If I had another Moose story

It was the summer of 1958 and our little family was living in a community we called the Narrows.  This rural area was situated on the Wasdemohawk Lake, in Queens County, New Brunswick.  One side of the lake was Cambridge, across the bridge and down the turn “the Narrows”.

To me our home there felt like Alice in wonderland or nature gone wrong.  No, not our house but it was the lay of the land.  As you drove along the road there were woods to your far left, and then came the fields; ours were filled with strawberries and market garden veggies.  To the right of the road the land sloped sharply down, there was a drive way, barns to the right, our little house to the left and then the open fields meandering on down to the lake.

Father (Talmage Vail) Valerie, Rodney& David

It was a late summer afternoon and our Father was away, this was abnormal as we usually all went together.  Our mother sent Rodney and I up to scrounge the berry patch, hoping to find a few straggler berries that we would have for supper.  Off we trudged.  We had just started picking when Rodney shook my arm and said in a whisper, “I feel something watching us.”   From my lofty height of eight years old I assured my six year old brother he was just imagined it. 

A minute or two later Rodney said “I really feel it!”  And I did as well.  We were country kids and had been trained for most eventualities.  I quickly cautioned Rodney not to turn his back and not to run; I was expecting a bear, dog or fox in that order.  We quietly started for the house.  We had just put our feet on the road when it emerged from the woods.  There stood a big male moose with a full rack and a bad attitude. Rodney stopped.   "Keep coming", I pleaded.  Then the moose roared, yes he roared, pawed and began to run after us.  Rodney did not ask he turned and flew down the hill; I was hot on his heels. We were both calling for Mother at the top of our lungs.  In retrospect it was a scene right out of Jack in the Bean stock.  Mother met us in the door and literally threw us inside. 

Not a minute too soon as the Moose was there as well, banging his antlers against the house.  Mother cautioned us not to go near the windows.  We were all terrified as the Moose roared and charged the house again and again.  In the end I think Mother, Rodney, little David aged three and I were all firmed wedged under the table.   I cannot say how long we stayed that way however when even your Mother is afraid you know it is bad.

Eventually the pawing and the banging stopped.   Father came home soon and went to investigate.  He followed the Moose tracks down through the field and into the lake.  No one else in the community ever spoke of a rogue Moose.   I was speaking to Rodney today; he could barely remember the incident.  His main recollection of the “Moose” was the chant “the Moose is Loose” when the guys were drinking Moosehead beer.   Perhaps that is why I am the storyteller.  No one asked me if I had another Moose story.