Welcome to The Earth Show humans. I’m Jake the Human Host (Owner/Operator) of STORYSOLD: Pest Control. This is a special live action story about one of The Show’s hardest working wilder creature friends, the beaver.

Some human sometime called the great land body territory of Oregon, “the beaver state.” Probably because of all the beavers. As a child, I read many books about wild animals and beavers. In school, I read more books about wild animals and beavers and passed many tests about wild animals and beavers. I graduated from a university entity (OSU) that identified Itself as a beaver. My uncle who graduated from a different university entity (U of O) that identified as a duck. He called me a “beaver.” Not so long ago, when Farmer Emily and I were caretakers at the Headwaters Farm, I lived within a stones throw from many beavers. We knew they were there. At night when we walked across the road with the culvert that crossed the creek, every once in a while we heard them go “sploosh” as the dove back to the safety of the water. All that’s to say, it seems that I should know beavers by now.

Yet, age 45, I’ve never seen a beaver in the wild. Even more tragically I’ve never tried to read The Earth Show for signs of beaver. That realization dawned on me slowly. I thought about the countless images and words I’ve read about beavers, and then I thought about all the times I could have, but didn’t try to read The Earth Show for signs of beaver. At first, I doubted that reading about beavers in the wild was something that humans do. Maybe we humans were meant to relate to beavers in our strange schizo-Disney way? Maybe the real beavers were the ones in the books, and the fake beavers were the ones who lived a few miles outside my front door in Johnson Creek?

Instead of sinking further into despair (and weeping over my complete lack of education as a graduate of Beaver University), I asked Emily for a reality check. “Of course humans read The Earth Show for signs of beaver,” she said matter-of-factly. “They call them surveys.”

“No shit,” I said with amazement. “Sign me up. Let’s do one of these whatever they’re called surveys.”

Understandably, the entity who identifies as “The Johnson Creek Watershed Council” doesn’t advertise the recreational reading of wild beavers. Instead they pretend to take it very seriously. You know, data collection for science blah, blah, blah.

The survey began a few weeks later. STORYSOLD: Pest Control already had a wilderness guide, so naturally our live action character Wilderness Security Guide felt strong feelings of competition when the youth named “Marlee” was introduced. Marlee’s pronouns were they/them; which we related to, because we identify as a “they” and or a “royal we” in our legal state ordained hosting of the business entity known as STORYSOLD: Pest Control. The Council identified them as a “Community Outreach Coordinator.” In short, Marlee wasn’t as good a guide as Wilderness Security Guide would have been in her place, but they were still awesome in their way. We couldn’t think of one bad thing to say about the youth’s production of The Earth Show: The Part Where The Johnson Creek Council Produces a Beaver Survey Adventure for Full Cellar Farmer Emily and Jake Son of Storysold.

Our adventure began with a zoom meeting featuring a general period of instruction about beavers, an overview of the survey objectives, and the fake meeting ended when we chose our survey section of creek and exchanging contact information with our teammates.

I was generally bored by the fake meaning, but I did happen to collect some cool facts: a) beavers build piles of wood for the express purpose of marking them with their scents; b) beavers eat their own poo poo, because bark is hard to digest; c) beavers don’t live in dams, they live in lodges near the dam; and d) beavers are known as “keystone species” because they control, shape, and build the environment that other species depend on.

Note the use of Marlee’s schizo-Disney beaver to help us relate…

After the fake meeting concluded Farmer Emily and I drove to Tideman Johnson Natural Area in SE Portland to meet Marlee and our fellow surveyors for real. We’d signed up for a mile long stretch of the creek between Gresham City park and our farm in Boring, OR. Our teammates (sisters named Rebecca and Laurel) couldn’t make the meeting that day, so we picked up their gear for them.

The organizational meeting was as expected: awkward engagement of strangers followed by strange safety rituals. The Council issued us fishing style hip waders and trekking poles, and then divided the surveyors present into two groups. The first group gathered with Marlee to learn about proper data collecting practices and gear check the backpack issued to each team. The second group was asked to do a dress rehearsal: put on their waders, grab their trekking poles, and practice walking for real in the creek. When it was my turn to put on the waders, I took a long look at a handsome older homeless man with bad teeth and a long beard who was doing chalk art on the concrete supports of the bridge we were standing under. He was doing art, but he was also watching our show. The man without his shirt on basking in the sun looked back at me with an amused smile that seemed to say, “Go on pet. Put those stupid waders on like a good domesticate and join The Civilization Show.”

Using my unspoken man telepathy, I reminded the homeless chalk artist who I identified himself as “Banksy on the Bank” (via telepathic communication) that I wasn’t a full blown domesticate. I was a rat catcher, wildlife eviction magician, and I’d thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail one and a quarter times. In other words, I had a lot of experience doing dumb things in The Nature like being swept down raging creeks in springtime because I tried to cross at the wrong log. So yeah, my pride didn’t allow me to wear the waders that day. But I did take advantage of the socially appropriate time to creek walk down Johnson Creek with a group of other humans. It was fun. I got wet up past my knees, tracked The Action of crawdads, and tried and failed to make intelligent conversation with a fellow surveyor I followed up the creek.

