Last
night, and this morning, bringing the dog out, I heard some wild creature in
the nearby woods, going to sleep and then waking up, in the neighborhood.
Brought to mind a memory, of a mother bear and her cub, who camped out at night on the back corner of our home, some years back, in Florence.
My kids were 13,14,and 23, The oldest doing that typical thing, moving in and out several times, this time back in with his 19-year-old girlfriend.
It was an unusual house someone had built , the one story main floor quite elevated, so you had a good view of the large surrounding yard, and the column of forest that connected many wild places together. One of the neighbors explained to me that this was a corridor for the movement of wild creatures that had been there for hundreds of years.
My nephew , 14, had recently moved in also, so with two dogs and three cats and 8 rabbits ( I know ) we were experiencing a complex and vibrant full house.
One evening , my youngest asked me to come to the living room window , to listen. Sure enough, we heard what we imagined was a (large) mama bear, conversing with her tiny bear, as they settled down for the night .
Now, Florence is filled with bears. None of us left dogs tied out in bear seasons, were careful with birdseed once bears woke up, and we all grew accustomed to coming across a tiny mama bear each year, who tended towards triplets. Quite a sight, watching three little ones saunter after their mom.
Walking your dogs on the long loop of the old State Hospital, it was not uncommon to come across a big lumbering someone , fishing in the stream or feeding in the woods.
I decided we would use the front door only, which necessitated us all bothering my nephew, whose bedroom was created out of the closed in front porch, with an erected curtain . But what were you going to do?
In the morning early, we'd hear them get up, all those wonderful continual conversations young ones have with parents. We'd go out later, and see the compressed grasses right by the house, where she'd made their bed. And that night, they'd be back, her deep rumbling voice, and the refrain of the tiny one.
They spent nights there for about a week, maybe long enough for the tiny one to grow a bit bigger, then were gone.
My nephew regained his privacy, we lost all that trepidation and excitement and time spent , the 8 of us, listening to the bear bedtime stories . And yes, all the squealing and jumping up and down ended.
As I made dinner and negotiated with adolescents ( you don't have to like it, you just have to DO it) I'd wonder what the bears thought , of our changing smells and human sounds and ways.
After they were gone , I'd sit out by the corridor of trees in the evening, thinking about other lives, other ways of parenting; other ways of coming to, in the world .
Brought to mind a memory, of a mother bear and her cub, who camped out at night on the back corner of our home, some years back, in Florence.
My kids were 13,14,and 23, The oldest doing that typical thing, moving in and out several times, this time back in with his 19-year-old girlfriend.
It was an unusual house someone had built , the one story main floor quite elevated, so you had a good view of the large surrounding yard, and the column of forest that connected many wild places together. One of the neighbors explained to me that this was a corridor for the movement of wild creatures that had been there for hundreds of years.
My nephew , 14, had recently moved in also, so with two dogs and three cats and 8 rabbits ( I know ) we were experiencing a complex and vibrant full house.
One evening , my youngest asked me to come to the living room window , to listen. Sure enough, we heard what we imagined was a (large) mama bear, conversing with her tiny bear, as they settled down for the night .
Now, Florence is filled with bears. None of us left dogs tied out in bear seasons, were careful with birdseed once bears woke up, and we all grew accustomed to coming across a tiny mama bear each year, who tended towards triplets. Quite a sight, watching three little ones saunter after their mom.
Walking your dogs on the long loop of the old State Hospital, it was not uncommon to come across a big lumbering someone , fishing in the stream or feeding in the woods.
I decided we would use the front door only, which necessitated us all bothering my nephew, whose bedroom was created out of the closed in front porch, with an erected curtain . But what were you going to do?
In the morning early, we'd hear them get up, all those wonderful continual conversations young ones have with parents. We'd go out later, and see the compressed grasses right by the house, where she'd made their bed. And that night, they'd be back, her deep rumbling voice, and the refrain of the tiny one.
They spent nights there for about a week, maybe long enough for the tiny one to grow a bit bigger, then were gone.
My nephew regained his privacy, we lost all that trepidation and excitement and time spent , the 8 of us, listening to the bear bedtime stories . And yes, all the squealing and jumping up and down ended.
As I made dinner and negotiated with adolescents ( you don't have to like it, you just have to DO it) I'd wonder what the bears thought , of our changing smells and human sounds and ways.
After they were gone , I'd sit out by the corridor of trees in the evening, thinking about other lives, other ways of parenting; other ways of coming to, in the world .
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