On a rainy Sunday morning in the west of Sweden, my boyfriend and his parents headed out to the zoo. But zoo isn’t quite the right word, since Norden’s Ark, which specializes in endangered animals, gives its creatures wide areas to roam — to the point that some, like the napping wolves, were barely visible from the visitor lookouts.
It was 10:30 a.m. when we arrived, not long after the park had opened, and for a while we were the only people there roaming the trails and boardwalks, past the homes of snowy owls, Rocky Mountain goats and Mongolian horses.
The clear favorite among our group was the wolverine. We had spied down on them from a high boardwalk, watching their small, long bodies romping playfully (it seemed) down green slopes.
I had never seen one before, or thought much about them in anything other than a comic book context. It turns out there is nothing particularly ferocious looking about wolverines, in fact they’re cute. But that’s a trick of nature, as, I learned, they’re powerful enough to take down a moose. (Don’t believe it? I offer this Facebook group as evidence).
We moved down to a fence to see them closer. Though just a few yards away now, they seemed not to notice us much — unlike the snowy owl, who had puffed up its feathers after we’d gawked for a bit, seeming to signal “All right, that’s enough,” like a half-obliging celebrity. A wolverine came close to us, first climbing a tree, then inspecting the remains of a cardboard box that had contained their snacks of raw meat. Later, further on, we saw another close by, doing its funny jog with a large hunk of meat in its mouth, which it hid behind a log to retrieve later.
Those little bear-faced killers endeared me, and today I felt compelled to poke around for organizations dedicated to the cause of making sure they stay part of our world. There’s The Wolverine Foundation, World Wildlife Federation (which will send you an “adoption certificate” and other goodies for donating specifically to the species), Defenders of Wildlife, Wildlife Conservation Society and more.
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On the way out of the zoo, we stopped by the gift shop (of course), and I was nearly compelled to buy Norden’s Ark honey, presumably made by bees kept on site. I am always tempted to buy the special honey of a region or attraction I visit, despite the fact that I very rarely consume it.
More than other foods, honey feels like a reflection of a place and its organisms: the individual plants that bore the pollen, and the bees that worked to convert it to that particular jar of golden liquid. The process is fascinating, and beautiful. There’s a beekeeping society in Gothenburg, and I’m tempted to take classes there in February, lack of Swedish language skills and occasional wimpyness in the face of minor pain be damned.
With that I give you this poem by Emily Dickinson, recently read by Catherine Jagoe on the bee episode of To The Best of Our Knowledge:
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.
And from Sesame Street, circa 1977: