giving him no clue. He knew the general direction, though.
The moose tracks were headed toward Blueberry Acres.
Candy and Doc Holliday’s place.
He looked behind, knowing he should turn back. Best not to get too curious or too involved. He had the kindling he needed; he should head home. But for some reason he would never be able to explain, he turned the other direction, leaving his sledge where it sat, and trudged off through the wet, heavy snow after the moose tracks.
He soon began to sense that he and the moose weren’t alone in the woods, and he felt a prickling on the back of his neck, in part because he started hearing things he couldn’t quite place—an odd, distant crackle that sounded suspiciously like the crunch of snow as a boot stepped down, or the snap of a broken branch as someone passed nearby, carried on the faint wind that wove through the woods.
And then there came a single, sharp thudding sound, like an ax entering a tree. It sounded as if it had been made by a human. He’d never heard an animal make a sound like that.
There was probably a simple explanation. A few hikers or homeowners out today, gathering firewood like he’d been doing. Or kids playing hooky from school, pulling a sled or two, cutting through the woods to meet up with friends.
But something in his bones told him it wasn’t that simple. Something else was going on. The vibrations were off. The air felt wrong. He stopped several times, looking back over his shoulder, willing himself to turn around and head home.
But the moose tracks drew him on. He followed them across the contours of the land.
Soon he heard a snort. He slowed his pace, moving forward cautiously. The trees parted, and quite suddenly he came upon the scene.
He froze.
Standing directly in front of him, on a rough edge of land that fell off to a gully behind it, stood a white moose.
He’d heard about them but never seen one before, though a buddy of his from up near Millinocket had seen one once, a decade or two ago, or so he said. They were more common in Canada, in places like New Brunswick, off to the east of Maine, and Ontario, to the northwest, and all the way up to Alaska. But sometimes one or two were seen around New England. He’d heard they weren’t albinos but true white moose, whose coats turned darker in the summer but lighter during the winter months. It was some sort of genetic thing, someone had told him. This one had a few darker spots and smudges on its coat, which was long, thick, and a little shab-by for the winter season. The animal stood about six and a half feet tall at the shoulders, he figured, and had shed its antlers, giving it a bald, almost comical look. It had ridiculously long, thin legs, which held up its thick, muscular body. The elongated head ended in a drooping snout. The hump at the top of the shoulders was particularly pronounced in this one, shown off by the wet spiked fur sticking up from the top of it.
The moose watched him with large brown eyes for a few moments, turning its head from side to side, as if agitated.
He backed away a little. He’d heard stories of people being trampled by moose. It was never a good thing to approach or upset one.
But this particular fellow remained where it was, its head turning and dipping so it could look down into the gully at its side.
Then it looked back at him.
He cleared his throat and said softly, “Hello, fella. You’re a rare sight around here. You’re not lost, are ya?”
If the animal understood, it gave no indication, until finally its head shook in a rapid movement, causing the dewlap—the loose patch of fur and skin hanging under its neck—to jiggle around furiously.
He took that as some indication to continue. “So… do you need help? You doing okay?”
In response, the white moose snorted, pushing the air out forcefully through its large nostrils, creating great puffs of mist as it turned away. It started off in long, determined strides, its two-toed hooves leaving distinctive tracks in the snow.
He was tempted to follow but hesitated.
A feeling of dread washed over him. Taking slow, cautious steps, he walked to the edge of the gully.
That’s when he saw the body.
And the hatchet buried in its back.
LET’S MINGLE AT THE MOOSE FEST!
With all the cold weather and snowstorms we’ve had recently, the inhabitants of Cape Willington have been in deep hibernation, surviving on stews and hot chocolate. But it’s time to emerge from our cozy winter dens and embrace the season! The annual Winter Moose Fest, now in its eleventh year, promises a weekend of fun and festivities, most of it outdoors in the brisk, blustery air of coastal Maine.
The frozen fest kicks off this Friday at dusk with a Sleigh and Sled Parade, which draws participants from all around the region. Expect big crowds for this popular event, and be sure to wear your most colorful clothes! (It’s a Cape Willington tradition!) The parade will include more than a dozen antique horse-drawn sleighs, decorated and lit in unique ways, plus many local kids and families pulling their own sleds.
On Friday and Saturday, stop by Town Park to watch professional ice carvers in action at an ice-sculpting exhibition, with children’s activities and awards on Saturday morning. Also on Saturday morning at l1 A.M., Henry “Doc” Holliday (my dad!) will present a history of Cape Willington, focusing on some of the town’s more prominent and colorful citizens over the past two hundred years. And throughout the weekend, you can stop in at the Cape Willington Historical Society for its annual baked goods and hot chocolate fundraiser. We hear the offerings will include Moose Mincemeat Pies, Moose Whoopie Pies, and Marbled Hot Cocoa. It’s all for a good cause. If you’d like to contribute items for sale or volunteer to help, contact Marjorie Coffin at 555-8734, or just drop by the Coffins’ farm anytime.
Of course, the highlight of the weekend will be (drumroll, please!) the annual semiformal Moose Fest Ball on Saturday evening at the Lightkeeper’s Inn. It promises to be the social event of the season. The ball is hosted by Oliver LaForce and the Cape Willington Women’s Social Club, chaired by Wanda Boyle. Tickets are available at the inn, or contact Wanda at 555-6571. So break out your gowns and tuxes, and we’ll see you there!
GRAB YOUR ANTLER HATS
Blueberry Bits has learned that Zeke’s General Store has received a shipment of Antler Hats—baseball caps with faux antlers attached—just in time for the Moose Fest. Show your moose spirit by wearing your hat throughout the weekend!
NEWCOMERS TO CAPE WILLINGTON
Ralph Henry and Malcolm Stevens Randolph tell me they’re pleased to announce the grand opening of The Bird Nest, a fine gardening and floral shop, on Friday, February 4. They plan to open weekends until April, and will then be open daily through the end of October. Please stop by, introduce yourself, and wish them well in their new venture. Think early Spring!
GREET THE MORNING WITH TAI CHI
Join Ted Coupland for his winter sunrise tai chi classes, which begin the first Wednesday in February. The classes will take place outdoors at the parking lot by the docks, and will run every Wednesday at sunrise through the end of March. It’s a great way to start the day, and to see winter in a new way.
DON’T WANT TO BE OUTDOORS? TAKE A NAP
Or, rather, a napkin-folding class. You’ll learn how to fold napkins into zany and amazing shapes. Who wouldn’t want their tables decorated with delightful swans and hearts? They’re sure to be conversation starters. Classes begin February 10 in the meeting room at the Pruitt Library, and will be taught by Elsie Lingholt, our local
