Bring it, girl friend!

Usually I have excellent moose etiquette, but maybe I crossed the line when I got a little too close to this fine mother's baby. This is the look that says, "You mess with my kid, you mess with me, girl-frenn."

I spotted these two in the river bed below South Fork park eat fresh green watercress on my way back up the canyon from dropping Xan at the school bus. We had meet this summer when the calf was much smaller at the salt lick by Charlotte's.

She must not have remembered our summer encounter fondly because the two turned tails and headed up stream as soon as I got my camera out. Naturally, I ran up the road to catch them. I climbed up the snow bank to see if they were below in the river, thinking they would head off into the willow marsh toward the mountain. It was a surreal feeling as I wrapped my brain around the potential consequences of what I saw at the top of the snowy hill.

The mother moose was quickly climbing up the other side to come check me out. I came nose to nose with her and immediately calculated the triangulated positions of the moose, my car and my butt. That mama moose was going to kick my trash unless I politely bid farewell and hustled back to the safety of my large vehicle.

I got the shot of the day, but she definitely got the final word. I swear I saw her squint those shiny black eyes and point straight at me with those long ears of hers as she mumbled, "You get on with your big bad self or else show me what you got this morning. You and me -- in the lower meadow at noon. Bring it!"

I admitted defeat and headed back to my little calf waiting by the window in the cabin.

(Static cabin hair girl.)

Hear Kitty, Kitty ...

The blogging gods are smiling on me and my renewed commitment to posting. MOUNTAIN LION -- HUGE -- BEAUTIFUL MOUNTAIN LION. Last night, 10 minutes after walking into our cabin I looked out the front window and saw this amazing pale golden cat -- nose to tail it was SIX FEET LONG. These pictures are from my cell phone in the dark, but you get the idea.

This cat was about twice as big as a large golden retriever. S/he put his or her nose to the front window of the cabin and then wandered over to Charlottes place and crawled around under the front deck. Yep - Grandma Charlotte has pumas living under her house. How do you like them apples? (Frankly, I am not surprised. Charlotte is about as tough as they come.) This morning there were tracks all over the place with several urine markings next to where Charlotte's dog, Jessie, had pooped. That dog is a marked dog.

So, come on up to the cabin -- hang out with our 200 pound kitty cat.

Above is Xanny's seven year old hand next to cat track. FYI - Cat tracks typically do not show their retractible claws unless there are icy or slippery conditions. You can also tell the track belongs to a mountain line if there is a tail drag on either side of the rear paw in the snow. AND you can also tell the track belongs to a mountain lion if you SEE IT WALK PAST YOUR FRONT DOOR.

Texas 1979

Life has too much momentum to fit through the tiny pin-hole of blogging. Here's a little droplet that might get the flow going again. This is a picture of me as a moody 9 year old. I am in the turquoise dress with pale blue knee highs. Ahh, Texas.

When I think of 9, I think of taking apart my sister's Barbie playhouse, rearranging the rooms and mounting it on metal rollers so we could take the renovated plastic mansion on tour through out the neighborhood. Something about its portable swimming pool breaking apart half a block away sticks in my mind.

I also remember being very stressed out by having a dog. We always had big sweaty golden retrievers. I would secretly set them free into the suburban wilds late at night. "Be free, dog!!" And I think my room was messy.

Well, it's a start.