Dam It Nestor

By GP POP

Part One
Creatures in the Night

It has been said that beavers are a busy bunch. That they never have time for fun and for play. No time for birthdays or picnics. No time for dancing or song. No time for small talk or big dreams. No time for sport of any sort, or any frivolous waste of… time.

It has been said that beavers are the very best of builders. That it be all they know and all they do. All but one beaver that is.

Nestor John lived deep in the meadow next to a clear running stream. Against the advice of all, he had made his home in a long-abandoned fox’s burrow. Not your average everyday sort of beaver, Nestor enjoyed spending his days sitting by the stream with a crackling fire. While playing his woodwind flute, he would jump up from time to time to dance a silly jig. Some nights, he would write in his journal and gaze up at the sky in wonder.

“The stars are so many, and they seem so close. What are they, I wonder?” he would ask himself. “Are they holes in the sky where the sun sleeps behind? And the moon. Is it round like an orb? Or flat like a pie?”

Nestor was curious about everything and not much frightened of anything except… water. You see, Nester was a beaver that could not swim.

Sometimes, his thoughts would race back to a time when he was just a wee kit. When his Mum would try everything she knew to teach him to swim. She would spend countless hours with Nestor but to no avail. The moment she would let go of his hand, he would panic and sink like a stone. His siblings would laugh and poke fun, as they could swim like fish from the day that they were born.

Swimming had always given him the greatest challenge. But, it was climbing high up into the trees that he would master well and grow to love.

This was a skill that few beavers would bother with. But Nester could scurry up a tree as fast as any chipmunk or squirrel. Sometimes sitting there for hours on end, watching the daily lives of creatures in the wood.

On more than one occasion, he would see a pack of hungry wolves make their way through the meadow looking for a meal. A meal of rabbit or chipmunk, or even a young beaver caught off-guard. They were a cunning and resourceful bunch alright and their calling out for one another with an eerie howl would always send a shiver through the spine of every creature, large and small. With their keen sense of smell, they always seemed to know that he was there, but they never looked up. So, in time, Nestor had gained his own keen sense of their habits and wily ways.

“Such is the life of any critter in the wood,” he would think to himself. “Big things always sneaking about, looking for smaller things to eat.”

Be as it may, as time had gone by, Nestor had found himself somewhat content but very much alone.

One night, after a long hard day, he relaxed by the fire and stared up into the night sky. “Tomorrow is the summer solstice,” he thought to himself. “I reckon, that beavers from all parts will be at the festival. My pesky brothers… they’ll be there. I’m much surprised that they haven’t been here to push and prod me about the whole business.”

He yawned aloud and stretched out his arms. Then, suddenly… he popped up and looked out in all directions with his nose up, sniffing the air. “Who’s there?” he asked in a serious tone. He stared into the woods and all around his burrow entrance. “I know someone’s there! You had better come out!” he cried. All was quiet and still.

Slowly, from the darkness behind crept two wild creatures. They rushed from the stream and lunged at Nestor with claws and teeth flailing about, screeching like ghostly beasts.

Nestor let out with a cowardly scream, then tripped and fell to the ground. The creatures instantly froze. They let out with a loud, chattering burst of laughter. Sure enough, it was his two older brothers, Arthur and Ben. They began rolling on the ground beside themselves with laughter.

“Don’t ever do that again!” cried Nestor, as he straightened up and brushed himself off.

“Well, what did you think we were? Giant beaver-eatin’ trout?” asked Arthur.

“Or maybe a walking, talking ten-pound tadpole!” said Ben with a hearty laugh.

Nestor wasn’t at all amused. He picked up his flute, then suspiciously asked his prankster brothers, “Alright then, let’s have it. What brings you boys here mucking about at this hour?”

Arthur gave a hard shake from head to foot, sending a spray of water all around. “A nice, cozy spot you got here little brother. Nice and cozy… for a fox!” he said with a snarl.

“And what about this lovely stream you got runnin’ by here? What kind of plans ya’ got for that, I wonder?” said Ben with a firm and bossy tone.

Nestor knew where this conversation was going but he played along anyway. He just looked over at the stream, then back at his brothers.

“Plans? For the stream? What plans could I possibly have for the stream? he asked.

“Dam it, Nestor. Dam the stream!” they both cried. They approached him with fingers pointing, ready to give their young brother a piece of their minds.

