Where I’m from, this would not be an unusual sight. Gnaw marks on trees used to be ubiquitous there; if you lived near a watershed, beaver dams were common, too. I grew up hearing adults complain about the damage, but the fact of the matter is that Beaver’s woodworking skills are essential to healthy ecosystems.
Where we lived, we were more likely to see Beaver’s distant land-dwelling cousin, Woodchuck. The latter is known in other parts of the country, of course, as Groundhog, and the most famous member of the clan is heralded for his alleged weather-forecasting skills. Woodchuck looks very much like Beaver, down to the broad, flat tail, but each is a different species: the former, Marmota monax; the latter, Castor canadensis. [I admit to being partial to Beaver in part because his subspecies name is the same as that given to my winged namesake.] It seems now to be received wisdom that the name “woodchuck” has nothing to do with wood at all, but is rather a corruption of a word for the animal found in the Algonquin language family, allegedly translating to something approximating “those who dig.” That may very well be the original etymology, but the many incidents of my father and our dog running woodchucks off mid-wood-chewing belies the modern conclusion that groundhogs don’t chew wood. Granted, they don’t have the physical attributes, nor the drive, to operate with on Beaver’s industrial scale, nor with his speed. But twigs, small branches, the stem-like trunks of certain trees in their infancy: All were targets on our farm, along with the hayfields and the gardens. And they were fiercely territorial: On more than one occasion, a woodchuck decided to turn and fight rather than flee the dogs, and Dad had to bring out the .22.
The sight of a gnawed tree trunk is not, frankly, all that unusual here, either, but most folks don’t know that. Beavers are wetlands dwellers, and so they’re not an animal typically associated with high-desert regions like New Mexico. But here in this part of northern New Mexico, we have some fairly significant watersheds, and they support a diverse array of wildlife species. Beaver is one, and his logging and construction skills have always been valuable contributions to the larger habitat.
In recent years, poor Beaver has also gotten the blame for impinging on modern conveniences, too. A little over a year ago, much of Taos County experienced an outage in Internet and cell phone service. The largest provider in the state was at fault. The howls of outrage were a tangible thing; we’re all so used to constant connectivity today that people begin to show actual signs of physical withdrawal within hours of being denied access. More troubling was the fact that emergency service lines were downed in the process, reportedly because they had been backed in violation of state regulations on lines not meant to be used for that purpose. At any rate, the provider was no doubt flooded with angry calls, and it took a full day for them to restore service. Once they finally had it back up and running, they issued a public statement: blaming . . . yup, you guessed it — a beaver.
If true, that also says something about what is now a vital public utility: If a cable is buried so shallowly, and with so little protection, that a beaver can find and gnaw through the line . . . well, that says something about quality control, at a minimum. Of course, poor Beaver can’t defend himself in the local media, so we’re left to judge for ourselves. Considering the extent to which overdevelopment has encroached on (or more accurately, destroyed wholesale) the animal’s habitat, taking the company’s explanation as true, Wings and I found ourselves rooting for the beaver, hoping it survived the experience. [No, we don’t feel conflicted about that with regard to the emergency services issue, because under state regulations, those lines were not even supposed to be part of the fiber-optic cable in question.]
Either way, beaver has a long history here, one that predates those of us with two legs and no tails. These are his lands, his waters, and his ability to survive and thrive is essential to our own, whether we acknowledge it or not. This little furry four-legged with the powerful jaws and tail keeps the habitat healthy for the rest of us.
It’s one of the reasons you see him appear, with what seems to be surprising frequency, in area Native art. He’s especially popular as a model for carving — fetishes and small sculpture. His natural shape lends itself immediately to the traditional Southwestern hump-backed design found in our local styles of art, and his tail makes him instantly distinguishable from his other animal cousins, such as Badger and Bear. Quite a number of our carvers feel an affinity for him, from old unnamed carvers working in the vintage style to young artisans honing their skills to established master carvers whose work is known nationally.
We have four by local Native carvers in inventory at the moment, and they run the gamut. The first is an old vintage-style fetish, unsigned, from a member of skilled local family whose individual identity is now lost to the the passage of time. It’s rendered in a variant of the classic hump-backed shape, but the purposely rough-hewn carving style leaves his identity in question until you observe the tail. From its description in the Other Artists: Fetishes Gallery here on the site:
This brown slate beaver fetish is carved vintage-style, coaxing the larger shape of the animal spirit from the stone, by a member of Taos Pueblo’s Gomez family of carvers. Not visible in the photo is the cross-hatching detail on the top of the tail.
Brown slate
$45 + shipping/insurance
One young, up-and-coming carver from the same family has likewise wrought a couple of beavers from stone. The first:
Here in Northern New Mexico, Beaver seldom shows his face to others, but he leaves plenty of evidence of his substantial presence among the trees lining the lakes, rivers and streams of the area. Jeremy Gomez (Taos Pueblo) has coaxed a hump-backed version of his image from a smooth, silky piece of smoky white alabaster. His features are shyly subtle, but his trademark cross-hatched tail gives away his identity. Two small turquoise beads hold feathers to his medicine bundle. Stands 4.75″ long by 1.25″ high (dimensions approximate).
Alabaster; beads; feathers; sinew
$45 + shipping, handling, and insurance
And a companion:
Beaver, normally shy, shows himself to the world in this silky, touchable fetish. Hand-carved of cool white alabaster by Jeremy Gomez )Taos Pueblo), he keeps his features subtle except for his proud cross-hatched tail. Turquoise beads and colorful earth-toned feathers make up his medicine bundle. Stands 4.75″ long by 1.25″ high (dimensions approximate).
Alabaster; beads; feathers; sinew
$45 + shipping, handling, and insurance
And finally, a quasi-realistic version from one of the Pueblo’s masters, a miniature from our Other Artists: Sculpture Gallery:
BEAVER
Master carver Ned Archuleta (Taos Pueblo) has created this miniature “furry” version of Beaver, his coat etched into a chunk of pink alabaster stone with beautiful variable matrices. His broad, flat tail has the cross-hatching carved right into it; two tiny pieces of turquoise form his eyes. Another angle shown below.
Pink alabaster; Sleeping Beauty turquoise
$125 + shipping, handling, and insurance
This one is one of those perfect little pieces that captures the essence of the animal’s spirit: Created with a nod to the traditional hump-backed style, Ned’s skill and the beauty of the stone itself show off Beaver’s luxuriant coat and voluptuous tail to full effect.
He’s my favorite of the bunch, for obvious reasons, and it’s easy to see why Ned chose to give him his name in a formal fashion. To me, he’s also a little reminder of home.
~ Aji
