Some years ago, a road was punched through the woods above us, shrinking both the forest and the number of moose hanging out in our neighborhood.

In the good old days, we’d seen bull moose right in our yard before and during the hunting season. In fact, it was because I’d seen a bull right outside our bedroom window after hunting arduously for days without seeing one that I got my bow certification (we’re in a no-rifle zone). And it was just a year after that that I got my first moose, with my bow, in our back yard. Fond memories, unlikely to be repeated.

And so all this summer, as I hauled firewood in from the woods just up the hill from the house, I would look at the old antler scrapings high up on the boles of the aspen and sigh, wishing we still had those magnificent animals around today. Oh, a couple of cows and calves show up now and again, to eat half the garden and to entertain on the coldest winter days. But the giants seem to be gone. We miss them.

Old moose antler scrapes 8 to 9 feet up on aspens.

Impressive old moose antler scrapes, remnants of a time gone by in our back yard.