“By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if
you love one another.”
“See that?” my father gestured toward a tree trunk sharpened like the tip of a pencil, then toward another limb gnawed on both
sides.
It sure looked like evidence of beaver building to me.
Then Dad led the group of us family members to the water’s edge, its level
higher than I had seen in a while. He pointed to the dam.
I took in the scene, my eyes scanning the glassy surface,
punctuated with a mound of limbs and leaves, my ears tuned to the relaxing fall
of the water. Peace washed over me. A nice reprieve from the busyness of life.
Drawn closer, I stepped to the edge and followed the flow
of the stream, my feet crunching dry leaves and crackly twigs. Keeping watch
for obstacles that could cause a stumble, I caught glance of a trail of
wood chips leading to the chewed remains of a branch. I lowered my eyes to
inspect the pile, marveling at the work of the creatures. The evidence was all
around; the beavers had built a home. And I was standing in their domicile.
