Poem: Winter at our Cabin in Bush Alaska

 

With freezeup upon us we watch winter brew.

The leaves are all falling, the temperature too.

Leaves from stout birches and thin saskatoons

Are yellow by day and the light of the moon.

We harvest our veggies – some lots and some few

So the gardens can rest here on in until June.

 

A hundred potatoes will feed us for weeks

In recipes varied from Chinese to Greek,

Gratins and pancakes and mashes galore

Baking and frying and salads and more

These spuds are so versatile, tasty, and filling

For several dinners they warrant first billing.

 

The firewood cut every day for an hour

Will warm us and bathe us in weather most dour

Snow storms and dark days and temperatures chill

‘Til solstice arrives to ramp up springy power

When much welcomed sunlight appears on the hill.

 

Cranes have gone south and the geese leave as well

Careening, cavorting and turning, pell-mell.

They honk and cajole their companions to hurry

In flocks large and small before the first flurry

Of snow on the meadows and ice on the lakes

Incrementally formed, bit by bit, flake by flake.

 

When the afternoon light casts its shadows on snow,

We trace tracks of hares to see where they will go.

Under spruce trees and birch roots these critters have lined

Many nests soft and warm where they’re safe, if confined

Until hunger compels them to go fast, never slow

Seeking berries and grasses while arctic winds blow.

 

The wolverine tracks are especially distressing.

Their viciousness known, when their hunger is pressing.

We follow the tracks, going forth and regressing.

We intimate weight by the print depth impressing.

Will they linger long term?  We don’t know – only guessing.

 

We lock up the chickens and let out the dog.

Bud trots along lake shore, woods, meadow and bog.

He sniffs along game trails and leaves his own scent

Where the bent grass suggests that the wolverine went.

 

In a fight we know well that our Buddy would lose.

A wolverine kills as it bites, gnaws, and chews.

Our dog marks the land with his scent and his pee

Will the creature consider the option to flee?

For a dinner that’ elsewhere, like hare vindaloo?

 

The moose tracks are heavy and deep where they lead

From thickets to bushes to branches that feed

These ungainly creatures that weigh half a ton.

I cannot imagine the time that they need

To eat enough forage until they are done.

 

For eight months of winter they struggle to find

High calorie munchies on which they can dine.

The effort’s enormous; the stresses are great.

By springtime the bulls lose a third of their weight.

 

Meanwhile the cows suffer winters far worse.

They are pregnant all season which seems so perverse

To lumber about seeking food is enough.

To do so with calves is especially tough.

The good news is that there‘s no worry of bears

That hibernate, snoring, no doubt, in their lairs.

In spring, end of May, cows deliver a pair

Of long legged calves in our woods where they dare

To hunker down safely to sleep and to nurse

‘Til all three are ready.  And then they disperse.