Summer of the Bear

Before I really begin, let me apologize for my unrelenting absence from MUL. Between exams, organizing the new school year, finding myself rained in, and feeling generally unimaginative...well, you get the picture. While each of those clauses sound like excuses they have enabled me to take the break I've been needing from the writing that I found myself forced to do without much reason to find enjoyment in what I was doing. Perhaps now I will have the inspiration and focus to concentrate on MUL ~ Jenny

A Lesson From the Bees

Our family grows an amazing garden, of which about half is my flowers that keep inching their way every year across the spacious lot. When I go through the gate and walk down the well tended rows, I find myself walking through a moving hum of bees and hornets and wasps. Despite the fact each of those species would sting or bite me if I frightened them, in all our years on Rosehill, I can count, on one hand, the number of times they have attacked me even when I am cutting flowers for arrangements or just running my hands over the hedge-like tops as I walk along. 

It was on one of these walks, there were more insects than usual boiling up, I felt my hands buoyed along across the flower tops only to realize that I was completely calm. Knowing for years that a bee stings only when provoked, I contemplated if I hadn't been applying that same principle to larger animals like, say, bears. Experience has since taught me that a bear is no different from a bee. This summer, I have found myself tested in many ways as I found myself surrounded by an unusual number of bears who would have done me great harm had I made a mis-calculation regarding their cubs.

Why I Love the Bear

When I see a bear, a secret thrill runs through me. Though not fear, I've long understood the power of being calm, I would say that every pore fills with respect the moment a bear becomes part of my atmosphere. While my family has many amusing bear stories, and while we know just how dangerous a bear can be, we have long been watching the bears that live in our area. For that reason, there is no doubt that as my blog progresses you shall hear of my three bachelors: Brutus, Boris, and Chip. 

To me, the bear seems to be that lasting emblem of the wild that surrounds and keeps me from becoming puffed up with human ingenuity. The last regal, muscular force that people seem to spend a lifetime fearing (which isn't entirely irrational) and minimal time admiring, and I get to live in the very same woods and experience their beauty every year. Could anything be better? I rather doubt it.

Touched by Bears

"To a Black Bear"

It was a boring day
you wanted some fun

so chased the boss's wife

into her log kitchen

clawed some paint off the door

to hear her howl

Petulant

you wandered about our yard

hidden in willows

I baited the culvert trap

with rotten sardines

you feigned indifference

I had plans for you

A change of scene,

new country

without women to entertain

Sulking

you sniffed around

a squirrel's cache

I went to my trailer

to get some old wieners

With the same idea

unmindful of each other

we arrived, me at my front door

you ambling in the open rear

into my bedroom

We met in the kitchen

"Woof" you said

startled while trying the fridge

I forget what I said

Your black fur made quite a contrast

against that white porcelain

Being both timid

we turned simultaneously

and attempted to exit

in embarrassed haste

The shiny linoleum

froze the action

I slipped and fell,

your claws lost traction

I made it at length

You shouldered through back there

wiped out two metal doors

with a fine backhand

carried them off

like streamers of tinfoil

Forgive me

in consternation,

I spoke rashly, obscene

loaded the shotgun

Boring days will never come again

to this sleepy warden station

Sid Marty

from Going For Coffee

While I cannot claim to have ever met a black bear at the fridge, I love referring back to Sid Marty's poetry and prose. It's like sitting out on a porch swing with a mug of coffee and an old friend. I have had my own "shotgun moment," and found myself at odds with resident bears many times. However, I learned a valuable lesson this summer.

It had been almost a year since I had been home to Rosehill. We had been living on a Hutterite colony (that's another story) where my parents worked as educators for ten months. While the experience was a valuable one, my senses weren't as sharp as they should have been for we had been away when the bears came out in the spring.

It had been a beautiful day and I was feeling free from the burden of exam anxiety when I chose to go for a walk down the road. As the weariness fell away, I found myself beginning to jog down the start of the drive, which makes an abrupt right turn before the stream of gravel flows downhill and joins with the County road system. Leaping around the corner with a laugh, I broke out singing the first lines of a 70s rock anthem and did a little dance (I can be such a girl, sometimes). A rushing, crashing sound came from the right. My head snapped up. There was a tell-tale path of still rustling bushes that I began watching earnestly. 

