January 05, 2003
Sunday - 4:05 pm

Missing Ketchikan and living up here in Palmer, I may not be the only one in Alaska who is affected by the long winter darkness. Just knowing that the days are starting to get longer - even if it isn't noticeable yet - helps a little. But there is still that slump, the after-the-holidays syndrome, the feeling of emptiness when the days seem to drag by, days when even my favorite TV programs seemed boring. But then the cow moose and her gawky and naughty little calf came along!

In the huge backyard of this apartment house is a sizeable vegetable garden. The landlord does all the garden preparation in the spring and any tenant who wishes may have a row or half a row to plant, tend and harvest. That garden plot now sits frozen, with the outer leaves of huge cabbage and broccoli plants, frozen carrot tops, unharvested chard etc. showing above the snow. The snowfall was late and scant when it finally got here this year. It must seem like a fast-food gift to the little moose family!

The first time I glanced out the window and saw the cow in the garden I thought, ye gods, that creature is as big as a... as a moose! Which it turned out is exactly what she is. By her side was her calf, a first-year calf. If there's a way to tell its sex, I don't know what it is. All is know is, it's one cute critter. They were both nose-down in the frozen salads, the calf sometimes down on his front knees, totally absorbed in the greenery. The cow was vigilant, however, long ears twitching and her head swiveling to take in everything around them. The cow would occasionally paw the snow away from the food source. The calf just nosed away the snow.

The calf also had other fish to fry! He came awkwardly trotting over toward our building, stopping to daintily shake each hoof in places where the snow had drifted a little. To my astonishment, he came right to my window. I frantically searched for my camera! He began to munch on the twigs of the bare shrubs. His curving-down little nose was not 24 inches from mine, with only the double-pane glass between us! Unlike his mother, he has a patch of dense curly fur over the hump above his shoulders. This was covered with snowflakes which he shook off like a dog coming out of a bath. Both he and his mother have the small eyes and that little swinging pouch that hangs down below their jaws. I aimed my camera and snapped the picture, sure that that the flash would frighten him away. He didn't care. The cow, however, walked slowly away, through the property-dividing hedge and into the field beyond, and then stood patiently watching him until the calf apparently missed her. But he decided to try the shrubs across the way and still the cow stood and waited.

Finally, someone came running down the road through the snow with a camera and tried to get close to the calf to snap a picture. The mother moved in closer, watching. To take advantage of the light, the man moved to within inches of coming between the cow and her calf. If he had slipped and fallen, that cow's hooves would have pounded him into hamburger. The cow made a sort of moaning sound I could hear even indoors and the baby went running to his mother. She nudged and butted him with her head against his neck as they loped across the field and into the band of trees at the end of Palmer's small-plane airport.

And that heightened my gray day! And every day since the pair has come to the garden. I watch for them and worry about them - the cow has a long scar along her left shoulder. The tenants here dash from window to window getting pictures, knocking on doors and saying, "Have you seen the moose!" Then one day the calf came alone and I worried myself sick. Where was the cow! But that night, at 10 p.m., in the dark and in blowing snow, there the cow stood, munching on greens, outlined by the outdoor lights of St. Michael's church across the way. Maybe the calf was snugly asleep somewhere and it was mom's night out. Whatever it was, it's a continuing story that has me fascinated. And somehow the days don't seem nearly as long as they used to.

 

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