Out from Under the Forest Canopy

“Bear,” yelled Frances, 10:00 pm Friday night. I raced downstairs as she flipped on the deck light. We peered cautiously through the patio door glass … nothing.

Soon a smallish black bear weighing about 200 pounds—probably a yearling—wandered into the light on the south deck. It calmly pressed its body between the deck rails … and disappeared.

How did Frances notice the bear in the darkness? Engaged in her nightly stock market review, she heard an unfamiliar sound at the patio door. Claws scratching? A nose bumping? She glanced up to find a bear staring directly at her.

The tradition in the North Woods is to stop feeding birds throughout the summer months or to commit to a daily ritual. Unwilling to abandon our feathered friends, each morning we carry two bird feeders, two hummingbird feeders, and a pan of corn out of the house. And each evening we haul seeds and feeders back inside. We hope that these huge black robber barons will refrain from including our home in their nightly stops.

When I removed a bird feeder from the deck railing earlier in the evening, I recalled a small pile of sunflower seeds--spillage--that remained. Most likely, that minuscule portion inspired this close encounter.

Suddenly I couldn’t remember whether the goose corn was safely inside for the night. “No,” said Frances. I immediately volunteered to retrieve it. “You will?” she replied with amazement. I quickly donned a headlamp, headed for the basement, pounded on the inside of the basement door, and gently eased the door open. No bear in sight. I grabbed the corn and hurried inside.

Monday afternoon—Memorial Day—Frances, Namaste, and I, were each busily engaged in our individual outdoor projects. Again, Frances sighted a bear. I abandoned my work in the garden as Frances bolted toward Namaste. He is our loyal home security guard and genetically wired to bark ferociously and chase bears up trees. Unfortunately, we’ve heard stories that bears may pick up small dogs, carry them up a tree, and toss them to the ground.

This daytime visitor, probably the same bear from several nights before, slowly ambled through the woods on the south side of our house. Finally it stopped and watched us. Then it continued on, paused, lifted its nose, sniffed. It repeated this behavior as we watched quietly until it turned directly toward us and started to run. Frances yelled, Namaste barked, and the bear halted.

Frances carried a hyper and shaking Namaste inside. Mr. or Ms. Bear continued to watch carefully, still not convinced that it was time to depart. I shouted into the woods, “Bear, you need to leave. This is our house and you are not allowed in our yard. Go!” Without argument, the bear turned and walked quietly away.