Moose, Spruce Grouse, and Another Bear. Oh My!!

Not long after I posted today's blog, we had a visit from one of the various hairy young men who are building cabins in the woods 'round here. Mike is actually less hirsute than some, to be fair. A tall, willowy man with expressive hands and a soft German accent, Mike approaches his cabin-building with keen precision and a small collection of old hand tools. He builds well, but he doesn't build fast. Which is why, when the curious bear ambled onto Mike's patch, he came nose to nose with Mike at the door of the tent which is our friend's temporary residence.

"What did you do?" the Farmer asked him.

"I yelled at him to go away," replied Mike. "I screamed Go! Go!"

"In English, or in German?" inquired the Farmer.

Whatever the language, it must have translated well into "Bear." After snuffling about a bit and, apparently, satisfying its curiousity, the bear shuffled off. Kai and I agreed that our bear sighting was much more agreeable.

"I had the same problem with a moose when I went hiking last month, too," Mike sighed. He was hiking a Highland trail well known for its moose population, when he rounded a turn and came face to face with a mother moose and two tiny offspring. Hedged in on both sides by impenentrable tuckamore, Mike was at an impasse: wait for the moose to move, or hike back to the trail head. Quite sensibly, he waited. Waited for half an hour, in fact, from a respectful distance, popping his head out of the tuckamore occasionally to check on the moose's mood, and backing away again when she glared at him.

"And then I got attacked!"

"By another moose?" We were incredulous.

"No, by a grouse."

The Spruce Grouse is a small bird that looks a lot like a chicken. According to Mike, the female of the species can peck quite viciously. It actually chased him down the trail, pecking as it ran. I tried to muster up some sympathy, but then failed. The Farmer was already falling out of his chair, laughing.

Looking on the bright side, if Mike had to be attacked by one of the creatures he encountered, at least it was the Spruce Grouse!

Eagles and Snakes and Bears, Oh My!

Obviously, the picture does not go with the title. But I don't have a picture of the eagle, the snakes, or the bear, and I do just happen to have this photo of a moose, taken by the Farmer on a recent foray into the Highlands.

As for the other critters... It all started on Monday, when I went to pick up our latest WWOOFer from the bus station. Kai is from Germany, and he's never been to our neck of the woods before, so I thought I'd take the most scenic route home, over the mountain. It was about 8:30 at night - just dusk. As we approached the crest, I saw something in the middle of the road. A big something - deeply black against the fading pink of the sky. My brain went into one of those gear-grinding spirals that happen when you can't quite process what you're seeing. My first thought was, "How did one of the cows get up here?"

Lots of people around here have seen bears. My neighbours down the road see them quite regularly. My next door neighbour's grandson pedaled up to one inadvertently on his bike (then pedaled away quite quickly). Sometimes, depending on the bear, people will say "I thought it was a large dog." The bear I saw on the mountain did not, in any way, resemble a dog (unless we're talking Cerberus). He was magnificent - black, sleek fur, and apparently quite well fed. And definitely the size of a yearling Highland cow.

Kai was ecstatic. "I've only been here for three weeks, and already I see a bear!" He was equally ecstatic when a mature Bald Eagle flew over us as we drove along the lake shore. I was more excited about the bear, eagles being as common as pigeons around here. Still, an eagle in full glide is an admittedly impressive sight.

Kai's vocal tone conveyed much less ecstasy the following morning, after his first night's sleep in the shed loft (hastily but, I thought, cozily converted to guest accomodations). "Do you have any poisonous snakes around here?" he asked, over a bowl of cereal. We do not, in fact, have poisonous OR venomous snakes here in God's Country. (The Creator figured that, after dishing our the black flies, mosquitoes, deer flies, horse flies, and sand flies, dangerous snakes would be far too cruel).

"No," I replied. It was a question I'd already answered for Ashley, our WWOOFer from England, who had asked it politely upon discovering a garter snake in his wheelbarrow of mulch.

"Ah, that's good," said Kai. "Then the one in my bed won't be a problem."

