Making It Up As I Go Along #341 story

The Beaver's main area. The lodge can be found just down the slope from here.

Looking across the pond, through the cottony reeds towards the beaver's area.


Beaver Pond

For months I’ve been looking at moving. Wanting out of the suburbs and into the urban world. Getting a place with character and ditching the Canadian Tire commercial world I live in. And still I want to be in a different place. I was at my cousin’s yesterday and sitting in her basement thinking “I miss basements.” When you miss a basement, you know you’re not fully content.

And then there is the stupidity of the suburbs that comes smacking you in the face. I drive to work in the mornings right now. The cost of training in a new job... weeks of day shift. 6:30 departure times should be a quiet trip in with nary a car to be seen.

But my neighbourhood has Orleans Adventure Boot Camp to deal with. This is an idiot training suburbanites in how to become less pudgy. When I say “idiot”, I mean one of those people who doesn’t really accomplish much in life so they look for some sort of cheesy gimmick to get money from somewhat unhappy homebodies. For only $300 a month, you get to skip rope in a public pathway or run around on a hill in the suburbs.

So I’m driving out each morning while these fools are crossing the street at the pond, looking to get in their cars.

Sometimes, in the evening, these people return while I’m doing a walk. The idiot’s truck is parked on walkway... blasting out cheesy 80s music that some feel may inspire them to work harder. Songs such as “Eye of the Tiger” upset the tranquility of the evening’s walk.

That said, if the walk of the pond is timed to avoid the Boot Camp Adventurers, it becomes something rather special.

The years of the pond have created a more natural situation. Man may have made it but nature is taking over.

This year especially has made the pond something of a treat. Muskrat have ventured in and paddle around in the evenings, diving here and there for food and hanging in the shore reeds for those who look closely. At one point, I rounded a corner and found one sitting by the path sunning itself. It took a second for the muskrat to see me but, when he did, he shot off into the undergrowth at a speed that nearly gave me a heart attack, even though I expected it to happen.

Fish have appeared. Where fish come from to get into a manmade pond, I don’t know. But they are here now. Little ones... the biggest being about an inch in length... hang in schools alongside the shoreline.

Ducks are all over the pond. In an Andy Jones voice I’d say the pond is maggoty with ducks. Early in the year, you find adults... soon after little ducklings are scurrying about the water, chasing mom and pop... and late in the year, only young adult couples remain while the old folks have flown south (possibly to Florida) for the winter months.

A variety of birds inhabit the reeds and bushes near the shore. Some blast bird obscenities at you when you get to close to their nests. Others chirp love songs over the waters to those birds these birds have developed bird crushes on here from a distance.

Loons paddle and dive about the pond. The older ones staying distant from those areas people may be close while young ones venture closer, not knowing there could be any danger.

In the summer, frogs come out at night and act as living obstacle courses for the walker. What was thought to be a rock turns out to be a frog and your step may have to veer suddenly in order to avoid squishiness.

The fall brings geese. Canada geese honking from miles away to announce their impending arrival. They then splash down in the centre of the pond, oblivious to those poor ducks who, until moments before, thought themselves the kings and queens of Lake Avalon.

Now that the name has been breached, I shall speak quickly on the matter to avoid confusion. Bodies of water must be about the size of a small sea in order for a Newfoundlander to call it a lake. Anything smaller than the Mediterranean is a pond. In Ontario, the rule doesn’t seem to apply. I know bath tub sized water bodies that are dubbed “lake”. So let it be known that the pond outside my house is officially called “Lake Avalon”. However, because of this years star resident, I have renamed the place. It is now simply known as Beaver Pond.

That’s right, the land suburbia claimed is being overtaken by the beaver invasion.

I first saw it several months ago. A giant muskrat I first though. It sat there near the path, ignoring me and staring towards a set of trees. I should have known right away, as the creature was staring with that same glimmer in it’s eye that dieting fat people get when they happen upon a cheese burger. The look a stereotypical construction worker has when a tall, leggy blonde girl strides by. This animal was staring at the trees as if trees were his religion and he had just reached the most holy of temples.

After passing by, I was sure I had just seen a beaver. But the days after brought doubt into my mind and I wondered if it was simply a muskrat or stripeless skunk I saw instead. A week after that, however, my initial thoughts proved correct. Two trees were downed in the pathway. And sure enough, beaver teeth marks could be found near the trunk. It didn’t take brilliant detective work to conclude who the guilty party was. Although that may be giving people too much credit. A discarded beer can, seen nearby the fallen trees, could lead the Orleans Adventure Boot Camp people to believe rowdy teenagers had gnawed the trees down as a dare over cans of Coors Light and Labatt Blue.

Still, I was convinced and somehow, excitement grew in me. In this dead world where things are created to look just right... in this subdivision which trumpets itself as “A Perfectly Planned Community”... a beaver has taken over.

As weeks went by, more trees fell and I became all the happier for it. Paths in the grasses have been beaten down by the beavers. A little lodge has slowly begun to rise from the shoreline. And I keep finding myself wanting to venture to the pond more and more. I want to see what’s happening next.

And so the predicament presents itself. I’ve been tired of my location and wanting to move. I’ve talked with an agent and viewed homes in places with more of an urban feel. And now I find this pond grabbing me more than it ever had. If I were told I could own a home on the edge of a wildlife preserve, where I had easy walking access to a natural setting with ducks and geese and loons... muskrat, frogs and beavers... I’d jump at it. I’d think it would be so relaxing after a long day at work.

Now I wonder if I’ve found such a place right here next to me? I began walking the pond many years ago. Doing it with headphones on, listening to the lyrics of songs as I lapped the shoreline. But this year, any time I decided to go to the pond, I’ve left the headphones behind. I’d rather have open ears for the rustling in the bushes and chirping from the reeds.

Will I move? Eventually I’m sure. I’d like a place that isn’t attached to my neighbours. Someplace with a basement would be nice. I’ve even thought of wanting a yard. But right now, my favourite neighbour has got me tempted to stay a while. The beavers may keep me in the suburbs just a little bit longer than I originally planned.