Bear necessities

Everyone has been talking about bears. And by everyone, I mean people I know, or barely know, or am related to. Also the people I know of who post “helpful” advice to neighborhood busybody sites such as NextDoor. 

It's a little bit dizzying, frankly, 

For some people, the bear is an unconventionally attractive actor (I'd say Young Frankenstein-esqe) who plays a talented but tortured chef trying to upgrade his family eatery from dingy to destinate, and owing much of the success to the dedication of his beleaguered staff. 

For others - especially in suburbia - the bear we’re all discussing is Ursus americanus americanus: the black bear so nice they named it twice. 

For my husband, the bear is a phantom, a nighttime visitor who sets off the dog in the wee morning hours and leaves behind a multi-textured “gift” center driveway. 

I can't tell you how many people I've met at the coffee shop who have handed over a cell phone to show a disbelieving audience some blurry first-hand evidence.

My husband is one.

Still, I marvel at the population that seems to have ballooned in recent years. 

The bears must have had a few good winters since the virtual pushpins of area sightings keep multiplying on interactive maps. Click on one, and a whole Wikipedia-style entry, complete with pictures and anecdotal notes, pops up. 

“Wow! That's a big one! Did he take down your bird feeder? Crazy!”

A part of me judges, of course. What do wildlife experts have to do? Come to your house personally and impound your feeders?

Honestly, though, I feel slight pangs of jealousy as I scroll through my photos. There's little there to excite the coffee klatch. A dog snoozing on a sunny patch of floor. A meal that looked pretty. A series of selfies I have caught and released. 

There are no bears of any kind, not even of the Teddy variety. Which momentarily makes me sad. 

The closest I've come to a coveted sighting was a bear behind waddling into the woods over a country road. I almost missed it because my attention was focused on the car ahead that had come to a screeching halt. 

I considered taking a picture of the Adirondack-themed dish towel that seemingly appeared out of nowhere and is slung askew from the handle of the oven door. The only black bear I could document is appliquéd to its front. 

But I know I should be careful what I wish for. 

I've heard the stories from camping enthusiasts in bear country and how these hungry animals eventually thwart our best attempts to keep them from feasting on our provisions. 

And how conventional wisdom has gone from "hang the food in a bag from a tree," to "keep it in a bear box," to "leave it in a locked car," to " leave the vittles at home and just hike on through."

It won't be a good thing for any of us to live with bears. It's one thing to substitute your bird feeder for a bird bath and quite another to take out all the fruit trees and wall your house off with impenetrable cement. 

The bears will find their necessities.