Berries and Beavers


The lake at the feet of Thunder Mountain is low—drought low. We walk along it under light rain, sometimes through a tunnel of water rich foliage. Later, at the beaver village, we walk down a dry creek bed and climb over one of their dams. The furry dudes must be hunkered down in a lakeside den, sweating out the low water. Maybe they took the kids into the mountains to chomp on new growth cottonwoods away from us tourists.

berryI lead the little dog into the woods so I can search for ripe blue berries. I know they are around, had fresh ones in my morning pancakes. We find few, but they are sweet and rain-washed. Tomorrow or the next, the harvest will begin.

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