Wren, the Beaver, and Mother Nature

Winter was fast approaching and Wren, a young girl of the forest, was searching for ways to stay warm. First, she found an enormous bear's den. Carved amongst the exposed roots of a fallen tree, she dragged her fingers along the smooth grooves of a root and small tufts of dry soil crumbled back to the earth. She smiled and grabbed the branch, giving it three big shakes until large cascades of soil crumbled to the earth, exposing more roots and open air.

While this den looked cozy and presently abandoned, she knew a bear would seek it for its long winter’s nap and she didn’t want to get in the way.

She thanked the fallen tree for providing a den and when she turned to leave, her bare toe grazed something small, metal, and sharp. A nail!

Another nail. 

She frowned, stooped to pick it up, and scrutinized it, but there was no blood or fur on its pointed end. Grateful that no creature had injured itself on it, she quickly tucked it into the small pouch on her hip, amongst the other four nails she had found this morning.

She climbed over a nursery stump and continued her search for a winter home. Each careful step crunched over dead fallen leaves. While Wren tried her best to only step on quiet moss, to not startle her forest companions, the leaves were unavoidable at this time of year. 

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

She could hear the soft whoosh of the nearby stream and as she reached the crest of its bank, she could see a thick tangle of bushes on its other side. 

Salal. Evergreen, so its leaves were intact.

Hope made her heart jump, and she hurried over the rocks across the stream to the salal. The hardened soles of her feet gripped the wet rocks confidently as she bounded over them.

Close to moving water is a good thing, she thought. 

It means a source of water throughout the winter. She inspected the tangled branches and noticed they were armed with sharp thorns. A huff of air escaped her, “invasive Himalayan blackberry.” She sighed. “Not in my forest.”

From a pouch on her other hip, she drew a thin, pointed piece of stone that she had sharpened, like a knife. With deft precision, she cut out three lengths of the blackberry branches and pulled them gingerly away from the tangle. It sagged. She looked at the tangle and realized it was thick with blackberry brambles. If it was removed, it wouldn’t protect her from the icy winds during the winter. If it remained and she tried to stay there, the blackberry thorns would catch and tear her clothes.

“Hmmm. I can’t live here either.” She fought back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes and stepped back to the stream. A glint caught her eye from up the bank. She climbed towards the spot and found another two nails sticking out of the dirt. The water coating on the nails helped her to spot them in the light. After an angry grunt, she stuffed the nails into her pouch. As she moved further up the stream, she thanked the water for helping her spot the nails and removing the danger from the forest.

It wasn’t long until she came across a beaver’s dam. A gentle slap, slap, slap drew her eyes beyond the dam and to a little beaver who was packing some mud onto her lodge.

Slap. Slap. 

The beaver was terribly clever. Weaving sticks together to build her own home in the water. 

“I wish I could live in the water,” Wren said. But she knew that was foolish thinking. She continued walking upstream and around the pond the beaver dam created. It wasn’t long until she came across an abandoned bundle of old and rotting wood–the beaver must have left it behind. She eyed the branches warily before a very rectangular branch caught her eye. Well, it wasn’t a branch at all. It was a rotting 2x4 from the city. All the way out in the forest. Sticking out of it were six nails. She rolled her eyes at the sight.

“This must be where the nails are coming from!” Wren reached for the wood and slowly wiggled the nails out of the board, stuffing them into her pouch as she went. She set down the chuck of wood and surveyed the surrounding area. An idea struck her, “why don’t I BUILD my own winter home? Like the beaver!”

She had wood. She had nails. And she had trees. Her mother once told her a story about the tree forts that were built high amongst the trees, like little fairy houses. 

Wren found a stand of 6 alder trees that would be strong enough to hold both her and her winter home, and she set to work. It took four days, but her persistence paid off. Not only had she built a home eight feet above the ground, but she insulated it with evergreen boughs, gathered enough seeds, berries, and roots, added a soft moss mattress to sleep on, and transported all of her belongings from the forest glade she called her summer home. 

On the fifth day, Wren was sitting on the edge of her new home, her bare feet dangling over the edge and the warm autumn sun kissing her forehead. 

It had been silent in the forest over the past few days as all the creatures prepared and settled into their homes for the winter. She could smell the scent of snow on the winds and wondered how long it would take to arrive here in her forest. 

As she basked in the light of the rising sun, she heard a rustling in the bushes. She stopped kicking her feet and watched as the beaver emerged from the tall grasses. Quietly she watched the beaver approach her fort and support herself on an alder trunk, and then took a big bite.

“Hey!” Wren shouted. Beaver stumbled back and looked up, surprised that a young forest girl was watching her. “You can’t eat that. That’s my home!”

“Says who?” asked Beaver.

“Me! I live here. It’s my home!” Wren cried.

“Well, it’s my food. Winter is coming and I want to make sure there is enough food in my lodge.” Beaver lowered herself back and looked like she was about to take another bite.

“Stop!” Wren cried. There have to be other trees you can eat. 

“This is the last stand of alder trees nearby. I don’t have the time to walk further away. You will just need to find a new home.”

“There is no time for that. Winter is coming!”

