Good News from Unexpected, July 2007
A guy goes to his doctor with an ailment, and after many tests, the doctor says, “I’ve got good news, and I’ve got bad news.” The patient says, “Give me the good news first, Doc.” The doctor says, “Well, they’re going to name the disease after you...”
Well, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. Let’s do like the patient and take the good news first, shall we?
We did it!
We successfully raised the $20,000 we needed to pay the interest on our loan for the Codario Farm, and actually had a little extra to apply to expenses like the land survey and appraisals.
The reaction to our plea was overwhelming with a 20% response from friends like you. Fund raising is hard. It is not easy to ask people for money, even for a good cause like land preservation (or a great cause like land preservation at Unexpected), and a 20% response to a request letter is phenomenal!
You came through for us, again. Thank you so much.
We are still waiting for a $100,000 grant from the NJDEP, so Open Space Institute, our lender, worked with us to restructure the loan to accommodate the schedule of the State. We anticipate being financially free and clear by August.
I made my first visit to Central Park right after I became the director of Unexpected, and I (jokingly, at the time) set a goal to make Unexpected Wildlife Refuge as big or bigger than that historic beauty. Only 106 acres to go.
Did I happen to mention that we are looking at 29 acres over on Piney Hollow Road? Stay tuned....
And now for the bad news...
I was putting together the last Beaver Defenders bulk mailing. It was late Sunday afternoon on April 15. I was sitting in the little cabin, all snug and productive with my cup of tea, address labels, stacks of newsletters and bulk stickers, surrounded by lazy lounging cats and Lucy the Snoring Dog. Outside, buckets of rain were coming down. The northeast coast was being hammered by our first big storm of the spring, or what the weather forecasters now call a “weather event.” The event came up out of the south, arriving here just after lunch and moving on up into New England in the wee hours of the morning.
The next day, the sun shone brightly, oblivious to the almost 6" of rain that had fallen during its absence. A friend and I pulled on our boots and took a hike around to see what, if anything, had happened, other than an extremely full pond and a sump pump loudly complaining from the bowels of the basement.
Boardwalk under water
The dike path was dry, but as we approached the boardwalk that carries you safely over the beaver dam, it became obvious that we gotten a lot of rain last night. The first two boards were under water, and halfway down the walk, a large swamp maple that’s been throwing its weight around for several years had finally had enough. Upstream of the boards, the huge volume of water heaved the entire rootmass up and over, taking out four concrete boardwalk sections and their supports. Water was pounding over and through the dam and the boards. Okay. No big deal... when things calm down: some hip boots, a chain saw and a little elbow grease — we’ll be up and running in no time a’tall.
We turned around and headed for the bridge on Unexpected Road. The walk was brisk and welcome after being cooped up the day before. We picked up small branches as we navigated around large mud puddles that had bloomed in the dirt road.
Unexpected Road the day after the storm
We arrived at the bridge and found the spillway was still there, but completely under water. The surface of the bridge was about 10" above the water. Beyond the bridge to the east, Unexpected Road was lower, much lower than the bridge, and the water that could not go through the spillway was taking the low ground — the road. If the road was flooded, surely the beavers were also flooded out of their lodge in Miller Pond. The water rose about 2 feet in 24 hours. Feeling helpless and apprehensive, we hiked back to the cabin and called the township public works director to let him know what had happened to the road.
The next day, I packed for a Land Trust Rally in New York; I had been looking forward with excitement to this conference since December, but now I was fearful to leave not knowing the fate of my beaver friends. Leaving the Refuge in the hands of several volunteers that had stepped forward to cover for me, Lucy and I went to the rally. When I returned I went straight to the road to see what had happened, if anything.
The water had cut a hole in the side of the road and the pond was lower now than it normally would be. The 8 foot wide, 6 foot deep gap was stealing parts of the road with every gallon of the precious pond water that passed through. Thankfully, within 24 hours the township had sheet piled the wound and stopped the flow of water.
Several days later, Atlantic County was on the list for receiving FEMA funds, and Buena Vista Township will be fixing the road. The fate of the spillway at the bridge will be determined; it may have to be replaced.
So now Unexpected Road to Route 54 is closed, and all traffic must come and go via Unexpected Road to Piney Hollow Road. You gotta go west to go east. After they fixed the breach, Miller Pond quickly returned to its normal water level for July. But the beavers are nowhere to be seen.
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The beavers never dammed Miller Pond because they never had to. The spillway was the perfect dam, so they concentrated on their dams between the spillway and the dam at the dike. With the beavers missing, their dam at the dike has fallen into disrepair and the Main Pond is transformed into a vast field of leathery lily pads, like noisy brown banners in isolated pockets of water. Hope was right: Beavers definitely do turn wilderness into happiness.
But with the new hydrology, come new discoveries. Blue flag iris and countless sedges have taken over the cove, which is circled with Hope’s beloved cardinal flowers that we will soon enjoy.
Last night, in the evening dusk, a dozen bats came out to pick off insects in the waning light. Their quirky flight was offset with that of a flock of cedar waxwings. Above them in the darkening gray-blue sky, the sleek and elegant tree swallows were diving and swooping, all to the murmuring rustle of the lily pads and long grasses in the evening breeze. For the bats, the day was just beginning, for the birds it was ending.
The beavers will be back. I know they will. They know what they are doing. They move to rhythms we cannot feel.