Downtown Beavers

Our river harbors secret miracle workers. You can't see them when you cross the simple blue and white bridge that connects the east and west sides of Las Vegas. They labor in the muddy water that follows the north pathway, behind overgrown brush and discarded beer bottles, in the ripe space between our fractured sections of town. Beavers. A colony, as the naturalists would say.

I chatted with a friend as we examined used merchandise at the Salvation Army store.

"Have you seen the beaver dam? It's huge!" I pointed toward old town, as if we could see through six blocks of tired asphalt.

He looked at me thoughtfully through the patch of black hair that fell into his left eye.

"I didn't know we had a beaver dam."

I didn't know about the beaver dam, either, until I happened upon it. Our beavers are quiet - almost invisible - citizens. They gnaw the swollen trunks of water-laden trees in the dead of night, and lace bark and branches together to form a solid home. Their dam stretches in a lazy S-shape across the Rio Gallinas, connecting east and west, holding back a large, still pond filled with algae and decaying reeds. Water striders skim the surface like figure skaters. Plump bullfrog tadpoles hug the edges and look for shelter between silted rocks while they grow strong legs.

The stored water behind the dam is haven to indigenous plants and animals, especially during times of drought.  Native Americans call beavers the "sacred center" of the land because their relentless efforts make habitats for fish, turtles, frogs, and birds. The natural sediment that builds in beaver ponds forms meadows over time, fertile wetlands and grassy areas called "Vegas." Our town owes its name, its existence to generations of these natural engineers.

If you walk along the Rio Gallinas' north pathway, you can see the dam just a few hundred yards from Bridge Street. It snakes across the river in an elegant arc, with many hidden exits and entrances. The complexity and strength of the curving dam is surprising. The beavers follow the curve and corner of the land during construction. Water never flows over a beaver dam. It flows through it like a sieve, holding back just enough liquid to form a pool, adding much needed moisture to the ground.

Our beavers don't mind company if you are patient and quiet. They dip and dive among the reeds, sometimes surfacing with a wriggling fish. They continue with their business as bullfrogs leap from rock to stump, emitting guttural croaks as they zap flying insects with extended tongues. Beavers mate for life, and sometimes two soulmates will float close to the water's edge, look you over with intelligent brown eyes, their flat tails just below the surface.

In these days of Level Three Water Restrictions we can learn a thing or two from our furry wetland experts. Beavers use teamwork and cooperation to build their dams. They don't care about east and west, new and old. They work with the landscape, with what Mother Nature provides, and incorporate the best of their ecosystem in their designs in order to build a strong and lasting home.