I have to commend our visitor on his fortitude. A snake - poisonous, venomous, or otherwise - is not the most agreeable bedfellow. But Kai took it in stride. I suppose he was just grateful it wasn't a bear.

Keira

This is the newest member of the Old Man Farm animal community: Keira the Highland cow, named in honor of our first "WWOOFer." WWOOFers are "Willing Workers on Organic Farms," volunteers from all over the world who stay on organic farms to learn, experience local culture, travel inexpensively, and enjoy a unique vacation experience. This is our first summer as WWOOF hosts, and so far we have enjoyed the company (and assistance) of five different visitors, all of whom have brought their own particular gifts to share.

Keira (the WWOOFER) was a lively, energetic twenty-something who blew into Old Man Farm like a wild spring wind. In her week with us, she organized the barn shop, dug strawberry beds and planted strawberries, hauled firewood, loaded junk on the dump truck, helped retrieve our second-hand greenhouse from its previous location, pulled the children uphill and down on a sled (no, we do NOT still have snow), and generally endeared herself to all of us with her joyful, positive spirit.

A mere four hours before her departure on the bus to North Sydney, Keira was fortunate to experience the birth of the little beauty in the picture above. We all watched in awe as mom Ginger worked through her labour and pushed the little beast into the world on a warm, spring evening. Keira drank in the experience. I loved watching her, watching the birth - she was so fully open, so present in the moment, so aware of her privelege in witnessing the event.

Some people might feel... well, ambivalent, at best, about having a calf named after them. Keira, to her credit, was honored. And little Keira (the MOOer, not the WWOOFer), seems to be thriving.

A Thousand Dabs of Mud

I trudged slowly into Spring, this year. My bones creaked. Usually, I jump into my rubber boots and greet Spring like a friend who's been away far too long - with enthusiasm and delight. But this year, the winter frost heaved up some challenges that drained much of my psychic energy.

Metres above my head, untouched by the fog bank surrounding my brain, the cliff swallows showed no such sluggishness. They were paragons of industry, zipping from mud hole to eaves and back again at top speed, applying the thousand tiny dabs of mud it takes to build each perfect nest. There are so many swallows here, all building with an enthusiasm that would put suburban Toronto land developers to shame. The air fairly hummed.

They are either birds of great vision, or great faith, I figure. They spend hour upon hour, day after day, swooping across the field to snatch a dab of mud, exploding up again from the ground and speeding off to stick the dab onto the side of the house. For ages, it doesn't look as though they're making any sort of progress. But then, all of a sudden, you look up and there are these majestic domes, practical, comfortable, with babies peeking out. Some of these architectural masterpieces are strong enough to last through winter's fierce storms.

Our work here at Old Man Farm is a bit like this - a thousand dabs of mud that don't look like anything much. We, too, hold a vision in our heads and have faith that our daily efforts will some day create a work of art.

The First Post

For years, I have imagined keeping up a regular correspondence with the people I care about. I have even kept an optimistic cache of notepaper in my roll-top desk, to be used on that oft-imagined day when I find time to write. In more recent years, I have thought that an annual Christmas letter would be a more reasonable way of keeping in touch. (Don't look feverishly through your stack of mail for last year's letter - you didn't get one.) I am somewhat better at emailing people, as emailing is an activity one can participate in even with small children hanging off one's body... But the grim truth is (as most of you know) that I am NOT good at communicating individually and fully with all of the people in my life.

This blog is my attempt to remedy that situation.

The reason I'm feeling compelled to improve my communication is that I find myself, at age 37, settled in a breathtaking corner of the world and working on a project we could not possibly have undertaken without the help of many of YOU. I want to be able to share my gratitude, my vision for this place, my small triumphs, and a few of my challenges, with the people who helped put me here.

We will be sharing the unfolding story of Old Man Farm, our family life, our efforts toward sustainability, and our involvement in community development. We will also be posting some pictures... and trying to entice some of you to come and visit!

For now, here's a picture of Old Man Farm. More to come!