Leavings

Last night's river surveillance was disappointing but expected. The rain tally culminated in somewhere around three inches and two days of some form of precipitation alternating between misty drizzle and an onslaught of relentless pouring. The river needs someone to start bailing--the banks are long under water and what was 30 feet wide has swelled to a lake. This makes for interesting navigating for Kola, who prefers obstacles to scale and jump from. There is a maze of trees, some standing (the river now has overtaken the woods) and some fallen and twisted into enormous heaps, floating in a couple feet of water. I always hope for treasures (feathers, old deer bones) to be floating among the junk, but I've not come across anything yet. Milk jugs, plastic water bottles, fishing line, coconuts, pumpkins, and once a plastic bag filled with beans and a fully feathered dead chicken. Kola was giddy at the discovery of the bag and I let her investigate for too long before I figured out what was inside. Eventually she opened it and spilled overly swollen beans and very wet chicken on the bank, reveling in her prize. As much as I didn't feel good about it, I had to give the whole mess a nudge back to its watery beginning to avoid her consuming every bit. I tried not to think about how such a weird package of goods ended up there in the first place. However, flotsam such as that is one of the mysteries of the river.....all the junk that comes downstream came from somewhere, but where? How far away? How long ago? Did the journey begin in here in Illinois or somewhere in Wisconsin? And who lost a coconut?
Some years, after the spring rains, the booty is more natural but just as strange. Last April, it was two beavers, one hung up on a log and expanded to the size of a small bear and the second floating among the bark and riverfoam. Within days it was dragged out and opened by the coyotes, I assume. Kola had a good bath in the mess, but the coyotes gave me a chance to do some impromptu (and smelly) surgery, which resulted in the skull being lugged home. It stayed on the patio table for further decompostion for a few days, but disappeared soon after. I was unhappy, to say the least. What would have been a beautiful addition to the home skull collection was stolen by someone...the coyotes were blamed, but Kola may know the real story.
She has a long-standing argument with the beavers, as do my husband and brother, but theirs is based on some bizarre fishing incidents. Kola just has a general complaint about them, which is seated in their refusal to move out of her way in the water as well as their uncanny tendency to disappear completely after an unnerving tail-slap. Lewis and Clark's dog, Seaman, was bitten in the hind leg by a beaver and almost died from the injury--thus I am wary of allowing Kola to count coup on too many beavers.
Most days she is ready to go for a hike first thing in the morning, long before I am. At this time of year I wait until it's as warm as it can possibly get--while it's great to get the chance to see the coyotes and hear the birds singing their morning songs, 7am is not yet warm enough to enjoy it. As it gets warmer and eventually, hotter than hell, we choose to do our exploring as early in the day as possible. But for now, temperatures are still chilly in the mornings. In November, 30 degrees in the morning is a gift, but by March my tolerance has waned.
On that note, we'd better get to it. We're burning daylight and there are still cooking and cleaning chores to be done after our walk. For now, we're river-bound to unearth the offerings of the day.