Two nights ago, I made the ill-advised decision to climb the small butte behind our house in the waning twilight. I was treated to some spectacular sunset views at the top:
Now, one thing about moose--they do not crash out spastically from the brush like deer and run every which way, alerting you to their presence while also revealing their fear of you. Moose just stand there and stare at you, either aggressively or nonchalantly, and it's up to you to give them a wide berth, especially if they have young whom they'll want to protect...with their hooves. So, locked into a staredown, I backed up, and up, and crashed through some underbrush of my own in order to cut across lawns and parking lots and come back to the trail far from where I'd encountered them. And, just for good measure, I started to run.
The next morning, our dog Bodhi bayed and alerted us to the presence of not two, but three moose grazing on our neighbors' yard shrubbery. Mama in actuality has two calves! In another classic non-local move, I retrieved my camera and crept closer. I stared at the two calves (probably up to my shoulders in height) and they stared back, unblinking, arranged identically side by side. And then, once more, the cow--that huge, looming shape from the night before--lurched out and raised herself to full height. Daylight staredown: engaged. I knew my cue and hightailed it away, scampering on the driveway in bare feet. As I fell asleep last night, I'm almost certain I heard the same moose crossing over our back deck during the witching hour. Neither patron saints or goblins, the moose family are placidly going about their existence, and their neighborhood just happens to be mine. I feel pretty lucky.
Second calf is hidden in the brush to the right.
I leave you with a few images from my last week about and around: