They live in our midst again now, these elephants of the northern forest, homely, theatrical, and not quite elegant but at least majestic.

And like no other creature in the forest, they own it.

But oh, the antlers, and the drama of their presence, seemingly unafraid with dull eyes in a place where no predator would challenge a healthy 1,600 pound adult.

At least two moose, a cow and a bull, from the webcam at Joshua’s Farm, Dodd Road.
Photos courtesy of Brigitte Ruthman.

Moose once ranged throughout Massachusetts but not where summers burn hotter farther south.

They thrive on tree buds, aquatic vegetation, grass, and leaves. Their voracious appetite of 50 pounds of that stuff a day leave diminutive deer suffering in competition.

Their long stoic faces began reappearing in the 1980s as browse returned to overgrown fields and logging sites. They remain elusive, enduring summer heat by living in and around the area's many swampy areas where they rarely cross paths with humans.

They've made a comeback and established a breeding population, even as climate change threatens further inhospitable warming, winter ticks overwhelm some calves, and dense, unmanaged forests offer little food.

The young bull that crossed the south side of the farm last week had velvet peeling from his antlers that was not his bel – that flap of skin beneath his throat. Mating season when they roam begins in September and ends in October, much earlier than the November season for bucks.

What's most amazing is how a ninefoot long cow that passed through the pasture 400 yards away on the north side and within two hours of the bull somehow managed to jump my four and a half-foot wire fence. Or maybe she just stepped over it. After all, the fence was planned to contain dairy cows and allow for deer and other wildlife to enter. Who could have imagined that maybe a moose could fly?