“Tell him, Artie,” said Ben. Arthur pointed again and said, “Build a dam. Make a lovely pond. Construct a proper lodge. Find a wife. Have yourself a few chubby, cute little kits. Then move on and do it all again. It’s what we beavers do!”

Nestor sighed and frowned as he had heard this lecture all before. “Is that it? Because if that is all for now, I am tired and ready for the sack, dear brothers,” he said.

Arthur and Ben shrugged, then walked slowly back to the stream. Just before they slipped in, Artie turned and said, “The Solstice Festival begins tomorrow. Music, dancing, and fun for all. Do come this time, brother.”

A moment later, they quietly slipped into the water and disappeared from sight, leaving Nestor to his cozy burrow and dreams of tasty aspen seedlings.

Part two
Pitter-Pat

Never was there ever a beaver less eager than Nestor. The next morning, he had overslept in his usual way, underneath his warm and cozy quilt. While other beavers had been up and working for hours, Nestor was just now awake and fetching his morning cup.

As he opened his journal and started to write-in the day of the week, he heard a rustling in the brush outside followed by a blaring horn and the voices of travelers. Upon walking to the entrance and opening the door for a peek, he gazed upon a group of critters making their way along the stream.

There were possum and porcupine. There were rabbits and raccoons. Squirrels, badgers, and of course, beavers. They were all scooting along through the woods in happy conversation and with great excitement. There were creatures from all walks, all in a stir, to gather at the Golden Meadow Festival of the Summer Solstice.

Just as he began to think that the festival crowd may be a bit larger this year than last, he heard a friendly voice call out, “Hello, Nestor! Is that you?” And there near a clearing in the trees, he spotted an old friend he’d not seen in years, Fanny Crane.

She was a lovely girl from his youth. A true-blue play friend and childhood crush that back in the day, made his heart go pitter-pat. He had always wanted to see her again… always. From the time they first met, he had hoped to be her best mate. And so did his brothers.

“Fanny! Well, fancy this,” he said nervously. “I was just thinking to myself, ‘Whatever has become of Fanny? And here you are then, well.” Nestor was flush in the face and a bit shocked at being caught off guard.

“So, it’s true then. You live in a burrow,” said Fanny in a curious tone. “Is it true as well, that you climb about and linger in the treetops?”

Nestor was so embarrassed, that he became lightheaded and thought that he just might faint. He tried to respond, but it all came out wrong and in a broken stammer.

“B…B…burrow. Yes, well that’s all just temporary, and c…climb about in the treetops? Well, beavers don’t muck about in treetops very much now do they. Who might have told you that, I wonder?” He stood there with a blank stare, scratching his head.

Fanny gave a cheerful smile, then began to mosey through the brush. “I’ll be off then. The festival will begin soon. Will I see you there?” she asked.

Nestor froze for a moment, then he answered, “See me there? Yes, of course. Wouldn’t miss it!” He then slipped into his burrow quickly and shut the door. Standing there in a dreamy daze, all he could say was, “Fanny Crane.”
Whether there be music or dancing, poetry or theater, whether there be puppeteer or dancing deer, whether it be it the summer or the winter solstice, Nestor had never gone. He had no intention of being the butt end of jokes or ridicule because of his peculiar ways. He had never gone and had no thought of going until now.

After that chance meeting with his childhood dream, and his heart once again beating pitter-pat, he was compelled to see her and try once again to be her best mate.

Part three
The Solstice Festival

One may think that nothing could change the heart and mind of a critter that is set in his ways. Nothing. Not a push or a pull. A snag or a nag. Not a meal, not a deal, or a kick with a heel. Nothing. Except maybe a tug on the old heartstrings.

The sound of music echoed in the trees as Nestor neared the festival gates. Strung over his shoulder, he had brought his flute. This, just in case he felt brave enough to join in with the many minstrels there. He had travelled north for hours along the stream until it widened and met with a large dam. Out in the big, beautiful pond sat The Grand Beaver Lodge. It was a hall of records and meeting place for the beaver elders.

The festival was in full swing with music, dancing, competitions, and performances of all kinds. Just there, he met with critters of all sorts from his younger days in school and, soon enough, he had made friendly conversation. All the while, avoiding such talk of swimming and the damming of streams.

