While driving a rural road built on fill, a road straight through a wetlands, I passed two dead beavers. The flat tails identified them.<\/p>\n
From the looks of it, they were recent kills. I saw blood and crows and vultures hadn’t yet picked them apart. <\/p>\n
The first dead beaver shook me. The second one destroyed me. I started crying. There was no room to turn around or pull over and return them to the wetlands for a dignified decomposition. <\/p>\n
In recent months, the beaver had become my totem animal. I read books about them. I wrote about beavers. I amassed a collection of at least 500 pieces of beaverwood. I collected beaver stuffed animals and figurines. I had become a beaver in mind, story and spirit. I evangelized on their behalf. I plotted to open a gallery displaying to their sculptures. I converted other to the Way of the Beaver. <\/p>\n
As I drove away, I wondered if two dead beavers signified the end of the reign of beavers in my creative consciousness. Perhaps it even portended something dire. <\/p>\n
I thought and thought. I drove along a river. I decided the reign wasn’t over; there was nothing portentous in this encounter. It was a call from my bucktoothed friends and artistic collaborators to keep beavering away at the writing, the collecting, the fort building with beaverwood, and take all things beaver to a higher level. <\/p>\n
I heard the call. <\/p>\n\n
While driving a rural road built on fill, a road straight through a wetlands, I passed two dead beavers. The flat tails identified them. From the looks of it, they were recent kills. I saw blood and crows and vultures hadn’t yet picked them apart. The first dead beaver shook me. The second one destroyed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5025,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5,74],"tags":[11,862,6,984,13],"class_list":["post-5024","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-meditations","category-oregon-coast_history","tag-beavers","tag-beaverwood","tag-matt-love","tag-oregon-beavers","tag-oregon-coast","has-post-title","has-post-date","has-post-category","has-post-tag","has-post-comment","has-post-author",""],"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5024","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5024"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5024\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5026,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5024\/revisions\/5026"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5025"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5024"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5024"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5024"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}