Standing there, I watched as a very young, beautiful cub climbed up a small tree just barely big enough to hold him up. Three things happened simultaneously: 1) a second cub went up another small tree2) the girly side kicked in as I felt like an overgrown softie thinking, "Awe, look how cuddly.."3) the other side of me, the common sense side, hit the alarm button as I began to talk to the cubs, and cocked the gun I carry in the woods as a noise maker, "Where's your mom? Where's your mom, where's your mom? mom-mom-mom-mom--"

It was the closest to a panic I had ever come when surprised by a bear. A ripple under the twin cubs' trees showed black through the foliage and I saw one of the largest sows I've ever seen place a paw high on a tree and pull herself up so she could see me over the foliage before coming toward me. As I backed up to my corner, wishing for once the wind was not in my favor, I had every intention of running as soon as I was out of her sight. 

Talking to her, I found myself thinking that the Rainbow School's bear program they put kids through when I went there was a valuable program, how important it was to squash any sound of fear from my voice, how dangerous sows with cubs could be, how glad I was I hadn't been between her and her cubs, how relieved I was that she didn't pursue me any further after I got back to my corner and booked it to the cabin, how thankful I was that she didn't charge but meandered toward me instead, how glad I was to have dusted the rust off my bear training and that I still had my wits about me.

That was supposed to be the end of the story, but it's not.

Women and Common Sense

I said that wasn't the end of the story and I truly meant it. After telling my parents that we had a resident sow with twins who was practically on our doorstep, Daddy insisted on going to see for himself. In fact, he was going to walk with me thinking two people would be better than one. Sounds good so far, right? 

Wrong.

We reached the area that I had encountered her at and discovered that she was down, with the cubs up a couple of sturdy thirty foot trees, in the bowl shaped declivity that dents slowly downward to the left. She had had the advantage of being on higher ground than me the first time, this time it was she who was disadvantaged. 

Daddy asked me for the gun I was still carrying and I gave it to him a midst my urging pleas that we go back to the cabin. Now.

I shrieked.

My father the crack-shot had forgotten to warn me that he was going to shoot and I was totally oblivious to the fact he might shoot. (I'm just glad he's an excellent shot, for I would hate to ever see a stray bullet hit what it wasn't meant for originally.) Well, I saw her under the trees and, frankly, I felt bad for her. Not liking that I couldn't get behind him, not liking that he was trying to scare a bear off that I was pretty sure would move on of her own volition after I got so close to her cubs, not liking the booming sound, and knowing that supper was pretty well ready, my temper got the better of me and I prodded him all the way home with things like, "What's the matter with you -- that poor -- defenseless -- bear. All she wants to do is protect her cubs and you come along with a gun and try to scare her off. Did you really think she would move? No? Surprise, surprise!" 

We had arrived on the walk outside the cabin. I reached for the door and asked him one last question, "If I had kids and thought my kids were being threatened by some guy do you think, even for a second, that I would ever back down?" 

"No."

"That's right, I wouldn't. She's a Momma and if I were a Momma I'd be the same way -- it's just a matter of common sense."

I whipped the door open, looked at Momma with a puzzled look on my face as my anger left me, and said, "Men."

She nodded sagely after hearing everything that she had missed out on and said, "Men."

Conclusion

Since that day, my family has seen 9 cubs, 3 sows, and my 3 bachelors. While Brutus, Boris, and Chip offer more comic relief than not, I'm glad to have had my run in with the sow. If nothing else, she honed my senses to their previously sharp state and prepared me for the frequent run-ins I have had since that day. Though I know my bears will frequently feature in MUL, I have no clue as to when I will speak of them again. I realize I have provided no advice for handling bears in the wild. The truth is, it's mostly just a matter of common sense.

Love,

Jenny

P.S. If any game wardens and/or fish and wildlife officers read this blog, thank you for the educational programs you provide at schools. I know now just how valuable those programs really are.