A marionette show grabbed Nestor’s attention straight away. He laughed and clapped as the puppets clobbered each other over the head with whacking sticks while acting out a grand comedy. A few moments later, out of the crowd walked the very reason for his break-away from burrow and stream, Fanny Crane.

“Nestor, you came after all! How wonderful,” she said. “I was just telling Arthur and Ben about our meeting.” Nestor’s smile changed quickly to a frown when his two brothers walked up from behind her.

Arthur slapped Nestor hard on the back and said, “You came, brother! I can’t believe it!” Ben walked over and pulled the flute from his side. “What’s this, brother? You gonna play us a song?” he asked with a playful laugh. Nestor was red in the face and starting to wonder if he had made a big mistake by coming after all.

Just then, when it seemed that things could get no worse, two large beastly animals walked out from the crowd and shoved both Arthur and Ben right aside. “Oh no!” they all thought. Could it be after all these years, the two most ghastly boys from school? They were the scourge of the lunch line and predators of the playground. Aye, it was them alright. Sid and Farley, the Payne brothers.

Now, these hoodlum twins were groundhog hooligans, malcontent monsters, and true-blue scrappers. The nasty sort of punks that one would never hope to meet up with again. They were schoolyard bullies who enjoyed the belittling and humiliation of all. They walked up wearing their trademark purple shirts with sleeves rolled up their arms.

“Hello, hello, hello, and what have we here?” said one of the ruffian rodents. He went straight for Nestor and give him a hard finger-flick right on the nose. “If it isn’t Nestor John, with his two bucked-toothed brothers, Artie and Ben,” he said with a sneer.

Even though Arthur and Ben were rough-and-tumble fellows, they were not up for a scrape with these two stinkers. They backed off slowly and watched, hoping that the twins wouldn’t cause too much of a ruckus.

“Oh, hello, Sid. Hello, Farley,” said Fanny with a half-smile. “And Fanny Crane. What a pretty young lass you’ve come to be,” said Farley as he took Fanny’s hand and gave it a kiss. Then, they both decided to go for Nestor and have a good poke at him.

Nestor tried to make small talk and break the icy situation. “I see you boys haven’t changed very much except, maybe you’re a little bit… bigger,” he said with a nervous smile. The twins just stared at him with their fists clenched and their eyes in a cruel stare.

“And hello. What’s this ya’ got here?” asked Sid as he snatched the flute from Nestor’s hands. He started to swing it ‘round and ‘round by the strap. “Still playin’ the flute I see,” he said as he whipped it in a circular motion.

Just as Nestor started to speak out, Sid let go and the flute soared high up above the heads of all, landing in the uppermost branch of a nearby tree. The twins began to laugh and the crowd of critters watching all this started to mumble to themselves.

The beavers stood there looking up at the flute dangling high up on the branch, when suddenly, Nestor burst from the crowd and ran to the tree with incredible speed. He scurried up, all the way to the top, where he pulled the
flute from the branch and just sat there looking down. The crowd was surprised at first, then they all began to laugh. “Silly beaver!” they cried. Then some began to tease him and chant:

Silly old beaver sittin’ in a tree
Livin’ in a burrow by the south fork stream
That beaver can’t swim now you ought to come see
That silly old’ beaver sittin’ in a tree

“I never should have come,” thought Nestor. “I just knew something like this might happen and now look at me. Up a tree and the laughingstock of the whole meadow.”

The Payne brothers joined in the teasing rhyme, then slowly walked off, pushing, and prodding through the crowd and looking for some other trouble to rustle up. The beavers looked back at Nestor in the treetop.

“He’s just sitting there, looking out at the wood. When will he ever come down?” asked Fanny. “He has to come down sometime. But you never know with Nestor,” said Ben. “He’s the funny sort alright. Best we just leave him be.”
Minutes soon turned into an hour as Nestor sat in that tree. The festival crowd had forgotten all about him up there as fun and frolic continued all around the grounds.

Then suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he spotted a curious movement in the brush below and a quick, cold chill came over him. Nestor then began to panic as he watched a pack of hungry wolves creeping slowly near the unsuspecting revelers. He began waving his hands frantically, then he stammered as he cried out, “W… w… wolves! Hey! Everyone look! Look here! Wolves! Wolves!”

But it was all for naught, as not a soul could hear him so high up. Not with all the music and dancing and the festive distractions. No one heard his cries or looked up to see his arms in a frantic wave. And the wolves came in with all of nature’s fury.

