I missed the fireworks this past holiday. I was up at my cabin watching a bear.

Not that our cabin is a perpetual National Geographic fest. Aside from the far-too-regular deer, the occasional wild turkeys, and plenty of toads and fire-bright salamanders, our forest is mostly plants. I’d wanted to see a bear for awhile, and had barely missed sighting one as it fled across a field from the farmer’s cows. I didn’t know bears ran from cows. That would comfort me, if I couldn’t picture myself running with them. Cows are big. They have horns. But that’s another blog.

Anyhow, I didn’t miss this bear. During a lazy Independent Afternoon, I walked outside, and a black animal scurried through the brush. I thought it was a big black dog. Then it stopped and started lumbering around. It didn’t move like a dog. Its head was strange and skinny, with a long snout and hardly any chin. The ears were huge and round, almost on the order of a certain super-rodent who just might never enter the public domain. It was several seconds before I realized what it was. Yet another little dream had come true.

I urged my wife to hurry. Bears, I thought, were easily missed. But there’s a shortage of cows and other predators in our wood, and my wife could have taken her time. Our new friend hung out for ten or fifteen minutes.

I had a hazy idea that a fellow wants to avoid getting between the Mother Bear and The Cub. I did a quick scan and saw nothing resembling a worried parent. I was at ease. My wife, however, has received an extensive education from nature shows and Reader’s Digest, and she suggested with unusual emphasis that our place was in the cabin. Rather than scaring me, much, this got me more excited. I got that edge that comes when walking across the top of the monkey bars, that marvelous feeling that is the fount of better art and which often precedes a nasty injury. It always surpises me. I could get demolished. Wow, I am alive.

Fortunately for readers of this blog, as well as any future children of mine that were hoping to exist, we had all the thrill of danger with none of the ill effects. The mother never came, and the cub, who was perhaps more of a teenager anyway, eventually stopped snacking on the egg shells, watermelon rinds, and other dainties that we’ve been tossing at a not-quite-long-enough distance from the cabin. He crawled away without so much as a roar.

Much as I enjoyed the visit, it looks like we’ll have to dispose of our food more carefully. I have now officially Seen A Bear, and I’m not sure I want to invite the rest of the family. Maybe I should get a watchcow.