Bearly

It was Saturday morning and the world was bright and beautiful. Laurie and I had spent the night on the mountain, and I felt as if my batteries were being recharged by the golden light of the rising sun. I was sitting at the picnic table in front of “The Shack,” which is our little Tough Shed shanty that rests on the edge of a grassy field on the northeast slope of Blue Mountain. I had just returned from walking Laurie back to our van that was parked on the dirt road at the top of the property. She was in a hurry to get back to work. Laurie lives for yard work and is not truly happy unless her hands are in the dirt or trying to tame untamed vegetation. Steve and our fabulous staff were tending to business in Bluff, so I had the day off.

Sitting there happily, I munched on venison and a Bisquick biscuit left-over from dinner the night before. I was loving life. An Abert squirrel poked his head out of the woodpile and watched me carefully. He was looking for the unsalted peanuts I always leave behind. The nuts are for the guilt I harbor from having kicked him and his super-sized stash of acorns out of the shack before renovating it. I contemplated the creature, thinking of the Navajo legend of Changing Bear Maiden and how Squirrel played a role in that affair. As one is meant to do, I thought about the meaning behind the metaphorical tale. In a nutshell, the myth speaks of how even the most gifted and beautiful of beings can be tempted by the dark side and turned into something hated and miserable. The saving grace, and there is always a saving grace, is that life is an evolving spiral of understanding, and from the ashes of such a crash-and-burn comes new and precious fruit and knowledge. 

Having finished my breakfast, I decided to walk the property, look and listen for wildlife, and appreciate the trees. There are some massive and amazing pine, maple, and oak trees on the place which I find impressive, interesting and appealing. Since I was not going far, I left my backpack behind so I could move about more freely. A Red-Tailed Hawk screamed at me from the heights of a nearby aspen as I walked near its nest. I could see a fledgling watching and waiting for its parents in the tangled mass as I walked underneath. I looked for a prayer feather in the debris below their perch, but found nothing more than the down of a turkey.

Making my way to the lower east side of the property, I found a giant pine tree with branches near enough to the ground to get a grip on and haul myself up. It seems those step-ups need to be lower and easier to reach each year. The limbs allowed me to get a good 20’ into the tree, where I found a crotch with few enough branches to look out over the oak brush and see into the open spaces. I was enjoying the view when I felt something come over me. Tiny black pizz ants were climbing my trunk and biting me fiercely. I was rudely reminded of the Navajo emergence myth and how the ants of different colors had played an essential role in the Upward Moving Way and the final ascension of the original beings through the reed. In short order, I was covered in the miniature vermin, and the air was becoming pungent from the acidic odor they emit upon being squashed.

Hurriedly descending from my own emergence, I wandered off, scratching, swatting, and picking at my hair and eyelashes. Those little buggers had covered a lot of my personal space in a very short time. As I walked and itched, I noticed a small group of heifers gathered around the trunk of a big, old tree with much character. The age-old pine had limbs low enough to the ground to tempt me into the sky world once more. I walked up to the group talking calmly as I came, “Hey girls, what’s happening with you?” Just then I realized there was something else up that tree. I moved in closer and leaned around to see what it might be, thinking there was a porcupine among the branches. A chill ran up my spine as I realized this was no porcupine, it was a black bear cub. “Oh crap!” or something like that, escaped my lips as I began to back away and look franticly around for Mama Pajama.

Every hiker knows or should know, that coming upon a black bear cub means there is a high likelihood a mad sow is near at hand. I tried to blend in with the cows thinking they might allow a bit of protection, but they were not interested in adopting me at the moment. If an angry mother bear was about, I would be more than willing to grab onto one of their crusty tails in order to attempt a quick get-away. I admit it. I was scared and not interested in being the last one standing around scratching himself or bear wrestling if the scat hit the trail and fur began to fly.  I backed toward the small herd, and they backed away from me, whereupon the cub saw an opening. It hurriedly maneuvered itself around, dropped to the ground, and began a sprint. The cows and I turned and ran in one direction and the cub in the other. Lucky for me, no mean momma made an appearance.

Anxious to put some distance between me and the bear tree, I quickly started walking back toward the shack. As I went, the thunder began to roll and the lightning strike. From when and where this storm had blown in, I did not know. Much like the Navajo and the great flood, I was not intending on getting caught up in the storm surge. Lightning was striking all ‘round, near enough that I could feel static electricity in the air. “Great!” I said to myself, “first ants, then bears, and now lightning is about to fry my bacon.” I made it back to the shack just before the heavens opened and the rain came down. As I laid back on the comfortable cot, closed my eyes, and listened to the water droplets hit the tin roof, I thought to myself, “Not a bad day thus far, not bad at all. When the rain stops, I will go back and see what new adventures are out there. This time though, I am taking bear spray!”