Residents see bears coming and going as though they live right here in our neighborhood, which I’m sure they do. I’m fine with not having made their acquaintance, and I don’t begrudge them their real estate. I like that they’re not intimidated by human development.
Having said this, I hope our neighborly bears don’t begrudge me my bit of Paradise. I wouldn’t want them coveting my little hillside. I sometimes wonder what I’d do if they decided to drop in on me.
On a quiet day when I’m on my knees in the garden, busily yanking out weeds, I wonder if a bear will wander up to visit with me. Should I offer her a cup of tea, or should I, instead, point her toward the blueberry bush and invite her to help herself? Or perhaps I should just go with my gut, and hightail it for the back door while screaming bloody murder. Truthfully, I’d probably be rooted in place, my heart melting into the ground beneath my feet.
In fact, that did occur the first and last time I ever encountered a black bear.
I had just left my daughter at Banff Center for the Arts at the foot of the Canadian Rocky Mountains. She was participating in their month-long, summer dance program. We had taxied to the institute with her luggage, and I was walking back to my hotel. Someone suggested I take the shortcut, rather than the longer route through town. Not being an outdoorsy person, I didn’t think there would be wild critters lurking nearby.
Finding my way past buildings toward some overgrown shrubs, I started down a wooden staircase. From out of nowhere came screams aimed in my general direction. Peering up toward the road that led into town, I could barely make out the figures through the hillside of trees separating us. Moreover, I couldn’t tell what it was they were saying. Assuming they weren’t calling to me, I continued on my way.
Rounding the last tall shrub, I looked down before taking the next step. When I looked up, my eyes locked on a behemoth sitting on the path ahead of me.
The humongous bear seemed to be sizing me up. However, it was soon obvious that he was looking in the direction of the screams. He may have been trying to discern the distance he’d have to hoof it to his next meal, and if he could get there before it evaporated.
I froze, lowered my eyes and prepared to be gone in one gulp. Some agonizing minutes later, realizing I was still alive I turned on my heel and immediately bumped into a guy. I muttered something about the bear, wondering what we should do. Seemingly unfazed by my panic-stricken state, he pressed forward.
I looked for someone to call out the dogs. As if on cue, a policeman drove up. After spilling my guts, I went in search of civilization — and bear bells.
Hallelujah! Ring-a-them bells!
Millie Vierra lives in Issaquah.
