My Moose

Alone in a canoe, deep in the boreal forest, we are floating on the calm of summer. I am on a quest to spot a moose, a long-time dream for a lover like me. I need a break from failing to mother prolonged toddlerhood, frequent tantrums, sleepless nights. Today, my husband’s task is to paddle and steer in the rear. Mine, to piddle in the bow.

The river is low and slow this hot August day. An otter splashes into blueberry-bushed narrows. Speckled trout filter their reds and golds through sunlit water. Balancing on one leg, a great blue heron reigns over a sandbar.

Suddenly, around a bend a moose emerges fifty yards away. My husband in his excitement expels some gas. His fart blasts like a hungry brown bear. A threatened eight-foot, thousand-pound moose could rush and stomp our canoe. I fumble with my oar and camera, struggling to both back paddle and get a souvenir.

I pause; take a good look.

Our moose, a tall, skinny, cow-like creature, is chewing on aquatic vegetation. Long messy strings drip down her bulbous brown snout.

She pees.

On the opposite bank, I spot two baby moose hidden in river grass. My husband j-strokes while I back-paddle to stay the current as we wait for mother and babies to unite. Piney, boozy aromas breeze over our forest green canoe. Damsel and dragonflies hover over yellow lily pads.

The sun tilts towards the horizon as the little moose finally wade the shallows. With her square, droopy nose held high, our moose leads her calves to safety, to disappear into the sweet shade of spruce.

I envy the mother moose’s messy composure. Her ability to protect and nourish her babies. Her nonchalance towards the whine of biting mosquitoes.

Artist’s statement

The natural world is one of my inspirations. I found out at an early age that writing and a walk in the woods could fill me with awe, and/or console me when life, inevitably, gets tough. Madam Moose appeared at a time when I was struggling to both parent and have a successful career.