For a time, I lived near 10,000 acres of national forest on land adjoining an organic farm owned by a friend. Back then, my friend traveled a great deal for work and, as he was setting off for one of these trips, we met by chance on our shared driveway. After a few neighborly words, I asked if I could do anything for him while he was gone, and he said, “Just keep an eye on my family.”
Now, I’m a Capricorn, a highly responsible human, and this can be a double-edged sword. I take requests (and life) seriously—a little too seriously, a few former girlfriends have said. But try as I might to lighten up, I’ve learned to accept that I am who I am. When a neighbor casually suggests I watch out for his family, protecting his loved ones becomes my main mission in life.
The very first night my friend was away—just as dusk descended upon the land and frogs began to peep—I stepped onto my porch to enjoy their wondrous sounds. And that’s when, in the distance, I got my first glimpse of what I immediately took to be a dangerous-looking bear. Hallelujah! I thought. A chance to serve and protect my friend’s family the very first night!
This wasn’t just any bear, though. This was an obviously mischievous bear who was lurking near my friend’s honeybee hives with awful intentions. I didn’t have much experience with bears at the time, hadn’t yet read any helpful tips for how humans should behave or stay safe around bears. From what I could see, this bear appeared to be about as big as bears get where we live, and one thing seemed clear: Once this monstrous bear destroyed the beehives and gorged on the honey, he’d storm into my neighbors’ home with his big gooey paws and cause further mayhem. What choice did I have but to (very bravely) take action to save my friend’s wife and son? “Go away, bear!” I called out. “Get away from there, bear!” I yelled as I raised my fists high and gave a mighty ROAR!
Yell as I might, that dang bad bear wouldn’t budge. Even after three boisterous roars, he sat immobile like a king on his throne. With each roar, I raised my fists higher, my voice louder (while also hoping I wouldn’t disturb my friend’s wife and child). But that dang mangy bear sat there like an immovable statue or rock. As my ursine foe sat there unfazed with stoic patience, I wondered, Is he mocking me, or trying to teach me some sort of lesson?
“Are you a bear or the Buddha?” I yelled at the stubborn beast, but no response, nada. I mean: That. Bear. Wouldn’t. Move.
I suppose I might have yelled a fourth time, but by now I feared losing my voice. I couldn’t risk getting hoarse because, once the real battle between man and bear ensued, I’d need my voice to call for help. So I decided to outsmart that awful bear by playing it cool and faking him out. And so I did what any self-respecting brave human would do: I went into my lair and poured a stiff drink.
A few minutes later, I returned to the porch, highball in hand, hoping that my massive invader might have skedaddled. But alas, that bad news bear was still there.
Lately, I’ve noticed that our bear population seems to be growing at a faster-than-normal rate. Maybe it’s because housing developments have wiped out large swaths of habitat. Or maybe it’s because newcomers who know nothing of bears leave out smelly, enticing food scraps with trash. All year, I’ve been hearing more and more stories about brazen bears lounging around people’s yards, breaking into cars, or parading past tipsy tourists who tempt fate by taking selfies near them. Recently, some fools in my town even made headlines when they got caught on camera clutching a traumatized cub they’d snatched from a tree. While it’s head-scratching and enraging to see folks confuse wild animals with Disney animations, I must admit that back when this story took place, I didn’t know much about bears.
But at the time, I was so worried about that bear harming my neighbor’s family that I didn’t sleep very well. In fitful dreams, dozens of big hungry bears traipsed onto my porch and broke into my home. Massive hairy invaders transformed my monkish lair into a musky bear lodge, and I awoke from that night’s final nightmare just as the biggest hungriest bear (the ringleader, I guess) was about to take my relatively small head into his gigantic open mouth…
I rushed to the porch before sunrise the morning after the bear encounter without making coffee. I didn’t need it. I was sleep deprived but hyped on adrenaline and eager to scan the land for the beast. It was still dark. I couldn’t see much, so I leaned over my porch railing, thinking that getting a little closer might help. I was very brave, I tell you. Even Marlin Perkins from the old Wild Kingdom TV show would have been impressed by what I did next. Because I couldn’t see whether or not the bear was still there, I crept off the porch to sidle a few feet nearer the bear. Okay, so I don’t know whether this was brave or just stupid. If the latter, I suppose I could blame my stupidity on not having had coffee to help think things through. In hindsight, I know I could have waited till the sun was fully risen. Despite being a Capricorn, I’m sometimes an impetuous fool. My rash and possibly stupid act that day stemmed from my overly responsible worry that the bear might be injured and in need of help—though, if so, I wouldn’t have known what to do.
In the years since my risky encounter, I’ve learned a fair amount about bears. I know that it’s dangerous to be anywhere near sows when cubs are near; I know the dangers of getting near boars when they’re eating or mating. And I know not to wear a meat necklace when I take a nap in my hammock.
But on this day (back before I got myself educated), I crept nearer to get a closer look at the bear that I feared might be injured. I very bravely—bravely, I tell you!—inched closer to the bee hives and still could not quite make out the bear and so wasn’t sure what was going on and so (bravely, I tell you) kept creeping closer until I was maybe twenty-five feet away from what I’d convinced myself was a large injured bear but was in fact…a large and healthy blueberry bush!
Oh, sweet relief! How joyful I felt to be alive and to be me!
How glad I was not to have called a wildlife expert or panicked my neighbor’s peace-loving family during the night. What a lune they might have believed me to be. For the longest time, I vowed never to tell this story for fear of being considered as foolish as people who get caught on camera pulling young cubs from trees. But as both human and bear populations continue to grow and natural habitats shrink, I now feel compelled to urge any and all who venture into our mountains to learn a bit more about the wildlife they come here to see. I hope that others will take it upon themselves to learn a thing or two about bears as I have set out to do since that fateful night years ago.
But by golly, I’m happy to report that I held up my end of the bargain. I protected the hell out of my neighbor’s loved ones. That big old berry bush wasn’t gonna get anywhere near his wife and child.
Cover photo by the author.
