The Mayor of Upper Preston

There is no official mayor of Upper Preston, but for a while there was an unofficial one. 

Down at the end of Upper Preston Road, after you go across the wooden bridge spanning the river, a large Douglas Fir fell on a woman's property, blocking the road. It was really large. The neighbors got together and cleared the road, but there were tree rounds left that were so tremendously big that no one knew what to do with them. 

Another neighbor is a "black powder" hunter, meaning that he hunts with a muzzleloading rifle. He had an ingenious idea to split the large tree rounds: He packed a charge of black powder in aluminum foil, drilled a hole in the middle of the tree round, and inserted the charge with a long fuse. 

Boom! The black powder charge worked beautifully, splitting the rounds so that they were more manageable. News of this feat spread, and over the next few days residents at the end of Upper Preston Road would hear an explosion and know the work was progressing well. The man who related this story to me said that for a time, he was so popular for his charity and wisdom that it was as though he was "the mayor of Upper Preston."

The woman was so grateful that she provided beer to keep the volunteers happy during their labors. Our hunting neighbor said this might have been a mistake because later that winter, the woman called him. "My wood stove exploded!" Thankfully, no one was hurt. Apparently, some black powder had been left unexploded in some of the wood and the woman inadvertently put this into her wood stove to burn. I think the moral of the story is that explosives and alcohol don't mix.  

Beaver, You Must Go

An Upper Preston neighbor has a small creek that runs through his property. Over the years, beavers have tried to dam the creek three times. The first time, the neighbor was surprised at the speed and craftsmanship of the dam. It was constructed with larger rocks at the bottom and sections of turf to hold the water. He had to wade in up to his chest to breach it. He called the State and they sent a WDFW employee to trap and relocate the beaver. They put it in Duvall, as apparently beavers are very stubborn and will return to keep building their dam if within 10 miles. 

The second time a beaver built a dam, the neighbor again called the State but apparently now they contract this work out to a private company. The man that came to trap the beaver was unsavory in his appearance and smell. The neighbor felt bad for the beaver, having to be trapped by such a person. 

Later, the neighbor traveled up to the Kenai River in Alaska where he related the beaver episodes to a Native American woman. She told him that when a beaver is constructing a dam somewhere inconvenient, the indigenous people talk to the beavers and ask them to leave. That thought stuck with our neighbor. 

The third time a beaver built a dam (this neighbor's been on the property for quite a while), he didn't call the State. Instead, he walked out to where the dam was, closed his eyes, and spoke to the beaver using his mind. His spirit reached out to the beaver's spirit. 

"Beaver, you have to leave. You can't build your dam here. It will flood my driveway." 

The beaver's spirit was steadfast. It wasn't leaving. He tried again, this time reasoning with the beaver. He told the beaver what would happen if it stayed. There would be a stinky man who would come. The man would trap the beaver. Our neighbor showed the beaver a picture of itself in a trap carried by the malodorous man. It would be bad. 

The beaver's spirit thought about it, then agreed. The beaver left and didn't come back.