Listening To The Wind

   I found myself talking with my dad on his back porch a few weeks ago talk about nothing and everything as we seem to do these days. During our little chat, he mentioned that he heard some beavers had built a dam on a creek nearby. Since my dad had some errands to do and I had nothing on my agenda for the rest of the day, I decided to go check it out.

   It was one of those beautiful autumn afternoons where the weather was warm but not hot and a gentle wind blew in from the west. As I walked thru the woods along the steam in question listening to the wind rustle the newly turned leaves, I heard a loud splash that had to be a beaver slapping its tale on the water. Sure enough, as I rounded the next bend in the creek, there was the beaver dam. It was a magnificent sight. The dam itself was almost 20 yards across and over 4 feet high were it met the creek. The pond covered perhaps 6 or 7 acres. Seeing it for the first time was one of those National Geographic moments.

   I found a good place to sit on a little rise of to the side of the dam in the sun and breeze watched and listened.

   In the distance I heard to screech of a hawk. With it, and less audible, was a second screech that turned out to be a young fledgling who's mother was teaching it to hunt. The land around this part of the country are part of the Mississippi flyway that many birds use to migrate each year. The hawks time the birth of their young so that they begin to hunt when the migrations begin and many tired and weary birds are available for the young to hone their hunting skills. Such is the way of nature. I watched the mother and fledgling hunt tell I lost them in the distance, then sat back again and listened to the wind.

   In the woods around the pond the air is full of the sounds of crickets and cicada's, each making their last mating calls of the season. The crickets will lay their eggs and die while the cicada's will burrow deep into the soil and emerge again next spring. Yet each calls in response to natures need to create a new generation and renew life.

   Amide the insect calls I could hear the chatter of squirrel as they worked on building their winter larders. This is the time of year when they would be gathering the bounty of acorns that is the staple of their winter diet. This practice has created a symbiosis with the oak tree, with the oak providing the squirrels with nourishment and homes and the squirrel providing the oak with the widest distribution of there seeds. Each depending on each other and living in harmony with the other. Such too is the way of nature.

   On the edge of the pond I watched as a pair of blue heron landed and began to hunt for fish. They are among the many kinds of wild life who benefit from the beaver's handy work. Quietly stalking the shallows they patiently wait for the small fish and minnows that make the pond home. They are added by a muskrat noisily slashing on the other side looking for crayfish under a fallen branch. Many will find food in the beavers pond. Again I sat back and listened to the wind.

   Not far off in the woods I heard the clicking of antlers as the deer began to test each other in preparation of the rut. Most will know the others strength but sight, smell or experience, but those who have reached their prime now begin to assay each other as they seek to vie for the favor of the females. A males prime will only last for 2 to 3 seasons and knowing their place among their kind will be all that matters in a few weeks when the rut begins in earnest. Such is the way of nature.

   I sat back again and listen to the wind and this world so removed from the city life I live each day. I find myself wondering if that is the real world or is this pond the real world. Do the games people play constitute reality or is the rhythm of nature reality. It is like those who ask if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there, does it make a noise. For those of us who serve the lesser gods, there are always ears to hear in the forest. And ears to listen to the wind.