He sits on top of my cupboard just staring into space a layer of dust covering his body a slight smile upon his face. But I tend to think if he were real he'd be out chasing bees eating ants and berries and climbing large pine trees. He'd be swimming in Lake Pend Oreille stealing apples from our trees catching trout in the creeks taking naps whenever he pleased. But his jointed body never moves no one ever plays with him...
Annie married a city fellow. She told her husband about kinfolk in Tennessee. She wanted them to meet.After their wedding, they set off to drive down. They went through the Great Smoky Mountains. Cars were stopped for a black bear on the road.Annie’s husband urged her to get out and get as close as possible for a photo. Annie stood in front of the bear, cute little purse over her arm. Her husband said, "Back up. A bit m...
The Wind River Range in western Wyoming is a backpacker’s paradise. Six hundred miles of trails through rugged wilderness provide access to granite peaks, glaciers, clear lakes, rushing streams, and flower-filled meadows. I became hooked on the Wind River Range the first time I saw it. After that, a backpacking trip to those mountains became an annual event in my life. Just like Christmas and the Fourth of July. But...
I should write a poem,So a poem I shall write, Though, actually, I don't feel too bright,So maybe I'll just take a flight.A flight to where?Now, that's a bugbear!I'll go to where I can hug a bear. I should watch out,Lest I get julienned,Or for me, it shall be the end.
Eloise, my mom, milked cows for a round faced dairy farmer named Bob Krump. He was having a bad year. There was a pile of black and white calves freezing near the corner of an unused corral. A few bears had been coming from the gray brush behind the house to eat calves. They had started reaching over the pens and helping themselves to live calves. They had knocked down part of the barbed wire fence in the misty grey brush...
My Grandpa is a little Native American man. He flyfishes and has a wicker kreel and waders. He was fishing in the Jocko River. A black bear came down the trail and stopped and sniffed one of my grandfather's footprints. The bear spent a lot of time sniffing the track. Then he moved to the next footprint and sniffed it for a few minutes. Grandpa gathered up his gear quietly. The bear moved to another track, and sniffed and...