There were calls and cries as mothers grabbed their young and fled into the brush. Fathers gnashed their teeth and swung their claws. Some tried to fight them with sticks and stones. Critters scattered into burrow and stream and beavers slapped their tails on the pond surface to warn of the pack of predators. But the warnings had come too late. Soon the sound of laughter and merry music was gone, and the forest was left with a sad and eerie silence. The wolves disappeared slowly into the brush just as quietly as they had appeared.

Then came the sad cry from a lone creature. “The wolves have gone, and they got only two! Two critters they got! Two critters is all! Nestor’s thoughts went straight to the Payne brothers. How they bullied and called the most attention to themselves. “It must be them,” he thought.

He sat in the treetop until dark, all the while thinking of who might have been taken by the pack. Then, he climbed down to find not a soul around and two purple shirts lying tattered in the brush. All was still and quiet as he slipped into the forest and made the long trek home to the warmth and safety of his burrow.

As he lay there in his bed, he thought, “Fanny, I hope she’s ok. I hope she made it home safe and sound. I hope… I just hope.” Exhausted now, he slipped off into a sad and deep sleep.

Part four
Journal of Tears

Nestor woke and rubbed the sleep from his eyes just as the morning had broken.

“What a night,” he said to himself. “I slept like I never have before, I think. Must have been that long walk to the festival grounds yesterday.”

Then he paused and thought of the festival, and the wolves, and the mothers and wee kits crying out and then suddenly… knock-knock-knock! on the door. He jumped from his bed and opened the door to find “Fanny”, he said softly.

“Hello, Nestor. I see you made it home and all in one piece, thank goodness,” she said.

“And you as well, Fanny. I’m so glad, I mean, so happy to see that you got away. The wolves, I saw them coming. I hollered and screamed, and no one could hear and…”

“Nestor, …” Fanny interrupted, “… it’s about Arthur and Ben,” she said. “The wolves, they took them… and… I’m afraid they’re gone. I’m so sorry. The Payne brothers, they fought them hard, but they were no match. I’m so very sorry.”

Nestor stood there as if in a trance. “I saw the torn purple shirts and thought for sure the wolves had gotten Sid and Farley,” he thought. But his brothers, his prankster, jokester brothers were gone.

Fanny fought back tears as she told Nester goodbye. She said she would come back and visit after he’s had some time to himself.

“Thank you. Fran, so much,” he said as he quietly closed the door. He went to his bed and wrote in his journal. With tears on the pages, he wrote of his brothers and how he will miss them, and how he will somehow honour them.

“I will make a pledge. I pledge to dam the stream. That’s what I’ll do!” He said. “I will build a dam somehow, no matter what!” Then he laid back on his bed and cried until again he fell fast asleep.

Part five
Oh, Dam

“Getting started on anything is always the hardest part,” thought Nestor. As he sat at the edge of the stream the next day with his head in his hands, he looked across at the scattered rocks he must now move and the trees he must now topple… “…with my teeth!” he cried out.

A moment later, he thought of Arthur and Ben and their wishes for him to be a more normal kind of beaver. “Dam the stream!” they would say. Then he stood up, took a deep breath, picked up a large rock, and tossed it into the stream. Then another. And another. And another.

Some hours later, a wall of rocks lay across the stream and a short waterfall rolled over it. Nestor watched, quite proudly, as the water began to pool behind it. Then, as if by instinct, he approached a tall aspen tree. He grabbed hold and began to chew. He chewed and chewed.

For a good rest of the day he chewed on that tree until suddenly, there was a cracking sound. The tree leaned, then it cracked some more. It cracked so loud that Nestor ran up the hill, then looked back to watch the giant Aspen fall across the water with a mighty splash!

It fell perfectly atop his wall of rocks, then the pool of water behind began to deepen and grow. “Oh, dam, you are the hardest work ever,” he said to himself. Even with blistering hands and aching teeth, his heart swelled with pride as he hooted and hollered and danced and sang.

“Well he fell a great tree with a sound like thunder
And he set them rocks put a wall up under
If a beaver can’t swim can he build a great dam?
Oh yes I say for a beaver I am
Oh yes I say for a beaver I am”

As the sun was setting, Nestor made his way back to his burrow. He wrote down the events of the day, played his flute for a minute or two, then he crawled under his quilt and fell fast asleep.

