You know you've picked a rural setting when...

We are making our second trip to 'the cottage' as we have now begun calling it. We left about 6:00 PM, and is it past midnight. DS has handed me the wheel, because she was getting sleepy. Now her job is to watch the ditches for the glint of eyes alerting us to the possibility of an unexpected deer or moose crossing.

About 2 km from the border crossing, she warns me just as I see a glint of eyes. I slow down, and a large, gangly shadow detaches itself from the others. An adolescent moose trots out onto the road just ahead of us. He turns away from the car, and starts an ungainly trot down the road. DS describes him, quite aptly, as 'running in high heels'. In reality, it could easily be a she. The moose is keeping to the right, so I pull into the passing lane and begin to accelerate a bit. Moose decides to hog the centre line, so I pull back. DS explains that moose have been known to charge a car that is following too closely. "What is 'too closely' from the perspective of a moose?" I wonder, but I back off.

Despite there being no other vehicles for miles around, we crawl along at 15 km/hr, following this young moose for some time. We crack jokes about his having been at the local bar taking advantage of his new-found liberty, mom having just set him loose. Finally, he turns left up a drive and disappears into the brush at the back of the lot just as quickly as he came.

The next morning, we are treated to a return visit from the River Otters, as well as several pairs of ducks. DS gets out her bird books. We have several species of ducks on the lake. Later that day, DS is headed into town for something and when she comes back, she describes having stopped to let a grouse cross the road in no big hurry. We are thrilled at all of these sightings.

By the time of our next visit, the ice is out of the lake and snow in the bush has melted enough that we can go hunting for our survey markers to load them onto our GPS. The otters are gone, but there are Canada Geese in their place.

One morning, I awaken and roll over to check out the lake. There, perched at the end of our deck is a groundhog with two pups. Cute, but not the best critters to have so close to a house built on a slab foundation. We will have to do something about Murphy and family, as he comes to be named. (Murphy, the marmotte) Later that day, just how much of a city girl I am becomes apparent: I am excited to see a beaver swimming by in our lake, not 20' away. Gordon, it turns out, is not alone: Francine is with him (named after Frank and Gordon, the Sympatico spokesbeavers)

Over the summer, my joy at seeing this couple turns to irritation, then animosity, as I spend many hours toiling to take apart their dam, only to rise the next morning to see it rebuilt. We could set our clocks by these two: they start their shift at 7 PM, and work until 7 AM. I must admit, though, that along with my cursing of these industrious rodents there is an admiration at the engineering knowledge that goes into their dams. They are not easy to take apart, and are very good at holding back the waters. Were it not for the danger to the footings of one of our Hydro poles perched on the edge of the lake, I would likely let them be. It becomes the summer of 'Beaver Wars'. By necessity, the trapper has the last word once the season opens. I am saddened by the thought, but am learning to accept that some things must be thus.