Every morning when I walk to the river I see newly gnawed beaver sticks lapping the shore and remember the beaver family I once knew so well…
​
A wide slow moving stream meandered its way to the sea below my log cabin on the hill and beavers had made a solid dam and erected a domed lodge in the center of the stream. Early in the summer the parents would swim up to me with their kits as I sat quietly on my bench by the water. Watching those furry little heads with bright beady eyes peer at me curiously as they swam next to their parents is a sight that I will never forget.

This six foot high lodge was occupied by three generations of beavers. The beavers spent part of each summer “logging” the poplars at the edge of the stream. They created open mud slides that led to open water and every night I would sit on the little bench and watch these industrious creatures cut off the branches after logging and swim with their unwieldy catch to the domed lodge. Upon arrival, they gnawed smaller branches off the logs divesting them of most of the leaves, which they ate. They took others to the dam to shore it up and repair any leaks.

As long as I sat quietly the beavers went about their work as if I wasn’t even there, but if I stood up suddenly or tried to rid myself of mosquitos by waving my hands, one beaver or another would slap his tail making a great fuss! Later in the summer the beavers began to disappear under water with tender poplar branches.  Stores of those tasty leaves and sticks would feed them throughout the coming winter. The little kits could be seen swimming with a slender stick or two towards the lodge imitating their parents. There was something about those bright-eyed little kits that stole my heart.

Perhaps the most astounding experience occurred the night an adult beaver climbed out of the water and stood up only a few feet away from me. I froze, barely breathing, but spoke to this adult in a low voice thanking him for the trust he and his extended family had showered upon me by giving me such a spectacular glimpse into the beavers complex world.

As fall set in that first year beaver activity increased and many evenings I witnessed the beavers emerging from the water walking upright, using only their back legs to walk up the steep sides of the lodge with their very short arms holding mud and vegetation against their jaws and cheeks. They deposited this debris on top of the lodge, strengthening it.

By November the slow moving stream slid under skim ice. I observed the beavers from my bench for shorter and shorter periods now because of the cold, huddled in my winter coat.

After my father’s untimely death that month I thought a lot about the relationship between my father and the beavers because the morning he died I dreamed that he had become one! To have such a lucid dream on the day of his death after I had spent an entire summer submerged in the beavers’ world seemed uncanny, prescient.

As winter set in the beavers settled into their domed house that was now surrounded by solid ice. For Christmas I decided to honor my father and the beavers together by giving my friends a present. So I took my handsaw and chopped down two tender poplars after asking for permission to do so... Next I took a crowbar and bored a big hole in the ice not far from the lodge and stuffed the first poplars into icy black waters. Late that day I sat on my frozen bench and called to the beavers, telling them that I had a present for them. I stayed there until almost dusk half frozen – hoping for a sleek brown head to appear, but of course no one did.  Yet, when I walked up the hill, I felt as if I had done something important that mattered.

The next morning I raced down the hill to the stream, and to my amazement and joy, the poplar branches had disappeared! For the next three days I repeated poplar gift giving after reopening the hole in the ice, though I never glimpsed my friends.

Here in Abiquiu the beavers have a more challenging life. The river rises and falls unnaturally and these intelligent animals have had to adapt to very anthropocentric circumstances.

 After having been exterminated in New Mexico by the end of the nineteenth century (due to trapping) the beavers continue to be re –introduced to streams in the state up to the present time. Even so, many waterways remain “beaver –less” today.
 
They have also been reintroduced into their traditional habitats, including the Rio Grande Bosque, the cottonwood forest on either side of the river, one of the longest in the world. The dam-controlled river is too wide and fast for beavers to construct their dams, so they’ve had to adapt to making burrows on the banks of the river and the drains on either side of it, exactly like muskrats. The drains receive excess water from the irrigation ditches that is eventually returned to the river.
 
Our “bank-beavers,” as they’re called, mostly feed on the cambial tissue under the bark of cottonwoods and willows. What worries me presently is the extremes they are dealing with. Their beautifully crafted homes are constructed to keep the beavers safe and dry, but with the dramatic river risings these homes are also vulnerable to being flooded suddenly without warning.
 
Bank beavers tunnel into the bank below the water line and dig upward to construct nesting chambers. If this flooding trend continues the beavers are going to have to find safer places to live, although unlike beavers who live in frozen waters, our beavers can escape sudden floods, presumably because the water remains open. I have no idea if flooding results in the need to re build a home.

Meanwhile bank beavers continue to feast upon the cambium layer of willows and other trees along the banks of the Bosque. Twirling stems with their forefeet, beavers slice off bark with their incisors. Did you know that beaver teeth grow continuously and are self-sharpening? The orange front layer of hard enamel is backed by softer white dentin, enabling teeth to keep a sharp edge as the beaver gnaws trees and shrubs. The broad tail and webbed hind feet serve this semi-aquatic mammal well. Small eyes with transparent inner eyelids enable vision underwater, and the ears and nose can be closed while submerged. Able to remain underwater for considerable periods, dives may last up to 15 minutes. A layer of fat under the skin also insulates the beaver, as does his luscious fur coat.  
 
Although some consider these largest of rodent animals to be a nuisance, overall their impact on the environment around them is positive, so let’s hope our beavers can continue to adapt.
 
