Good News from Unexpected, October 2006
Speaking of Jungles . . .
On Friday, my friend Stacey dropped by to donate some hand-painted bird houses to the Refuge and do a little walking around. I missed her, but she left me a little note telling me that it was a “jungle out there.” She’s not kidding! We had a relatively dry, warm and very enjoyable spring, with the trails cleared for hiking and birding. With the recent nor’easters and Summer heat, things are busting out all over. Substantial precipitation created trails crowded with blueberry bushes, sweetpepper bush and mountain laurel; ticks, mosquitoes and deer flies; turtles, snakes and frogs. The Main Pond’s water deficit is remedied for the time being, and it is lush with pickerelweed, spadderdock and lily pads. Tree swallows and dragonflies are swooping and buzzing and dipping in the thick humid air.
The prothonotary warblers came on April 17th, and several pairs fledged successfully. The bluebirds are working on their final brood in the cove nestbox and phoebes, orioles and flycatchers abound (look out, bugs!).
South Jersey took quite a pounding with the recent storms. The Delaware River flooded Trenton and parts of Lambertville, New Hope and other communities that lie within its reach. We were fortunate and only experienced our usual Unexpected Road River, whereby after a heavy rain, the sandy road briefly turns into what resembles a creekbed with a modest flow.
But the last 100 yards of the driveway were perfect, thanks to Bob Bevalacqua. Bob is the Chairman of the Wenonah Environmental Commission (TBD April 2006). We worked with Wenonah to educate residents about their wonderful new beaver neighbors. Bob, who works for a local paving company, showed up with dozers and dirt to grade the road and fill in our world-famous “driveway lakes.” Now, even after these recent powerful rainstorms, the Refuge driveway is a smooth, dry ride!
Speaking of Rides . . .
Sharon Brown of Beavers: Wetlands & Wildlife,
feeds a beaver
In April, I was invited give our Unexpected Wildlife Refuge slide show to Beavers: Wetlands & Wildlife’s annual meeting in Herkimer, NY. I arrived early the day of the meeting and stayed with Owen and Sharon Brown (right) at their home in Dolgeville. They were very gracious hosts, and introduced me to Houdini, the beaver who was trapped in an Erie Canal Lock (TBD January 2006) as well as their resident beaver family who lives in a beautiful beaver-created wetland (see cover).
On the second day of our visit, cold wet weather moved in, so we watched old film footage of two Beaver Women: Dorothy Richards and Hope Sawyer Buyukmihci. We were joined by new Beaver Defender Len Flynn, from Morganville, NJ, and we watched a very informative DVD on how to make and install a flow device for beaver dams and culverts. This new DVD, created by and available from B:W&W, also has information on the history of the beaver, and a brief history of Dorothy Richards.
In the mid 1940’s, Dorothy Richards, with her husband Al, began a beaver sanctuary called Beaversprite in Dolgeville, NY. Dorothy, with the help of Hope, wrote Beaversprite, My Years Building an Animal Sanctuary, one of the first books Hope had me read after coming to Unexpected Wildlife Refuge. I was fascinated by what was described in the book, with beavers living in the house and swimming at the “Y.” All in all, it was a wonderful trip, but of course it wasn’t long enough.
Speaking of “long enough” . . .
While sitting in the Butterfly Garden, I watched the flaming orange daylilies sway in the evening breeze. It was the last day of Spring. I was again remembering Hope, who passed away five years ago that day. It was warm that day, too, and I remember listening to the insects busy with their work unaware of our loss and sorrow.
I am always thankful for the time I had with Hope, but I always think that it wasn’t long enough. Although I know she was ready, I certainly wasn’t. Selfishly, I wanted more time.
I only knew Hope for a year, but others knew the fiery woman who lead hikes like a gazelle and worked volunteers to exhaustion (they would happily return to work again another day). I did not see the woman who bravely testified against trapping next to her husband, Cavit, amid boos, hisses and threats from hunters only to return home and battle them on Refuge land.
Hope told me that when she was a child, she was terrified of snakes until her father introduced her to a hognose snake and taught her all about him. She said she was never afraid of snakes again. She embraced that power of knowledge and harnessed it to teach others about compassion and kindness towards animals. Her accomplishments in this endeavor alone would fill this issue of The Beaver Defenders.
Hope and Chopper touch
When I met Hope she was unable to enjoy the far reaches of her Refuge; her secret places with little surprises. Her upside down bucket “seats” are still distributed throughout the property where she left them waiting for her next visit. Hope had an endless curiosity that she never denied. Whenever I came over to the cabin, she always had a book, or a map, or a magnifying glass, or a pair of binoculars in one hand. Her Refuge became the arm’s length around her, as fascinating to her as the larger Refuge. Disregarding her pain, she was examining bugs, beetles and butterflies with attention to minute details. She always found joy and delight in the most common creature.
Her humor was dry. Her laughter, quiet, often no more than her brilliant smile and a little shoulder movement. Her sayings and phrases were priceless. Who can forget her call to her volunteer army? “Carry On!” Or her signature method of moving seamlessly from one topic of conversation to another? “Speaking of.......” even though for life of me, I couldn’t remember anyone mentioning this new topic. If you stole her next move on the Scrabble board you got “Hey, you took my place!” as if you had no right to do this terrible thing to her (even though you know she’d do it to you in a heartbeat). Everyday, regardless of the weather brought, “Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Now how can you argue with that?
The Hope I knew still had a fire, a twinkle in her eye. She was still fighting, but this time it was a battle with the chronic pain of shingles. She accepted her recent frailty and age with grace, dignity and a sense of humor. A photographer about to snap her picture was politely asked to relocate the cane leaning against her chair, as it was not hers. Some old lady had forgotten to take it with her. She came out of the bathroom laughing one evening during our heated Scrabble wars. She commented that if she shrunk any more we would just have to lower that mirror.
One cool colorful October evening in 2000, she asked if I would take her out to see Ernest, one of the beavers that I had recently befriended. We drove to Squirrel Haven and then slowly and carefully walked 400 feet of the Long Boardwalk to the waiting beaver at the feeding spot. Gently, perched on a camp stool, Hope held out an apple slice to Ernest, who gratefully accepted it. We sat silently, listening to the little beaver eat and the sounds of the pungent swamp at dusk. Slowly Hope stood and turned to go home and said to no one in particular, “That’s good.”