by Sandra L. Martin

Created on: May 18, 2009

Dealing with wildlife in a vegetable garden has a unique flavor in Alaska. Moving here in the early spring, I was ecstatic to think that I'd have fresh strawberries in only a couple of months. Never mind that it freezes in late August, I'd use plenty of fertilizer. I love gardening, I really do.

Then the truth of gardening in Alaska reared its frostbitten head. I know there are pests in the lower 48, but I can promise you that you've never had a garden pest like a moose. At first, I wanted to pet her and gently lead her away from my garden, much to the shrieking horror of my friends. I gave up on that, and figured a nice, four-foot fence would do. A moose could never sneak through.

This one particular moose didn't bother trying to sneak through. She simply walked over the fencing and ate her fill of the tree bark and, of course, the strawberry plants. Walked OVER. Didn't even hop. Moose are much taller than they appear in pictures.

Undaunted, I replanted and raised the fence a couple of feet. This time she hopped. Not much, but there was a definite hop in there. And since I'd gone to all the trouble of replanting for her, she decided to just sleep in the garden, lazily reaching out to nibble on whatever she could without getting up.

Not to be beaten by a doe-eyed moose, I knew I could outsmart her. I bought twelve window boxes and put them on the balcony. Everyone has a balcony here, many without stairs, obviously to prevent the ascent of moose on a window box banquet tour.

And then, moose issue under control, I watched with a smugness that only newcomers can have, as my strawberries turned green, then white, then pink. Early one morning I grabbed a bowl, I knew this would be the day the first fruits of my harvest would appear.

I searched window box after window box, no strawberries. A low-hanging branch told the story. A half-eaten strawberry was resting in the crook of the tree. It was a malicious taunt from the squirrels. They stuffed themselves on my perfectly red, precious strawberries. They taunted me by dropping their leftovers in plain sight on the tree.

There's some sort of ironic humor in being beaten by a moose and a squirrel. But I was. The window boxes are on the inside now, gangly pale green plants begging for more sun and fresh air. Now I get it. They win. The moose and squirrels, and bears for that matter, roam freely and unafraid in my world. I guess that's how it should be, but I sure do wish I had some nice, fresh strawberries.

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