“It’s beautiful today. Beautiful! Beautiful! Beautiful!” I say these words aloud to myself—and anyone who’ll listen—as I walk out the patio door to hang the bird feeders. It’s 6:45 a.m., 48 degrees. Sunlight dapples the ground and fills the sky. A slight breeze flickers through the leaves and tosses them lightly....
The middle of the woods is a wonderful dwelling place for an introvert. You can do things like that ... talk to yourself and nature in a loud—sometimes screaming loud—voice. I’d never utter a word in the middle of a city neighborhood but here, where I’m safe in the quiet with 25 acres to surround me, I talk aloud to myself.
I tend to think that my woodland neighbors—birds, bears, wolves, coyotes, squirrels, et al.—listen to my spontaneous comments with appreciation. Words of praise are a welcome event in a neighborhood that grows smaller, its backyards, front yards, side yards gradually dissipating through development and logging operations. Humans wonder why bear or other wild creatures occasionally attack us. Hmmm. How would you react if your bedroom, dining room, or backyard was being taken over by an uninvited stranger? Would you gladly give up your home thinking that you could easily find another house further down the road?
I’m often surprised by the number of people—both locals and tourists—who fear the bear who inhabit these forests. Last week Frances heard a rustling in the woods across the driveway from where she quietly worked. She paused, glanced toward the noise, saw nothing, and resumed her occupation. Soon she heard more rustling. Another glance revealed bear feet (yes, I said bear feet, not bare feet) dangling from a tree across the way. A small bear bounced up and down, struggling to reach higher branches. It appeared to be eating ... something. We investigated the next day and found the tree, berries hanging high overhead.
This morning Frances went for an early morning walk. When she returned, she offered another bear story. This small bear--probably the same one from several weeks ago--was eating berries from the wild raspberry bushes that line our drive. Not aware of Frances’ approach, the bear heard her cough and was gone....
Like I said, “It’s beautiful here. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.”
Showing posts with label black bears. Show all posts
Showing posts with label black bears. Show all posts
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
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.
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.
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