I’ll be honest. I drove away that day like non-believers leave church (as fast as possible). I was certain I’d been swindled into participating in some kind of safe structured funtime adventures. I was not okay with that. I was not one of those domesticates who do karate classes, tour National Parks in buses, take zip line ecotours in third world jungles, grunt at other humans in workout gyms, or participate in primal screaming (or other herding rituals) at rock shows. Scenes like those don’t fit well in my story. I felt strange and out of time-and-place doing any of those comfortably safe “activities” humans do to satisfy their very real need for wildness in their lives.

Wilderness Security Guide was the first of us to make words of that feeling. “I’m a pro rat catcher,” Guide grumbled as we drove home that day. “I have a feeling I’m going to discover more wildness in one of my customer’s crawlspaces than this survey.”

And I felt that way until I met Rebecca and Laurel on the day of the survey. My first spark of adventure hit when Laurel, who had her own camouflage waders and creek walking gear, calmly waded into Johnson Creek up to her waist as she described surveying the same stretch of creek with her sister last year pregnant. I clearly read it as a boast, which I valued. Adventurers all boast, because all adventurers love victory. There’s no point of winning and reaching the end of an amazing adventure, if you don’t share the story with anyone and everyone you meet later in The Action of The Earth Show. The word “boast” is only bad when the storytelling is produced badly, or reenacted without the proper style that inspires others.

In other words, I liked Laurel and Rebecca immediately. They were chalk full of life, adventure, and the kind of live action writing style that inspired the best in us to be better.

On the other hand, I (being who I am) was still engaged in an unspoken manly telepathic conversation with Banksy the Bank. My costume for the day was shorts, old shoes, T-shirt, sunglasses, STORYSOLD brand ball cap, and my man satchel slung high over my shoulder. I liked the way the creek felt. Its story was cold, slimy, wild, and alive.

As it goes with all of my adventures, a soundtrack slowly began to emerge as we make our way up the creek in search of Beaver signage. The winner was, “Adagio for Strings Op.11,” which was made famous in Oliver Stone’s war drama Platoon. The movie was about a young man who learns to face death in the company of other men participating in the modern coming-of-age ritual known as war.

I had to stop and appreciate the meaningful difference between our survey and the movie Platoon a few times. Instead of facing death in the company of men, I was facing life in the company of women. I have to say, it was refreshing to track a good earth creature in an effort to support their story. It made more sense than tracking down bad earth creatures to kill them because we were afraid of them. Imagining the worse in The Action at every turn is not fun. It was so cool to discover signs of beaver all around us!

As instructed by Marlee, we stopped at every dam and recorded the data. Which meant breaking out the tape measure, the signage board, and the camera. Laurel took most of the photos, because she had the app in her phone which she used to download the data.

Here’s a smaller dam that didn’t have a lot of signs…

Here’s larger dams that had signs of beaver all over…

And here’s some shots of the lodges, or beaver homes, we found mostly along the banks…

Note the smooth mud trails known as “slides” where the beavers enter and exit the water on the regular…

I think the part where I waded across the creek in chest high water was the moment I decided this was a proper adventure. I was so wrong about Johnson Creek. It didn’t disappoint. As we moved slowly through the water we had to navigate windfall, dams, homeless camps, nettles, blackberries, thickets, and you name it! Signs of life were everywhere: crawdads, coyote trails, raccoon dropping on the logs overhanging the creek, song birds, little fishes, freshwater muscles, and the blue heron we kept chasing up the creek….

Four hours later, we’d collected data on something like twenty one dams in our mile long bushwhack up Johnson Creek. By the end of our adventure I was beginning to feel uncomfortably cold. I never imagined it would take that long.

“So that’s why Laurel and Rebecca brought their own waders,” I grumbled to myself.

No matter. I was happy. Proper adventures are rarely comfortable in scene. I like to think the cold, and the heat, and the rain, and the bugs, and all the uncomfortable feelings that happen when we humans engage The Earth Show for real have a purpose. Uncomfortable (pesky) feelings are The Earth Show’s natural mnemonic. All the wilder extremes help us remember better than any test administered by teachers in the climate controlled environments of schools. To point, I’ve forgotten almost everything I’ve ever been tested on in school, but I will remember the signs of beavers I read that day.

“Huzzah!” I cheered when I finally felt my toes again. “I was so wrong! Participating in wildlife surveys is an awesome way to read and remember and engage the wilder creatures of The Earth Show.”

It was much better than any book I’ve read on beavers, even though I still have never seen a beaver in the wild. I like to believe that one day, when I least expect it, I will meet my beaver. And the soundtrack will be Adagio in Strings Op. 11 from Oliver Stone’s movie Platoon. 

No doubt the wild beaver will be doing his best impression of William Defoe to seem more real to humans. I mean, seriously all he’s missing is the big front teeth, fur, webbed feet, and a large flat tail.

For more info on proper life facing wilder adventures check out: Johnson Creek Watershed Council