Wildlife biologists contend beavers could be the most low-tech, inexpensive answer that drought-plagued New Mexico has for storing up precious water and rescuing dwindling wetlands— but some of the animals are still killed every year by people who consider them nuisances and, of course, these animals can also be legally hunted.  
  

A little voice called me to the door breaking my afternoon meditation. ‘The Littlest Lizard is out and about.’  Without thinking I grabbed my IPhone, opened the door and was disappointed to see that the sun had already left Littlest Lizard’s lair, a rocky crevice in the cactus garden wall.
 
Disappointed, I turned to re –enter the house and there he was, clinging to the wall like spiderman, just inches away from my face. “Oh, there you are” I exclaimed happily as I snapped a few pictures taking careful note of his girth. He bowed to me three times.
 
 This sagebrush lizard is only about an inch and a half long (with tail) and is the only lizard that has been around for the last ten days. The other three little lizards must have fattened up enough to brumate but this little guy is so tiny that he has to keep hunting to survive the coming winter. 
 
I am pleased to report that Littlest Lizard is gaining the necessary weight. Every warm day I meet up with him and we have a conversation while he basks in the sun above his crevice or on the adobe wall keeping a sharp eye out for potential prey.
 
 And every day when he appears I run for the camera only to discover that he has disappeared like a phantom. This habit of his has been driving me crazy because I wanted just one good picture of him, a picture that would indicate that he might really be as small as I say he is. Today I may have succeeded thanks to that insistent little voice. I love the way Littlest Lizard turned around to peer at me as if to say – ‘that’s enough’ after I took two pictures.
 
Most animals I know would prefer not to have a human peering at them through any kind of lens. My dogs are a good example. If they see me coming with a camera they immediately close their eyes or turn their heads away. I’ve followed bears that led me through thick brush and briar patches turning around every few minutes to check on the progress of the annoying human with the black box and never letting me get close enough to get one decent photo.
 
Don’t ask me why but sagebrush lizards are my favorite reptiles in the world. As a child I remember going to the circus where my little brother and I could buy geckos for 10 cents that clung to our coats after being attached by a tether and pin. Of course I was too young then to understand the cruelty involved. Most of these hapless lizards soon expired. My mother showed us how to feed them by attaching a bit of hamburger to a piece of thread, and a couple survived for a while. I shudder now just thinking about those poor reptiles hanging on for life on cold winter days…
 
I’d like to think that my present relationship with  sagebrush lizards has helped to even out my unintentional childhood unkindness towards the geckos that I so eagerly bought with my allowance.
 
 When I first arrived back in Abiquiu I was distraught believing that all my house lizards were dead. The first day I ran into a very well fed garter snake that slithered into the cactus garden wall. Normally, I am very fond of snakes but when I spent three days calling for the seven plus ‘house lizards,’ and no one appeared, I despaired. With all the five - foot prickly weeds cascading over the overgrown garden and obliterating the path to the house I figured my sagebrush lizard family had all been eaten. Most of their basking territory was covered in an unruly green jungle.
 
Imagine my shock the fourth morning when I called out to my friends for a final time while attacking nasty weeds with a pair of clippers (that eventually left me with horrible blisters and bloody hands) when my favorite female lizard suddenly materialized with her very distinct markings. She was so plump! Thrilled to see her I moved slowly towards the wall. When she bowed to me I knew she remembered me and was  acknowledging me as her friend. This lizard lets me pet her, and sure enough after a bit of conversation I was able to stroke her velvety back a few times before she moved away. Is she some sort of lizard “watchdog - woman” looking out for her own kind I wondered, because by mid afternoon most of my lizards appeared in their usual spots as if they had been there all along.
 
 Why three days of invisibility? Did these lizards think I abandoned them? If they only knew… I thought about each of them every day all summer long. Unfortunately, I was missing a couple of adults; they never returned. But now I also had four new baby lizards – one of which was barely an inch long.
 
When the first hard frost hit early in October most of the adults disappeared quite suddenly except my favorite mother, her mate, and another pair that still appeared on warm afternoons. My beautifully marked mother was now so well padded that I wondered how she had room to swallow even one more ant! I last saw the mother who I have now re-named the “watchdog lizard” ten days ago. The four little ones continued to appear until the end of the first week in November. Now I only see Littlest lizard. I am delighted to see how canny this little one is, always keeping close to cover. As long as I am there without a camera he is quite friendly although he will not tolerate my touch (I actually have no idea if this lizard is a male or female because he’s too young to sex).
 
Now that the days are short and the cottonwood leaves are drifting to the ground even on windless days I know my time with the Littlest Lizard is coming to an end, but I am reasonably certain that this appealing little fellow will see another spring… and I shall be joyously awaiting his return.
 
A natural history note on bowing:
 
 Bowing is a part of spring mating rituals and I have witnessed this behavior many times, but I have also learned that it is a form of communication that these lizards routinely use with me. I have never read anything in any literature about bowing with respect to   general communication. When a lizard bows to me s/he is conversing in his/her own language.
 
A second note about having a personal relationship with lizards:
 
Both humans and non – human animals have limbic systems within their brains that are closely involved with the regulation of emotions especially in the amygdala. The limbic system was present in the ancestors of reptiles, mammals, and birds. It is an ancient emotional activation system that we share with countless other species. The love I feel for my lizards is real and evolutionally ancient. I have no doubt that these relationships are reciprocal.