Are You Bunny? Or Beaver?

Maybe the woods give us the models.

Every month or so, I publish a Fanzine about capitalism and culture called 85bb65. Mostly I don’t repeat anything online, as that’s sort of the point of a physical object.

But I’m making an exception. ‘cause.

The Beavers

I live in the Berkshire hills of Western Massachusetts. It’s about 1,000 square miles, nearly all of it woods, meadows, rivers or lakes, with a small strip of population running up the middle. I’ve lived here since 1972.

I first saw the beavers when I was 5. The county is classic New England, which means hills and streams and trees. When you have those, you have beavers. Many of the best hikes go up and down streams, so I’ve been watching beavers for a long time.

For much of my life, I took a lot of inspiration from beavers. They’re disciplined builders who harness their unique talents to craft what nature has given them into an ecosystem. They’re incredible, really.

The morning after a good storm I’ve gone on a pre-dawn hike to see a half dozen beavers from different lodges scrambling to fix a communal dam, and by full-sun the dam will be fixed, and the beavers back asleep for the day. They’re extremely protective of their territory — even from their own kin — but when something needs to get done, they get it done. Most of the time, though, the dam is fine, and they’re frantically chewing just because it feels like the right thing to do.

The Bunnies

For the last 20 years, we’ve allowed a strip of land at the bottom of our yard to “rewild.” Now, the strip of perhaps 1/3 acre of scrub hosts a significant population of Eastern Cottontail rabbits. Mostly, they come out at dawn and dusk (like the beavers).

It’s my normal spot: a worn cushion on a worn mat in our small “spare” room: just enough room for the mat, a small table, some yoga things. Eyes open, I am aware and still.

Momma rabbit leaves the bushes to come onto the lawn with a few little ones. She stares me down, keeping eye contact with me while munching and occasionally thumping her back feet towards her romping babies. Every so often she breaks, runs circles around her babies to herd them, often with a few playful extra wrestling tumbles.

She mostly just is. But she also keeps a watchful eye for hawks, forages for tasty green things, and teaches her children how far to stray.

Just like a bird, or a human, the bunny is fully present when both sides of her brain are firing at once - with both broad, wide and seemingly peaceful attention, and narrow, in-the-moment, local attention:

A few miles away, while I sit there, I know what the beavers are doing. They are frantically chasing down any sound of running water before nightfall. Chewing, felling, hauling saplings, scooping mud and building, desperate to fix their dam and reclaim the peace of a silent pond. To rest.

I’ve seen it. The beaver looses their chill, their ability to see the whole pond, when they hear running water. They go heads down in a panic of building, losing fear of even their main predator - us. They chew the wrong trees. They fell them the wrong direction. They build without thinking.

Momma rabbit keeps watching. And chewing. And teaching. And playing.

Balance

A long time ago I picked “Rabbit” as my GamerTag, and I kind of never really knew why. I think I’m starting to.

I admire the beaver: the dedication, the engineering, the ability to use resources for growth and adaptation. There’s a lot to like. Beavers are very Silicon Valley. Very founder. Very type-A American. But at the end of the day, the beaver exists in a state of constant anxiety and is thus trapped in the pond system. The beaver exists in two states: frenetic activity and torpor. The beaver has no chill. Ever.

The beaver is out of balance, having exploited an ecological niche to the very edge of its ability, without stop, or consideration.

I haven’t figured everything out. Honestly, the more time seems to pass, the less I seem to have figured out. But I have realized there’s got to be more to life than just fixing the dam to make the noise stop.