MARCH 1, 2001
of a FLATLANDER
wife, Mary, and I moved to this area some 50 years ago we
rented an old farm house not far from where we live now.
The house came with a mature small orchard in the yard.
There were no indoor conveniences, so by the orchard was
September came and the old orchard started to attract the
amimals. Jays took a chunk out of an apple here and there
until the sparrow hawks chased them off. Cows and their
calves that had been ranging free all summer were led by
the experienced elders among them to our yard for the
apples; and our garden.
At night the bears came. Old bears and young bears.
Judging from the piles of bear droppings, we must have
had every bear for miles around in the yard every night
when it came time to make the last trip of the day to the
outhouse by the orchard.
Mary solved our problem neatly one night when she opened
the door, stood on the step for a second and then yelled,
"Get out of here, bears!" Crashing and heavy
thuds came from the orchard along with splitting sounds
as bears tumbled over and through the rail fence. Later,
in bed with the window open, we could hear them sneaking
back to finish their meals. It became a nightly ritual.
"Get out of here, bears," the sounds of bears
retreating in panic and Mary and I crunching through the
leaves to the little house behind the house.
Lost Hollow Road
Copyright 2000 Claude Dern, All
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