...and bears, oh my

We're in Colorado at the moment, at a place called "Crested Butte" (or, as my kids delight in calling it, "Crusty Butt"). We are staying at a magnificent lodge, owned by a wonderful man and his wife who share their "fun place" with missionaries (which my parents are and have been for 33 years; I get the perk of being their kid and getting to go with them on these trips, and bonus! I get to bring my husband and kids, too). It is primo-awesome--secluded, surrounded by mountains, forests, and the most sparkling river you've ever seen. (No drinking the river, though, no matter HOW sparkling it is--can we say, "giardia," children? That's the REAL name of "spring waters.")

The mountains, still capped with winter snow, are visible in the distance, yet the summer fields are awash with wildflowers, a riot of color: purple lupine chase sage brush and mountain bluebells around the hills; aspen, with its coin-like leaves and snowy bark holds hands with the grey-green Douglas fir. It is hard to do anything here other than gasp continually, "God. Is. Amazing." The creativity he has--one needs only to look down at the thousands of varieties of flippin' grass to be overwhelmed by his imagination. Staggering beauty, insane solitude--medicine for the soul. Allow me to lapse for a moment into a rousing solo chorus of "What a Mighty God We Serve..." (Singing, singing, singing--okay, I'm back.)

We spent the first day hiking around, looking for wildlife--specifically, bear. We were told by the owner to make sure that we kept the garbage locked in the house and not to grill outside because black bears were populous this year. That prompted us, of course, to wish and want to see a bear in the wild more than anything. On our oh-so-rigorous hike that morning (there is NO OXYGEN at this altitude!), we saw a deer and some chipmunks, but alas, no bear. We did see what we thought was a bear track, down by a pond, and we saw some very suspicious poo (what we mountain folk like to call, "spoor"), but no bear. "Oh well," we consoled ourselves, "there is always tomorrow . . ."

We rested all the rest of the day--heavenly naps. long reads with good books--delicious time-wasting rest. After a good ol' Southern supper of fried steak, mashed potatoes, biscuits, and salad, followed by chocolate cake with lemon icing, I got up to fix myself some coffee and happened to glance out the kitchen window. And this is what I saw:


I don't know if it was because I had had bear on the brain all day, or what, but at first, I could not process what I was seeing. I simply stammered quietly, "That's a bear." Then, as my brain caught up with my eyes, I said, a bit louder, "That's a BEAR." Finally, giving the sight I was seeing the excitement it warranted, I shouted, "THAT'S A BEAR!!" There it was--a black bear, casually lumbering right past the window, big as life, pretty as you please. My family rushed to the window to look, ooh-ed and ahh-ed, then noticed it was making its way up the porch.


My husband, for reasons I'm still trying to figure out, started to open the door (he says to shoo it from the house, but I think it was just because that's what he likes to do--face bears whilst snapping pictures--macho punk) and startled it. It ran around the house, and we followed from the safety of the inside, going to the back deck. We stepped outside (keeping one hand firmly gripped on the door handle in case we needed to flee) where we watched it stop, sniff the air and stare at us, then stroll casually back into the woods.

Whew. Mohammed say, "If Bleu won't go to bear, bear will come to Bleu." That was him that said that, wasn't it? Or was he the one who said, "Does a bear crap in the woods?" I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure he said SOMETHING about a bear one time. And the answer to his question is yes, they do crap in the woods, though we newly transplanted mountain folk like to call it "spoor." I've seen it with my own two eyes.

A bear, my first day here. Ooh, I can't wait to find out what I'll see tomorrow.