A few years ago when I built my studio on the edge of the Santa Fe Watershed in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, I was visited by two bears, one quite large and one smaller, who were attracted by the seed in my bird feeder. Then, three years ago when I was away for a week, I came back to find that one bear (perhaps the smaller of this pair) had squeezed in through a narrow window, ransacked the refrigerator, pantry, and dog food drawer—she knew just where to go—and departed through the same small window, without finding much to eat. As I cleaned up the mess, I couldn’t help admiring her ingenuity, figuring that the house was empty and finding a way in—and out.
During those early years, my few neighbors were frightened of bears and tended to call on animal services to come and install a huge metal trap. I never saw either bear in the trap, but it must have worked because for several seasons, I saw no bears.
Now we are in another drought. Our streams have dried up, wild berries are gone, and our bears are thirsty. And now—and what immense progress this is!—my neighbors are no longer frightened of our bears. Desperate for water, one big mama visited my closest neighbor’s fountain. He took this footage. We have all learned, I believe, to share our neighborhood and our resources with the creatures who were here long before we built our dream houses.
There are many ways of looking at bears. One of the most radical is contained in my short story, “Bear.”
I hope all my readers have the blessing of some kind of wild creature in their neighborhood, even if it is only a raven.
[The short story “Bear” is now available on my site.]
Enjoyed your story
Love it!