“Adopt the pace of nature: Her secret is patience.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson
It’s April, and a sense of expectation permeates the “homestead.”
Although the ground’s stll frozen, the vegetation’s preparation to burst forth can practically be heard if one listens closely. The herring shoals have reached Sitka, and will soon arrive on our shores; as yet, those that hunt them haven’t gathered off our rocks (see Return of the Humpback Whales Foreshadows “The Next Big Thing”). As I do every year at this time, I find myself staring longingly into the deep, clear water off our rocks, watching for herring or Dolly Varden char, or, to be honest, any fish at all.
It’s a good time of year to remember Mr. Emerson’s words above. Now is the time for patience. I’m too anxious—to fish, to tap the birch trees, to plant the garden. I need patience.
As if to drive that point home, my “friend,” the bull moose returned to the door yard over the weekend. Blasting Van Halen CDs at top volume didn’t phase him this time (see Music to Annoy the Savage Beast). When I went outside to yell at him, I quickly learned the difference between this approach and our last encounter. Instead of the camouflage jacket I wore last time, I wore a maroon sweatshirt. Apparently, the moose could see me this time! He didn’t stare or bluff charge like last time. Instead, he ran up into the forest as fast as he could!
He came back the next day, though. He must have passed right through the compound, but I didn’t see him until I went out to look at the water and found him browsing the forest edge on the beach south of the guest house. He stayed around there all day, until I finally relaxed and stopped monitoring him.
He’s deathly skinny, and pretty mangy looking. At this time of year he must be about to transition away from woody browse to more succulent plants. Green up can’t come soon enough for him, as he doesn’t look like he’ll last much longer. But, he seems to be taking it as it comes, patiently accepting his fate, whatever that may eventually prove to be.