Break for Moose

Many city dwellers take great caution while out and about driving in their vehicles. They may park beneath well-lit areas when they know they will be approaching in the darkness. They look into their back seats before crawling inside, and when stopped beneath a bridge or near a dark alley, they often instinctively reach for the door locks. When seven lanes all rush in the same direction at quickened velocities it becomes a threat as well. The threats encountered when driving in the city tend to be human or metallic.
The fiercest sources of danger one may encounter when living in the northern part of Maine are quite different, with far more fur and a lack of fiberglass and metal. It is estimated that there were about 30,000 moose located in the state. Over the past decade there have been an average of 600 moose-car collisions a year statewide. The problem is definitely more aggressive in the darkness. When I would be coming home at night my parents would always ask if I saw moose.
"If you didn't see any moose, you were driving too fast," they would say.
This was probably mostly true. There are moose everywhere in northern Maine, and if you are unlucky enough to hit one the damage can be fatal. These beasts stand roughly 8 or 9 feet tall at about 1,600lbs. Their fur is a dark hue, allowing them to easily blend into their natural surroundings. They are difficult to see and if hit, they can absolutely devastate the front of a vehicle. Moose have long, skinny legs that easily break when hit, causing them to crash down into windshields and dashboards.

Aside from the massive size of the animal, they are unpredictable and quick. Often a driver will turn a corner and scarcely notice the moose because it stands so still. One would think if a giant mass of metal was approaching rapidly and animal would jump out of the way. Not these animals. They often stand and stare, leaping in a random direction at the last moment.
The first time I really saw a moose up close was when I was in sixth grade and traveling home with my parents and my friend in the dark. We were headed down the dirt road, lightning flickering across the sky, when a large figure loomed in our path. It was a moose, obviously terrified by the thrashes of lightning and the pelting raindrops. At first it straggled clumsily down the road, away from our stopped car. My dad waited patiently for the creature to depart the dirt path, but the moose continued on before us, ever so slowly. He shuddered against the rain, eyes wide as another flash of lightning lit up the sky. Not only had he stopped moving away from us, but he had turned to approach us. Another jolt of lightning crashed through the air and with the following rumble of thunder the giant moose hurtled towards our little honda civic. What else could my friend and I do but scream? My dad urged us furiously to stop screaming as the moose jumped forward, thrashing his hooves into the hood with a great thud. With one final stare the animal turned away and hurried into the woods. I was always awed by this moment. As terrified as I was to be there at the time I was taken by the largeness and the look of the moose.They are a very unique creature and people are often inspired to pull over when spotted to take photos and observe.
The moose tend to come closer to the road in the winter because they enjoy eating the salt from the road, and they come in the spring to eat the fresh greens. Locals tend to flash their lights at each other to warn there is a moose ahead. Aroostook County has the most frequent number of moose-car collisions, which occur mostly at night.

As southern Maine is famous for their lobsters we are known for our moose. Tourists seek out routes that are sure to allow them to see a moose along the way. My family came to visit from the west and they were anxious to see moose as well. They are just a massive animal.



Gagnon, Dawn. “Curbing Car-Moose Crashes.” Bangor Daily News. N.p., 18 Mar. 2009. Web. 2 Feb. 2010. .

Cross Country: Expectations

The earliest years of my life were spent mostly in the west. Not only in the west but in areas much more densely populated than the great Aroostook County. Before moving to northern Maine, I lived in Pocatello, Idaho, a dry, treeless piece of land at the bottom corner of the state. Though many have probably never heard of Pocatello it was the fourth largest city in Idaho, with a metro population of 83,303 as of the 2000 census. The elementary school I attended covered kindergarten through sixth grade, with roughly 500 students at the time. I spent my summers at the swimming pool or wandering the city with friends, usually on roller blades. The air was always hot and dry, and there was so much to do in the city. For these reasons as well as others, I was less than delighted when my parents informed me that we would be moving across the nation to Maine.



My father was ecstatic, having lived thousands of miles away from his family for nearly twenty years. I, on the other hand was deeply disappointed and horrified with the descriptive explanations of what I might expect from my new home. I felt as though I may be going back in time, and in a way I was. Dad explained that some products took a little longer to catch on in the north, and so I may not see some of my favorite foods and fashions right way. This was a bearable notion. Less bearable was the fact that we would be living on a dirt road. My mind instantly provided images of old wagon trains crossing the west, and I grimaced with dread. We were also to have a well providing our water supply. Having only known city water my whole life, once more I was bewildered.
“Fine!” I shouted in my brattiest tone, “but I’m not carrying buckets of water to the house. That’s just ridiculous!”
As cool as it sounded that we would live beside a lake, I was disgusted by the notion of swimming in its waters. I imagined what slimy fish and crabby clawed creatures might dwell at the darkest depths, waiting to spring upon unsuspecting little girls swimming with nature for the first time. As gross as I anticipated the murky lake waters to be, it was incomparable to the thought of the outhouses our neighbors owned. My ten years of life had only given me experience with outhouses being used for camping purposes.
The final thorn in my side came after moving in. It turned out that our home was one of the very few used for year round dwelling, and thus my brother and I were the only children living on our side of the lake beyond summer. As far as we were concerned our home wasn’t even near civilization, as it was called T17R5. The nearest town to my house was Sinclair, Maine, a residence that has a reported 328 inhabitants as of 2009. For school I was to attend Patrick Theriault School, which at its height had 25 students from pre-school to 6th grade. I did not know there were still classrooms that encompassed multiple grade levels until then. I was the only girl in my grade of five students, and one of three girls in the entire fourth to sixth grade class.
Perhaps I have come across as being ignorant in the beginnings of my experience, but in my defense I was only ten years old and had never experienced rural life. Until 1997 I had only taken residence in San Antonio, Texas, urban portions of California, and then Pocatello. Despite my initial reactions to my new way of life I was pleasantly surprised by my experience in the great north. As time goes by I only grow fonder of the beauty offered by this great land. There are locations and traditions that are unique to this area. It gives the county a real character and keeps people coming back home following twenty year hiatus.