Wren pleaded with the beaver. The Beaver thought for a moment and, with a sly grin, agreed the girl should seek three creatures to judge whether the beaver could eat her home. If one of them says that the beaver should leave the girl’s fort alone, then the beaver will leave the alders and find another source of food.

The girl set out in search of a creature to agree with her. The girl first came across a black bear. She was wary of its size, so she stayed a comfortable distance back and asked what it thought of the matter. 

The black bear responded coldly, “what are you complaining about? You have opposable thumbs and can build a home ANYWHERE. I must search and search for a cozy, low, protected place on the ground to sleep the winter away. I came back to my den from last winter, but all the soil has fallen from it.” 

Wren felt a hot shame flush her face, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond. The bear grumbled and turned away, moving deeper into the forest.

Wren, not wanting to let this failure sink in, turned toward the stream and walked along it. It was not long before she spotted a dark-eyed junco bathing in a shallow pool. 

She approached gently and explained her situation, but received no better result, for the junco said, “you’re foolish to think that us creatures should look after each other. It’s called survival for a reason. Why, just the other day, I came home to my nest only to find that some creature had ripped out the blackberry brambles that supported it. How will I stay cozy and warm for the winter?” 

A wave of guilt crashed into Wren, and she fought to keep herself focused, but the junco was done with its bath, and it flitted away.

Sadness weighed on Wren, but she had one last chance to save her own home when she came across an old wise birch tree. 

She explained her situation, but the birch tree was not sympathetic. “You want sympathy? I heard through the fungal network that you pierced my tree friends with sharp metal nails. We spent all spring and summer growing another layer of protective bark for the winter and you ruin that work by puncturing our sides and exposing us to the harsh winter. You won’t find any companionship here!” 

Wren felt nauseous. How could she have hurt so many of her fellow creatures and then ask for them to help her? The tree tired of speaking, rustled its branches and then went completely still, committing to silence.

She trudged back to her tree fort, promising herself and her woodland roommates that when she rebuilds it, she will do it in a way that protects them too. Along her way back to the beaver, she came across a tall woodland sprite. It was like the ones in the stories her mother used to tell her, but this one was tall. Very tall. 

“Hello, my dear,” the sprite said. “What troubles you?”

“Oh, nothing.” Wren sighed. “I tried to build a home to keep my warm and cozy for the winter, but in doing so, I put other woodland creatures at risk. Now the beaver wants to ruin my new home, so she has food for the winter and there is nothing I can do.”

“There is always something that can be done. Show me your home.” Wren took the woodland sprite to her home and there they met the beaver.

“Ah,” said Beaver. “Is this silly little sprite one of the three creatures you asked to judge your actions?”

The sprite sat up straighter at the word “silly,” her eyes narrowing. 

“No, Beaver,” said Wren. This sprite was not one of the three, but she asked to see my home.

“And what a magnificent home it is!” shrilled the sprite, throwing her arms wide. “Look at the skill that went into building the floor up high and weaving evergreen boughs along the sides to block out the wind!”

“You think this is good work?” Asked the beaver, her voice hitching higher in disbelief. “Imagine having to weave a home UNDER water! This girl may have powerful hands, but I had to use my teeth, feet, and tail to build my home.”

“Really?” asked the sprite, lifting a hand to her chest as a look of exaggerated shock crossed her face.

“Yes! Forget this little dump and come see what a real builder can do.” 

Wren followed slowly behind the sprite and the beaver back to the water as the beaver pointed out all the special additions and considerations that went into building her winter home in the pond. 

The sprite shook her head. “And the lodge is dry and warm? What about the wind? Doesn’t it get through?”

“No! I know exactly how to place the mud, so the lodge is waterproof, wind-proof, and soundproof.”

“Soundproof? I don’t believe that for a second!” The sprite gasped. 

“Oh yeah. I’ll show you. Give me twenty seconds to get inside and I’ll prove to you that no sound can get out. You can even shout back at me.” And with that, Beaver disappeared into the water. The sprite immediately began tossing branches and leaves into the water.

“Help me out here. There isn’t a ton of time.”

Confused, Wren grabbed a handful of branches and began tossing them into the water. Until the water was full.

“That’s far more than enough.” The sprite said. “Ready for winter?”

Wren, not sure how to answer, watched the sprite crouch to the water. She touched her fingertips to the pond's surface and, with her other hand, touched the dirt. She whispered a series of words and sounds that Wren had never heard before. A stiff wind pushed in, and a light snow fell. The ground under Wren’s toes turned cool, then cold, then freezing, and they heard a loud crack over the pond. Wren looked towards the water and realized she was looking at ice that was growing thicker and thicker. 

The sprite stood and gazed at Wren with a smirk. “That’ll keep the beaver from eating your winter home, and that will teach her not to call me a silly sprite.”

“Whoa. Who are you?” 

The sprite smiled leisurely. “I’m mother nature. I was here to make sure all the creatures were ready for winter and your actions made that much more challenging.” Wren wanted to look away from that piercing glare but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright but promise you will learn from this. I helped the other creatures in the same way I’ve helped you, but I can’t promise I can do this every winter.”

Wren nodded and then grimaced. “What about the beaver? Will she have enough to eat this winter?”

“Oh, the beaver is a cautious creature and always packs twice as much food then she needs. She will be fine.”

And that’s how mother nature saved a little girl’s winter home from the beaver.