The Waterfall Series, #1
A complement to my ‘Field Files’ series, these short stories explain what occurred along the river past the field that meanders near the woods. I can assure you that everything told within these pages is true and factual, based on my own recollection and knowledge of events. There are those, I know, who will be skeptical and will easily dismiss these tales as pure hokum and folderol, but rest assured, they happened. Before making your own hasty decision, I want to tell you about it. Here is my story.
We descended the small hill near the soaked playing field, where Andi proceeded to scatter a raucous flock of Canadian geese into the pallid grey winter sky.
It was our usual haunt, not far from home. From the hill one can hear the rush of water from the river and the cacophony of the falls.
There are many locations along the river where we pause and take in the grandeur of nature. I was peering deep into the woods across the bank, when I heard a sudden thud to my left.
I turned, looked down, and saw a beaver hefting a hatchet, chopping away at a hickory along the bank. He wore doll-sized OshKosk overalls, and a John Deere baseball cap sideways at a rakish angle. Shavings of bark and pulp lay strewn at the base of the poor tree. He was sweating profusely.
Tentatively, I ambled over and inquired about the hatchet. The beaver turned and showed me his mouth.
“See these? Do you have any idea how hard it is to cut down a hickory with them?”
His front teeth were nothing more than stumps, stunted from far too many forays munching trees.
“I…um…I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied. “I suppose that’s why you’re wielding that tool.” I then pondered as to how in hell he managed to procure his present attire. And an axe.
“Damn straight,” he said. “I’ve given up using my chompers. Heck, I can’t believe I never thought to use this damn thing sooner!”
I watched as he spat into his paws, hoisted the tool, and whacked the tree again. And then I wondered how it was possible I was even conversing with a beaver.
Andi, oblivious to the exchange, peed for the third time and then we ventured home, accompanied by the dwindling sounds of both hatchet and the falls.
Copyright, Paul Grignon – 2018 – All Rights Reserved.