Anne and I were out for a crop tour the other day, checking to see if our freshly planted winter wheat had germinated. It had, so with that bit of good news, we headed down the river road along the west side of this year’s corn field. It’s a nice scenic drive. Well, it was until I rounded the bend and saw corn stalks scattered on the road and patches of corn missing from the field.
ATVs. That was my first thought. It’s a popular road for riding, and we have had damage before. My stomach started to churn. Growing a crop comes with enough challenges without somebody driving through it for entertainment.
But as we got closer, something didn’t quite fit. The damage didn’t seem to go very far into the field, and there was grass matted down on the riverbank across the road. “Oh,” I said to Anne, “maybe somebody had an accident and a tow truck had to back into the field.” Suddenly, I was a little more understanding. An accident is an accident.
I stopped the truck and got out to investigate, following the flattened grass through the ditch and up into the corn. That’s when I realized the corn hadn’t been pushed over. It was simply gone. I looked down, and the stalks had been cleanly cut off. What did the tow truck driver have with him? A knife? And where were the tire tracks? Alright, scratch the tow truck theory.
Perhaps somebody had decided they needed corn stalks for their front porch. It is decorating season, after all. Apparently, my field was offering a self-serve option I hadn’t approved. That would explain the cut stalks, but it still didn’t explain all the flattened grass.
I came back out onto the road and had another look around. Then I remembered the grass on the riverbank. There was a corn cob over there too, so I wandered across and peered down the bank. A muddy, well-worn trail led right down into the water. And finally, it clicked. A beaver!
Now, we don’t have a lot of beavers around here, so I’m giving myself a little grace for how long that took. Although I’d already blamed the ATV riders, a tow truck driver and somebody decorating their porch before considering the fellow living right across the road.
I went back to the truck to tell Anne I’d solved the mystery. I wasn’t sure whether he was collecting supper or building supplies, but if his plan was to dam the Sydenham River with my corn stalks, I had some concerns about the project. It’s at least 200 feet wide there. Ambitious little fellow.
We talked over a few possible ways to deal with it, but I settled on letting this one go. We haven’t been back since, so I’m hoping Mr. Beaver has either had his fill or reconsidered his choice of building materials.
Funny how I could arrive ready to give somebody a piece of my mind and leave willing to donate a little corn. Apparently, having a furry face gets you a bit more patience around here. For now, anyhow.
Farmer Rod
