October 9, 2007
I was on my daily constitutional, minding my own business and listening to a lecture about the racial constructs of 17th- and 18th-century Latin American and Brazilian societies on my iPhone, expecting the rain to start at any moment, when, lo! I pass the fire station located right next to the Hawthorne Bridge along the Eastside Promenade–and a bunch of the oak trees there are being cleaned up by a city crew. Upon closer look, I notice that these hadn’t been cut down by people.
“What…?” I started asking the closest tree crew fellow.
“Beavers,” he answered cheerfully.
This is about three blocks from work, in the middle of the city, granted next to a river, but a very wide, un-beaver-dam-able river, see.