That night, he dreamt of Fanny Crane. He dreamt of Arthur and Ben and the festival grounds, the music, and minstrels, and then… the wolves. He tossed and turned and moaned in his sleep until finally, his tired little brain slipped off into darkness.

******

Nestor returned to the stream early the next morning and looked over the clearing for his next plan of attack. “I will need more rocks and some large branches to weave between the mix,” he thought. Then he set to work straight away.

He rolled rock after rock into the stream, making the wall stronger and much higher. He cut and dragged branch after branch in and around the rising wall, then he packed large handfuls of mud in between and all around. Before he knew it, it was time to cut down another tree. Then another, then another.

By that afternoon, Nestor had what one might call a considerable dam but, it needed to be stronger on the inside, down where the water had risen quite deep.

“I shall have to be careful here,” he thought to himself. “One slip and I’ll end up in the deep side.”

So he dragged some branches and walked oh so carefully along the edge.
“I just have to weave them, right in here. And another right in here, and another right…” SPLASH! Into the water he fell. Nestor had slipped on a rock, lost his balance, and in he went.

He began splashing and flailing and thrashing about in the deep pond water. Now his mind was in a panic.

“Oh, no! What have I done to myself?” he thought. Nestor kicked and paddled and squirmed as he sank to the bottom. He swallowed so much water that his mind went spotty, and then he heard a voice.

A soft loving voice. Then he saw a face. A sweet loving face. It was his Mum.

“I love you so much, my wee boy,” she said. And then, everything slowly went dark and silent.

Part six
Best of Both Worlds

Nestor opened his eyes and blinked several times, then started coughing up water. He coughed and burped up so much water that he thought he might faint. Slowly his eyes started to focus at two… no, three faces staring straight down at him.

“Sid and Farley Payne!” he said with great surprise. And behind the twin brothers, “Fanny! But I was drowning and… all the air was gone and… I heard a voice. It was my Mum, and…”

“And then I sent Sid and Farley in to pull you out, and not a minute too soon,” said Fanny. “We came to check on you and a good thing we did. You were lying flat down on the bottom, just staring off.”

Nestor was trying to get his head around the whole thing now, but especially how the Payne boys had saved his life. There they stood. Each sporting a brand-new purple shirt and shaking off a spray of pond water all around.

The Payne boys, it seems, had come to a reckoning of sorts. That close brush with a pack of hungry wolves was a bit much for them. They had never come close to the end of life before and the fear of it shook all the mean and nasty business right out of them. It woke them up and changed their hearts.

“We’re sorry for the punks we were,” said Sid.

“And the bullies, yeah, the bullies we were too,” said Farley. “And we’re sorry about Artie and Benny Boy. We want to make it up. If you’ll let us, we’ll help you build your dam.” Fanny stood behind the twins, smiling and briskly clapping her hands.

Wow! Nestor was stunned. He stood up, shook their hands, and invited
them all to his burrow for tea. “What an afternoon this was,” he thought.

“I built a dam. I drowned. Came back to life. The punks apologised. And now,
I’m having tea with Fanny Crane. What an afternoon indeed.”

******

The following day brought the best of progress, with Nestor and Fanny downing trees and the Payne brothers hauling wood, branches, and stones. It wasn’t long at all before the dam was high and mighty, and the pond grew deep and large. Thanks to Fanny’s swimming skills, a handsome lodge was built out in the centre of the pond. And with Nestor’s love of climbing, a large treehouse with a swinging rope to reach the lodge came soon after. This to serve also as a lookout post for uninvited wolves and bears. Sid and Farley moved into Nestor’s old burrow and would become the very best of neighbours.

In the months that followed, the bond between Nestor and Fanny had grown such that they became best mates. With the pitter-pat of hearts soon after, two young beaver kits named Arthur and Ben were seen swimming in the pond and swinging through the trees.

With the safety of water around the lodge and the security of the treehouse high above the forest, the best of both worlds came to Nestor and Fanny. As travelling critters would pass near the dam, the sound of a woodwind flute and the splashing and laughter of little kits would be heard echoing through the wood for the years to come.

- Total nr. of readings: 210 Copyright © The author [2020] All Rights Reserved. This story may not be reproduced without the express written permission of the author except for personal use.