Beaver Dam

This is a tune with age-old roots, and requires a lot less backstory than I have written here. So: hang on, if you will.

Originally only consisting of what is now the chorus, "Beaver Dam" was a taunting song I wrote when, and for when, my two brother's (Rik and Eel) and myself would go camping/fishing with our Pop, which would always require leaving Anchorage (thankfully) and, therefore, a road trip. A road trip meant (among other things) a bevy of music to listen to, some of which I can still bear to listen to, and some of which I cannot: The pre-disco Bee Gees (Mom gets credit for our appreciation of the disco-era Bee Gees), Gordon Lightfoot ("Gord's Gold", both volumes), Arlo Guthrie ("An Evening with"), Dickie Lee ("9,999,999 Tears To Go"), Ray Stevens ("The Streak", etc.), and, most notably: Jim Croce. I loved listening to Croce, and I feel such a strong connection to my father through that music (though we never really talk about it). I still listen to Jim Croce occasionally, though more and more often it just makes me sad. Being more than happily married and in love (conveniently, to one single person - wait, shouldn't that be that "to one married person"? I better ask my lovely and happy wife), I do not connect with the world of sorrow and longing in many of Croce's songs, as lovely as they are, and therefore I categorize his music as "Dad Music", and more of an historical, umm... record, if you will.

Any-hoo: we listened to a lot of Croce. And around our Father we were not allowed to cuss at all. So I would like to now submit into evidence our singing of the words "..baddest man in the whole DARN town" along to JC's "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown", as it took it's frequent turn in the eight-track playlist. I did not so much care for having to hold my tongue, but did want Dad to see me as purer than I knew I was, and remember singing "DARN" loud enough so that he could hear me NOT swear on purpose.

You see:

Our Mother was the much more liberal parent back then, and the fact that our parentals were divorced meant we spent every-other-weekend with our Pop, pulled into a slightly jarring environment of not having as much freedom as we normally enjoyed; ever on our toes, monitoring our own behavior for some reference or off-color remark which would signal to Dad the hipper, cooler, looser attitudes which prevailed behind his bi-weekend-ly back. We did push the boundaries when actually with him, sometimes leading to trouble, sometimes not. But we knew Mom was having a hard time keeping us to herself as much as possible - with Dad looking to get custody - and I, for one, never questioning Mom's motives at the time, only appreciated her attitudes towards being, well... cooler. I wanted to be with Dad more than we were allowed to, but being a kid, I wanted to be cooler more than anything, and that was one reason I loved living with Mom. I did not wish for the boat to be toppled in favor of a stricter homelife, so I walked around Dad on tip-toes, desiring his admiration in seeing me as a purer person, who was not affected by the more liberal environment of Mom's house. Did I actually think that he would love me more if I was not a cusser or fighter, or of the understanding of things of which I should not be having an understanding???

Well, yeah. And I think us three sons still, to a minor amount, do. I continue to catch myself questioning my choice of some of the rougher words around him.

Speaking of understanding: please be of the mode in which you would have an understanding of this: I loved Dad very much back then, as I do know, and looked up to him with great admiration, desiring a vast amount more attention and time with him than I ever received. It was not until several years later, and goaded by my Mother's ill-will towards him, that I developed a "dis-taste" for my father, which I feel robbed me of several years of being around him as I casually kept my distance. As I grew a little older, however, and started learning some of the deeper truths about humans, I remembered that I loved my Father deeply, and started spending more time with him. I regret now not always basing my actions from within that love.

But enough about me - or, at least, that part of me.

I do not recall the exact section of highway upon which this song sprang from my lips, though I am damn sure it was "North of Anchorage". If you've been to Alaska, you know the location of which I speak. That area is always sunny or overcast, giving you all of the visual cues required to accurately paint, in your mind's eye, the backdrop to this musical creation. Oh yeah, there were a lot of trees and mountains (real mountains, not California mountains) and valleys and lakes and rivers and long stretches of the same thing, interrupted here and there by something else completely, but really only slightly, different. It kinda bored me in a kid-friendly way back then.

Let me show what I can picture, in the foreground:

As Jim Croce was in constant rotation, I can imagine us recently listening to "Leroy Brown". I can hear us not listening to any more music, and whatever conversation there was has been vacuumed up by this particular stretch of the road. I see myself on the lookout for animal life. I can hear myself ask: "when we will we get there", and waiting to go pee at the next stop. I can see...well, well... I can see a beaver dam ahead!

We would sing "beaver dam, beaver dam, beaver dam dam, beaver dam, beaver dam, crow's nest" over and over and over (alternating the "crow's nest" lyric with the names of other animal's abodes), as a not-so subtle way of getting our "damns" in. Finally, Dad (whether tired of hearing the word "dam/damn", or merely weary from hearing our kid-chorus trio sing-songing the same thing over and over and over and over, I don't know) says:

"Alright, boys, that's enough!/."

(Editors note: out father's statement does not actually require an exclamation point, but needs more than a period, hence the joining of the two using the forward slash. He was emphatic, but did not yell. We knew to stop. For a while at least.)

Many, many, many moons later I decided to update this song, this first song I remember writing by myself. The additional lyrics - the verses - were built up over the better part of a year. The hard part was how to fit the new verses around the old chorus-taunt. Eventually it all worked out pretty well, methinks.

This recording made within the last year consists of two layers of me on b-uke, lead and rhythm, and one vocal track. Some effects added aft'wards - (maybe that should be "on the poopside" instead)?

Enjoy. If it gets to be too much, you know the magic words:

"Alright, boys, that's enough!/."

And now for the lyrics!

Rippling River or Crickling Creek
A certain sort of scenario which you seek
Nearby trees and your perfect teeth
Crosscut chewing, tongue in cheek

Fell 'em well slow the water flow
Fill the spills so water nary goes
Down
But backs upstream
That is how it am
When you build your beaver dam

Beaver dam

You've made you mind, so take you time building that floor of mud up
Stopping holes with sticks and stones so they stay shut up
And what's more you got a store:
Roots and tubers - food galore
Upon which you and you family sups
In your...

Beaver dam

The dome upon your home is identifiable to some
As a mound of sticks so round sticking out like a healthy, happy, hippy thumb
Water all around surrounds the door your enter and exit from
Looks so fun floating free; wishing I had one

You sell it well, you know just what to show
Gives me thrills, this back to basic way to go
Now
The fact is, for me, well I know I can
And I am gonna build me a beaver dam






- Mark Otis

Music and Lyrics Copyright 2009 Mark Allen Johnson