My dad's office building was across from a John Deer tractor store. All the businesses around there had lots of land. A marshy gulley with reeds surrounded a drain tunnel running next to our building. It made a nice cover for Barry, a beaver. He provided a visual delight for my mother every Spring and Summer. The large picture window in her office offered the best view. Barry would pop his head out of the tunnel searching for sticks and snacks.
To understand Barry's importance for my mother, let me explain her office. A series of clocks, representing the different time zones of our world customers were mounted across a big wall.
Accounting ledgers and product catalogs filled her desktop. A VCR was set up near her lounging chair. She took her lunch while viewing A Turner Classic movie. All the while, her eyes were never far from the window and searching in delight for living things. This is how I learned about blending work with simple pleasures. With my mother, no veil or partition blocked out nature, sacrificed by work.
My father's building was the new start after a traumatic end to another business. There was stress, but my father was strong and determined. He had established another nice locale for his wife to land. He would join in the thrill when Mom announced, "Come see, quick, Barry's out!" Leaving his drafting table or pausing his read of a technical journal, Dad would come to the window.
Despite her duties in marketing and accounting, my mother remained innocent. Barry would start to come out of his tunnel all sleek and proud. He would stand up adorably tall and sniff the air. My mother would shriek his name. He would seem to retreat fast as if he could hear her through the building walls. For a while, his appearance was regular enough. Snacks were strategically placed at the opening of the tunnel. Nuts and seeds were provided. Even twigs broken in manageable lengths and sizes (tailored by my brother Chris) were left for him.
In April 2010, my mother wandered. At 87 she walked right out of her office, got lost, and knocked on a neighbor's door. My older brother was in a panic. He found her there and no explanation was necessary for his mother. The couple understood. They figured someone so sweet and innocent must have family around.
The last day of office operation was in May of that year. Draught had caused some of the marsh to dry up. New businesses were crowding into the complex. My mother walked to the end of the tunnel with my brother. Barry hadn't been seen for a while. She stood at the opening and listened patiently. Finally, she sighed ."Well, goodbye, Barry. I won't feed you again. But you'll be okay! Good luck!"
I wouldn't put it past her to have a rescue operation for wildlife in heaven.
