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“See here, is the old marsh. Before we all scattered further into the wetlands.” King George told Mabel. After fleeing the chaos in the main marsh, the havoc wrecked from the cacophony of other mammals, reptiles, amphibians, and aviary creatures alike, they needed a spot to take a breather.
Mabel stayed silent recognizing the spot for what it was. “This is—“
“Kind of a mess, right? We had to desert it after the construction project started. Total noise nightmare.” He cut her off, he turned around to face her. The small beaver was sunken in expression.
She looked around remembering all of the history with this place. Going there as a kid, going there as an adult. Recalling the slow transformation of trees loosing lushness and the animals frequenting there less.
Everytime she visited there would be less chirps, less chatter, even the breeze felt dead and distant. Nothing capturing the same feeling as when she went there with her obaasan.
Her grandmother was the thing that inspired her to come back, track wildlife patterns and stop the beaverton beltway.
She blinked out of her trance, looking at King George. “Mabel, what is it?” He asked with concern.
“It’s just this is…” She couldn’t finish again, like something caught in her throat. The feeling of being out of her body — even if she actually was already.
“You know, I remember when humans used to visit over here. You certainly don’t get that with the new marsh.”
“What do you mean?”
“People would often walk by here, not paying us too much mind. Maybe pointing out a butterfly or bird on occasion, but there was this one pair.”
“Huh?”
“These two that would come by often. I remember them sitting and watching us. Not interfering with our dams and homes. Sometimes we would try and do things to see their reaction.”
“Like what?”
“Splashing, grabbing up mud from the bottom of the marsh and laying it onto rocks…I don’t think they understood what that meant to beavers.”
Mabel’s breath felt taken from her lungs, it all sounding really familiar. Like blurry hazes. “Did they ever stop coming?”
“Yes, actually! For a while we thought maybe we did something wrong…maybe it was the mud—“
“No…it wasn’t the mud.” Mabel said trying not to choke on her words.
“How would you know? Some kind of mud expert??” King George asked trying to bring some light to the conversation.
“Uh well, can I ask?”
“What is it?”
“What did they look like?”
“Uhhh…humans? One was wrinkly but with the softest smiles. Had really light hair like clouds. The other was clumsy and tiny, had messy hair like twigs.”
Mabel’s eyes watered up a bit, “I—“
King George looked at her puzzled.
“That was my grandmother.”
“I think I’d know if it was your grandmother, I know all the beavers.”
“George, I’m not…I’m not a beaver.” She stated, hoping it would go over well.
“What do you mean? You have the same large teeth? The same tail? You’re one of us.”
“No, like, remember how I didn’t know pond rules—“
“Oh yeah…I just figured you were…from another marsh.”
“I mean you could say that BUT I’m like from the human marsh.”
“No, I mean— you’re like us. You look like a beaver, you ARE a beaver.”
“Then…why do I know why the humans left.”
King George sat puzzled, it was asked like a question but it seemed like she actually knew.
“You never saw the one with white hair come back, right?” Mabel said, fighting the stammering in her voice.
“Now that you say it, yes the spiky haired one came back— but never the white haired one.”
“She passed…”
“Well, her body, maybe. But just like you are here as a beaver now, maybe there’s a chance she is too.”
“No, that’s not how it works.” Mabel said, smiling at the fact he thought her grandmother had also hopped.
King george took Mabel by his side, “She could still be here, we believe when someone leaves us they watch us in the stars. Or if not the stars, they’re by us in the breeze, or even in every pond reflection.”
“Like she’s still part of the forest?”
“Certainly!”
Mabel looked around. It hurt to think about the forest suffering but in a different way. She couldn’t give up the fight against the freeway construction, not for her obaasan. She couldn’t sit by while the trees grew more barren and the ponds were losing water. Visiting the marsh again had regained the fight in her to try rallying the animals again. “Osewa ni narimashita, obaasan.”
Thank you for all your love and support.