Time spent out of doors yesterday was a gift from the first mist-filled moment of the day. The slightly cooler temperature and the quality of light were a taste of early Autumn. My body and spirit welcomed the change and the promise of days to come.
In the early afternoon, I took my flower basket and went to the front gardens to tend to the patch of orange and yellow calendula. I sat on the ground in the curve at the southern edge of the garden, deadheading blooms that had gotten past me, harvesting the good ones. The spicy-sweet scent of the blooms filled the air. My fingers became sticky from the resin in the green bracts of the calendula flowers. The sun was warm on my back and a pleasant breeze was blowing through. I was content.
Then I heard my husband call my name. I was so immersed in my work I hadn't noticed him approach the nearby garden arch.
"Sheri," he said in the quiet voice that he uses for only the most amazing announcements.
"There is a bear in a field across the street."
The tone of his voice pulled me to my feet. I looked towards the neighbors' house because it is the site of frequent bear activity. Rhodes saw the direction I was looking and said, "No, over here. In the empty lot, under the trees."
Together we walked to our North fence line, looking for movement or the shadow that is not a shadow. We have hunted bears together for years, but never before at the Cottage. I should have felt thrilled or excited, but instead, I felt as though I were moving towards a holy moment. I knew I was approaching a great mystery.
Just as I reached the fence, the far upper branches of the apple tree in the empty lot began to shake, and I saw a not-so-tiny black shadow figure playing on the branches. Then I saw another shadow in the same tree, and a third moving in the space between the apple tree and the nearby crepe myrtle. I thought this must be the mother and two cubs who passed through our orchard not too long ago. I smiled, delighted to see them.
Then she moved. She sat up out of the tall grass, eyes bright, mouth slightly open. I could see her snout moving as she sniffed the air. I could see her teeth. She was huge; probably 300 pounds of dangerous muscle and beauty, and I couldn't take my eyes off her face. Her coat and the area around her eyes glistened black where the sunlight touched it, but her snout was a soft brownish-tan. Fascinating. Gloriously beautiful. Mesmerizing.
Then she moved again, and the spell was momentarily broken. I realized I was looking at the momma bear with three cubs, and she was checking to see what they were up to. I had been so focused on her that I hadn't heard the ruckus the cubs were making as they played. They were climbing up and then tumbling out of the apple tree, calling back and forth to each other with voices that sounded like baby goats talking. One of them would scamper off to murdalize* some saplings, then come bounding back to tackle a sibling.
Round and round they went, while their momma rested beneath the apple tree, 30 yards away from me. We were separated by two fences, a road, tall grass and brush, and that distance, and I could still feel the power of her presence.
I know she could smell and hear us, but she did not seem to think we were a threat to her babies or to her. Had she given any indication that our presence disturbed her, we would have moved away. That is the golden rule of wildlife encounters, and we do not break that rule.
I lost track of time while watching her and the cubs. What an indescribably amazing gift, to be able to observe them so clearly. We used to spend days adventuring in places like Cades Cove, hoping to have such encounters. And here it was, happening right at home. Neither the cubs nor momma bear were ever still. She would recline, then sit back up, looking around and sniffing the air.
At one point I moved just as Rhodes spoke to me, and she turned to look directly at us again. Our eyes met for an instant. Two momma bears, acknowledging each other from worlds apart. For this momma bear, the mystery was deepened. I don't believe the connection meant as much to her.
Not long after that, she stood up and stretched. Her cubs had wandered off and were squawling, and she was ready to go and find them. I watched as she ambled away, seemingly in no hurry.
She was magnificent.
I was blessed.
*Acknowledgment to the good folks at Appalachian Bear Rescue for coining the word, "murdalize" to describe how cubs treat saplings. You can learn more about ABR's important work here: https://appalachianbearrescue.org/
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