Like most urban beavers, I once lived my life amongst humans attracting little more than a passing glance. Frankly I preferred it that way. Though most no longer turn us into hats, the less enlightened still wage war on the alleged “nuisance beaver.” We keep water on the land, mitigating both drought and flood, all the while providing habitat for countless mammals, birds, fish, and amphibians. Your academics even bestow us the title “keystone species.” But no sooner do we fix the gaping holes in your reputed culverts than you run us off, or worse!
Ah, but you’ve not come for the random musings of a well-read beaver.
My relationship with humans would change in the spring of 2018. I should preface that we beavers are creatures of habit. And when the warm days of spring bear their vast array of brilliant foliage, an early habit it is! Try eating nothing but cambium for the winter and you too would be eager for your luscious greens. So while typically venturing out under the cover of darkness, I would leave the lodge hours before sunset on those spring evenings and cross to the shore of my pond. From there it was just a brief overland trek to the lake where I would spend the night feeding and swimming for miles.
It was during this evening routine that I quite literally crossed paths with a trail running human named Chris. At such a fleeting encounter I reckoned he would mistake me for the common muskrat, groundhog, or platypus. So imagine my surprise when he was awaiting my arrival the very next evening. I again hurried past, naturally skeptical of this newfound attention. But day after day I observed him at the same time and place, camera in hand, as he interrupted his run to stop and stare. Perhaps the human is as habitual as the beaver. His eagerness to capture my likeness sometimes led to his obstructing my very own path. Patience, I reminded myself. You must be patient with the humans. And so I was, and as the weeks progressed my apprehensions about this unlikely rendezvous would soon be allayed.
Inspired by his continued discoveries with my family, Chris set out to locate my fellow beavers all around Philadelphia — beneath the interstate, along the el tracks, under a boardwalk, at the university, below the Ben Franklin Bridge, steps from the Museum of Art, even beside a Walmart. Here we were not only surviving but thriving. Some of us build all the quintessential beaver works — posh lodges, towering dams, and mighty canals. Others take a more modern approach to urban living, appropriating dubious man-made dams and forgoing a proper lodge in favor of the economical “bank burrow.” Still others inhabit tidal tributaries to the Delaware, creating their very own estuary with dams to capture the rising tides. This website presents two years of photography from the region’s diverse environments. The subjects may be many but I’ve been assured a starring role.
Finally, a word about my name. For reasons unbeknownst to me, it seems your species has some difficulty discerning the sex of a beaver. However, upon my first photograph I was carrying (perchance dragging) the spring baggage otherwise known as kits. Coupled with a unique mark on my tail that could identify from afar, I would henceforth be known as Mama Beaver.
So, enjoy the photos! I do welcome your comments and inquiries. But no puns, please. I’ve heard dam near all of them. Oh, and if you are indeed interested in those aforementioned musings, you’re welcome to follow Mama on Instagram @beaversmatter.
Stay busy my friends,
Mama Beaver
Philadelphia Branch Manager