Found it!

  They swam up behind me while I was watching the lodge, and from the corner of my eye I thought they were ... beavers! ;)   

more beavered stumps

I don't know why these beavered stumps intrigue me so.

My friend informed me of the beavers' activity in the riverbanks close to our house ... close enough for an adventure with grandchildren.  So on Wednesday, off we went to find the place where the beavers were working.  And find it, we did.  Newly chewed wood shining white in the browning November.  My old stroller however, was not built for steep beaver trails and after following Logan up one such trail, Evelyn set up a lively and convincing protest.  So home we went.

Thursday morning I set out again, and found more and different stumps ... and after only a few pictures, the battery on Randy's camera died. So I walked and wandered and poked around a bit more before heading home for the other parts of my day.  Figured out how to change and charge batteries.

Thursday evening, I headed out for the third time.  The sun was already going down by the time I headed for the river.  I decided I'd go to the same spot on the river and walk the same circuit. See what had changed.  It would be fun to catch them in the act.  The white spikes stood out in the darkening evening, but I eventually ran out of light.  Those were some of the pictures I posted this morning.

I went out again today.  One long branch that yesterday had been abandoned in the middle of the trail was gone. I found a grove closer to the river that almost looked like a logging camp.  Wood chips everywhere, grass trampled down as the logs had been taken to the river bank and pushed over the edge.   Many sizes and shapes and colors of stumps and chips. There were trees that were hung up and abandoned in the underbrush.  There were trees that were only partially gnawed off.

Only after seeing the new trees down did I really see the trees that someone had carefully wrapped with chicken wire.  Effective for many of the trees.  But there were some old stumps where the beavers had pushed the chicken wire out of the way... or bitten through? and taken them down anyway.  Some trees had a sturdy chain link fence wrapped around them.

Further down the path were wide trunks that just kept trying to grow a tree, despite the many spears that had been gnawed off over the years.  And the forest of poplar saplings that are mown down by a beaver's schedule almost as regular as the grass in Meewasin, only with longer gaps in between.  The saplings keep springing up and the beavers keep building warm lodges for the winter.

Today's walk showed me the colors and textures left
when the summer green and fall gold have fallen away.
Bones of redemption hidden beneath the canopy of beauty.

Yesterday I was just struck by the silent white spears.

trying to find words for prayers

for the pain that we carry
for the hope that we see

I'll walk beside this river, and spend a lifetime learning how to pray

evening evidence

 

 

paying attention

My journal prompt from this morning is:  To experience creativity as part of daily living, it helps to slow down and pay attention ...

I'm amending that a bit ... it helps to pay attention even while increasing activity levels!
Josie gave me her old fitbit.  And of all the failed or guilt-induced attempts to increase my activity levels, this is not one.  I recognized with the tracking how low my actual activity levels have become... so last week I decided to walk to the mall instead of driving.  As I raked the carpet of leaves later that afternoon, my wrist started buzzing.  I had successfully passed 10,000 steps.
The fitbit was celebrating.
Seriously.  That should not have an impact on me.
but ...
yesterday after watching The Big Short, decided to head down Meewasin trail towards Waneskewin in the dusk of a cloudy evening.  The trail was quiet, except for the twilight activities of birds along the river and a few people of like mind on the trail.  A sparrow hawk screeched and swooped in the bare poplar branches above me, geese still flew overhead, following the bends of the river, and as the darkness settled into crevices and ravine an owl sounded his greeting... or warning.  A plane came in from the east for a landing, but I could find not a glimmer of light through the clouds.  Only the sound passing overhead.

This is my Father's world,
and to my listening ears
all nature sings, and round me rings
the music of the spheres

an old hymn echos in my mind this morning

journal prompt comes from "my creative contemplative journal" by april yamasaki and lois siemens

old leather

"These are my favorite boots ..." I confessed to the man in the shop that smelled like leather and worn things.  "I live in them."
He grinned as he turned them over in his hands.  "I can tell."
"Can you fix them?"
One year ago they fixed the heels.  Gave me another winter.  Last spring the leather on the side of the left foot gave out and ripped a good three inch slice along the sole.  I convinced myself that others couldn't see the rip and kept wearing them, grimacing when stepping through wet snow, knowing that my foot would be slightly damp for the rest of the day.

He said they could fix them.  They'd stitch a flap of nylon onto the leather (with black thread so that it wouldn't be noticeable), peel back the sole and secure it underneath.  They have a bit of a back log, so they wouldn't be ready till next Friday.  Would that be ok?  I was grinning.  

Such a small thing.  But it is fun to walk into a place that understands old things that you still love. They also threw a new grip onto the heels of another set of boots so that I had something on my feet when I walked out of the shop.

In a world where empires are clashing,
where there is so much struggle over land and power,
where children are at risk, and so many lives are without value,
there is something beautiful about a person who cares for the leather on my feet.

I feel as though someone washed my feet today.

Check out the Awl Shoppe
714 2nd Ave North in Saskatoon