This morning I read Jill's post about her moose encounter. Since then, I've been thinking about a moose meeting of my own. The photo above has nothing to do with my story, but looks kind of fall-ish, don't you think?
On a very early morning in October, in the first year of our marriage, I went out hunting with Tim. He usually hunted with his brother, Ron, but this time, the two of them brought their wives. We planned to divide any resulting moose meat between us.
We left town while it was still dark, arriving at Willow River at dawn. Tim's grandparents had had a farm in the area, and Tim and his siblings spent several summers there, so he knew the area well. Ron and Donna went one direction and Tim and I another, agreeing to meet at a certain spot later. Tim and I headed down an old corduroy road across Sam's field. Beavers had taken over the abandoned field and created a very boggy environment, just the sort of place that moose love.
Ethereal clouds of mist rose from the field. My nose felt the chill of frost. We walked as softly as possible, not talking. The fog-softened shape of an old barn formed in the near distance. Suddenly, as if by the most wonderful magic ever, a moose materialized. Leggy and elegant, she stepped through the marshy field, her long nose upright as she looked about. Slowly, gracefully, she passed in front of us. We held our breath, not wanting to disturb the magic. It was like a scene from Narnia.
No, we didn't shoot the moose - it wasn't cow season. And we were both glad. It's been over 35 years since that October morning, but it's a scene we've talked about many times. Tim and his brother got a moose to fill the freezer on a later trip, without their wives.
That's my October Moose Memory. Do you have a moose or other wildlife story?