Tom Sawyer needn’t live inside a book. Remember how he charmed others to whitewash his fence? Remember how it felt to open his book and step inside his adventures? Somewhere nearby he still lives.
When we sit inside our homes and offices, sometimes we get an unnamed yearn. For what we don’t know, hence: unnamed yearn. Some of my friends may not call so often anymore because I have become an advocate of going for a walk with a camera. Call me, find out. Tell me the dark is not dark enough, tell me even your pizza tastes like mud and carp. I’ll say – get a camera and take a walk. Send me back the photos.
You’ll say- but what will I take pictures of? And I’ll say- you’ll know when you find out.
And so. Over this past weekend someone sent me photos of an area they are so familiar with it was hardly worth the walk. But they walked the walk they always walk, but this time with a camera. They came across The Beaver Plan.
How did they know they came across The Beaver Plan? Because it said so on the back of the diagram they found. A diagram rolled up in twine with a pencil secured to the bundle. The bundle secured to a log. A beaver-gnawed log.
If any of us had gone looking for this, we wouldn’t have found it. Perhaps one hundred years from now we will be reading a book about Chuck Sawyer trapping beavers in Montana, and how one day his plans were stolen from a secret place. And how two days later the plans showed back up, as though they’d never been gone at all.