not for the joggers, but for a beaver that recently settled there. The notice warns that people and pets should keep their distance, since beavers can be rather combative. It made me smile and brought back a memory.
Years ago, as a young soldier, I was sent to wade through a river, searching for fragments of artillery shells. After hours in chest deep water, a beaver suddenly surfaced beside me, so close I could have touched him. He studied me for a moment, then slipped away, apparently deciding that a soldier in swim trunks was not worth the trouble. Since then, I have carried a quiet admiration for these creatures.
I was reminded of that again in South Bohemia, where officials spent years drafting studies, permits and funding plans to restore a wetland. Then a pair of beavers arrived. Within weeks, their dam had flooded the area, birds returned, amphibians followed, and nature did the job. No budgets, no committees, only action.
Beavers, it turns out, are not only quick on the job, but they can also go big. In Canada, one dam stretches twice the length of the Hoover Dam. Discovered in 2007 by satellite, it sits in Wood Buffalo National Park, a monument to persistence and teeth.
While we are still polishing our PowerPoint slides, the beaver has already finished his dam. His mastery lies not in perfect design but in the rhythm of action, experiment, and adaptation. Nature has no meetings. Only results.
Warm regards,
Ralph Hubacher
