“I don’t feel like working today. Maybe I’ll write a blog post about moose and snow.”
Rose says “I think you might have done that one already.”
“Well, how about one on snow and moose?”
“That’s really turning it on its head.”
Anyway, stop reading now if you think you’ve heard this before.
Seasonal vehicle in the wrong season.
We’ve had a lot of snow this year. I follow Rick Thoman @AlaskaWx on Twitter and so happen to know that we’ve had 67.1 inches so far, but ~20% of historic winters have had more at this point. Still, we’re in deep snow, and with the last 8-10 inches this past week it looks it. And lest we get too sanguine, either in our snow removal abilities or with the knowledge that winter’s days are numbered, another dump is in the forecast. It’s getting easier to understand snow blower worship.
When we had rain several weeks ago it increased the friction on trees, making snow stick to them better. That added weight has been hard on many of them. We have a lot of leaners. But quite a few have fallen, too, and there have been widespread power outages. We’ve gotten more reading in than usual, and the wood stove keeps things warm.
It’s been fun to get out and enjoy the Boombah every weekend, strapping on the snowshoes and mushing through a quiet, snow-covered paradise. With the rapidly returning light, we’re able to be a good deal looser in when we get out to blow snow, split wood, and hike.
Rose snowshoeing in the Boombah
One evening I was on the phone with Rose (she was away) when I heard the bird feeder bang against the side of the house. This often happens when the flying squirrels come in to eat; they like shelled sunflower seeds as much as the chickadees do. As long as I was standing there, I thought I’d take a look. I turned on the outdoor light, stood up close to the window, and lifted the shade. I’m not sure who was more surprised, me or the big moose whose head was just inches away from mine through the glass. The window seemed a bit flimsy. She recovered sooner, reaching out to take another lick of sunflower seeds.
I tapped on the glass, telling her to get away. Then, “No! Not that way!”
Moose don’t take directions well. She ambled off right through the decorative lights we hang in the tree out back, taking them out. Damn moose. At least I’ve learned to tie the lights and cord off so they don’t get hauled off. (I still found myself wanting to shout “What did you do with the last ones??”)
I wondered how she’d zoomed in on the feeder from out there in a totally black night. I doubt she was attracted by the lights. The next day, while I was out snowshoeing, I found that she’d just followed my snowshoe trail straight to it. Well. That’ll teach me.
Rose and I had talked just a few weeks before about being glad we didn’t feed the moose. At least not on purpose. It’s illegal to do it on purpose, but we don’t even have the tiniest ambition to attract these big, ungainly animals to the yard. They wind up here by accident often enough.
But it turns out we did cross a new bridge toward that non-goal. Rose has been having me periodically drop the kitchen compost on the compost pile out back all winter. I was wondering whether the snowshoe hares might take a nibble, but they haven’t shown any inclination for that (even asparagus stalks, which looked good to me). Well, I was snowshoeing out that way recently and found that a moose had come upon it and pawed up all the snow in a large area to get just about every last bit. Damn moose. No more treats for you. What mooschief do you suppose they’ll get up to next?
Upper Boombah