To the Esteemed (if somewhat befuddled) Citizens of Beaver Creek

 

Bluefield House, Virginia

January 15th, 1865

To the Esteemed (if somewhat befuddled) Citizens of Beaver Creek,

It is with a rising tide of vexation that I take pen to paper this evening. Having traversed the length and breadth of this nation, weathered battles of unimaginable ferocity, and danced with the specter of defeat on countless occasions, I can with absolute certainty declare that never, EVER, have I encountered an obstruction as confounding and infuriating as the one that currently blocks the path at your aptly named creek.

Yes, I speak of the Beaver. Not the noble creature itself, though I must confess its nocturnal gnawing on my porch beams has caused me no small annoyance, but the colossal wooden effigy that now sprawls across the road like a fallen redwood sculpted by a particularly inebriated woodcarver.

Is this some manner of grotesque tribute? A misplaced totem of frontier whimsy? Whatever the intent, its effect is undeniable: a complete and utter roadblock to my urgent journey. Time, as any military strategist will tell you, is a precious commodity, and mine is being frittered away like oats before a famished mule, thanks to your oversized rodent of questionable construction.

Do you have any idea who I am? The very name Lee should strike fear (or at least a modicum of respect) into the hearts of even the most unlettered backwoodsman. Yet, here I sit, fuming like a kettle on high boil, while squirrels scamper across the creature's bulbous nose and a family of opossums cavort amongst its twiggy appendages.

I implore you, in the name of all that is decent and passable, remove this monstrous wooden aberration from the path! Spare me the indignity of dismounting Traveller and attempting to navigate this sylvan obstacle course on foot. My knees, riddled with the souvenirs of a thousand skirmishes, would surely cry out in protest.

If, by some inconceivable chance, there is a deeper meaning to this beaver – a hidden symbolism I, in my haste, have failed to grasp – then please, by all means, enlighten me. But until then, consider this missive a formal declaration of war, not against your charming creek or its industrious resident beavers, but against the absurdity that currently impedes my progress.

In closing, I leave you with this: clear the road, or face the consequences. And trust me, gentlemen, the consequences of a Lee in a hurry are not to be trifled with.

Sincerely, and with no small amount of exasperation,

Robert E. Lee (And Traveller, who sends his regards, though he shares my annoyance at the lack of oats and the abundance of squirrels)