On the way to Florida I was apprehensive. I pay attention to the news and it’s not all sunny down there. But there was no rumble on the flight. No one needed to be whacked with a coffee pot. In Publix, the big grocery store, there were masks and no masks, but the vibe was pleasant. People were friendly. There were no protesters on the roadways, or even dirty looks. (I did see this sign on a gate: Prayer is the way to heaven. Trespassing is quicker. But it made it me laugh.)
I got home to Haines and was met first with the news that Covid is rampant, and we have had 150 known cases so far in February (and no doubt more) and the local facebook page blew up with posts and pokes about the clutch of picketers at school demanding an end to masks. Freedom to choose. What is happening? Haines only had about 20 cases of Covid the entire first year, we rushed to vaccinate. We took care of each other. The school has stayed open the entire pandemic. It’s something to celebrate, to praise the school officials for. They deserve flowers, chocolate, applause. A key to the city. All our gratitude.
I know, It has been a long,long winter.
Then, in the post office yesterday there was this: I had gone to mail a bunch of papers for Papa Bob’s probate in Alaska. Given the news of the Covid outbreak, I was happy to see people being careful, and respectful of both the PO crew and each other. Staying back in line, wearing masks, and complimenting Greg’s latest mural of a construction paper winter scene behind the counter. It’s pretty with mountains and houses in the snow, maybe a moose. I’m not sure. What will we do when he retires? Greg makes life better for all of us every day when we pick up packages or mail important documents, with his pleasant ways and his public art projects.
Anyway, I was feeling good again when a man came in without a mask and turned to a nice older woman who for health reasons ( she has trouble breathing) cannot wear one, but who was standing back away from people just to be safe, and then said loudly and with great indignation how happy he was to see she wasn’t masked, and to know that at least one person wasn’t completely insane. She did not smile. Then he walked out. I don’t even think he picked up a package.
I felt as if I’d been slapped. I wanted to run and cry. Of course I am tender from the rituals of death, and also frustrated by all the forms and notary signings and so many rules. What was Dad’s social security number? I never asked him. Paper work is not my strong suit. It took me all day to figure it out and now I was finally mailing this packet that is more final than his passing, in a way. The end of something and the beginning of a new life without him. I suddenly feel the need to get my tangibles in order. Let my kids know important numbers, passwords. Clean the garage.
When I pulled in the driveway, my way was blocked by the same cow moose that has been hanging out in our yard for a while. We are the only inhabited house on two miles of beach and woods right now, but she likes it here. Even with three dogs ( we are keeping a close eye on her and them and making sure they do not interact. I even leash Trixie when we head out.)
The moose stood between me and the garage.
I flashed the lights. I rolled down the window and said, “Git girl”. I clapped. I turned up the radio.
Nothing.
So I beeped, gently. She kept eating.
I have been on enough moose hunts to be shy of moose, even seemingly gentle cows in my driveway. Also, it has been a hard winter for animals too. Deep, deep snow. Cold. Windy. Her food has been buried and the walking is difficult. She is very hungry. She may be pregnant. I watched her eat rose hips, then my dogwood, then the little river birch saplings in the brush I have been nursing. Twenty minutes later she was still there and so was I. When Chip pulled in behind me I pointed. We drove next door and made a plan. He eeked his truck slowly into the garage. She moved over a few feet, and onto the next rose bush and closer to the house, and the door.
Chip waved me in next. We whispered in the garage, and each took a bag of groceries and tip-toed, then dashed around the woodshed, took the turn wide and leapt for that door. Meanwhile, the moose barely lifted her head as she tugged rose hips off the branches of my big white Sitka rose bush and ate a few twigs for good measure. Hopefully the trim won’t hurt it. I know it has helped her.
Before she left for a nap in the woods she looked right in the living room window.
Was she grateful?
I don’t know.
But I am.
