I’ve seen images of bears appreciating views of nature. Videos, too. In an example of the former, a bear is on the side of the road resting its forepaws against a barrier looking out at a wooded valley. The viewpoint is too high to spot any prey, plus its body language is at ease. The weather is pleasant, the sky clear, and it’s a perfect day for tourists to pull over and admire the view: “SCENIC OVERLOOK 1000 FEET” — only that when they slow down, they find that a freaking bear has already beaten them to it.
That was the photo. As for the video that comes to mind, it involves a hot tub, which is something I can relate to.
In this one, from Instagram or TikTok, a man records a bear lumbering onto his backyard deck. The man is at a loss, dumbfounded, but still able to describe the obvious: “WTF! No way! A bear is on my deck right now! Are you guys seeing this?!” Clumps of snow are scattered around the deck. Steam visibly rises off the water. The view, like in the photo described above, is nothing but majestic. It opens up to wilderness and tall trees, undisturbed Nature, with a mountain in the not-so-far distance. It is nearing sunset. The clouds hang like a blanket of haze and the sky is a purplish orange. Altogether, the scenery is beautiful, and it’s the perfect time for hot tubbing.
(Disclaimer: These descriptions are how I remember the photo and the video, so if you find the actual footage and it’s not entirely accurate, I don’t care.)
Next, the bear moseys up a few steps and proceeds to climb into the hot tub and take a seat, his massive bulk almost too big to fit. Water splashes over the sides in a torrent onto the deck as he submerges. He gets comfortable, wiggling his giant bottom onto the seat, and begins gazing out towards the sublime before him. He pays no attention to the man losing his shit in the kitchen on the other side of the sliding glass door. Has the bear relaxed in a hot tub before? Perhaps at a hot spring?
To me, though, it’s not very far-fetched. At the San Diego Zoo with my wife and son, who was maybe four at the time and able to walk throughout the giant park with us pretty much the entire time, we stopped to awe at a sun bear. This was towards the end of our visit. The weather was hot and cloudless and we’d been on our feet for nearly 8 hours. In so many words, we were spent, ready to get back to our Airbnb and crank up the air conditioning. So it didn’t take much for our jealousy to kick in when we saw this sun bear chillin’ in a hammock suspended between a couple trees inside his enclosure enjoying the peace of his surroundings. He was kicking back, swaying right in front of an industrial fan blowing mist in his direction. All this guy needed was a fruity cold beverage with an umbrella and a long straw in a hollowed out coconut. The bear was enjoying life, that’s for certain, living better than most of us, especially on a day like it was. He was doing what the bear on “Grizzy & the Lemmings” tries to do on every episode.
A year or two later I read an article in The New Yorker about bears in our culture and how, besides apes and chimps, they are our closest relatives.
Now the bears’ appreciation of nature made more sense. If you read article, you’ll learn that bears have always hung out around humans. So much so that they even come into our homes and backyards as if we’d invited them over in the past and they keep taking advantage of the invitation. According to the article, this is why we have the tales of Goldilocks, the Berenstain Bears, Care Bears, Grizzy & the Lemmings and all that. You don’t see many shows or read stories about chimp families living like humans in houses, even though they are our closest relatives. In this light, I now appreciate a bear’s mind more than I had.
In summertime, like it is at the time of my writing this, I try to get outside on our back deck after the sun has come up but is still climbing behind the cedars. Facing east, the sky is pale and the ground is damp from the air dropping below the dew point overnight, making everything hidden from the reach of the obstructed sun still in nighttime. The birds chirp and the black coffee in my mug steams into the air, not unlike hot tub water. Off to my left, over a few blocks somewhere, a rooster crows. Maybe I hear an owl. Maybe one of the security cameras captures a coyote trotting by, disappearing off camera. Someplace above, a family of raccoons is settled in their nest high up where I can’t see them, safe among the limbs of the cedar where they left their seedy droppings at its base. It is quiet, before common courtesy allows the use of lawnmowers, weed whackers and power tools. Even I have yard work to do. But for now, I enjoy the cool clean air of the PNW and the pale blue hour before another hot day begins with another mild night following it, when the sun won’t set until after nine o’clock. Some mornings I have to wear a jacket, my WWII brown leather goat skin bomber, my staple in the spring, summer and early fall. It will last me the rest of my life, and beyond, like these mornings, the scenery and, hopefully, the trees, the house and the wooded environs.
I think of the bear at these times. I feel a comradery with him, as if he could join me in the silence — staying off the patio furniture, of course — and just admire the peacefulness of the scene. In particular, I think of a male bear, a nomad, a wanderer, not burdened by a pack of cubs, waiting for no one’s permission, untethered, left to explore, relax, hunt, eat and rest, exuding his maleness. But I have a family. I have to make it a point to wake up early on weekends to get outside with my coffee to enjoy the quiet solitude, sneaking around the house while my wife and son are still asleep. This is not much different than my writing time, in this sense, but also in another sense. Both are moments when I connect with something that happens all on its own, the process of creation and the appreciation of its nature. The bear just does what is natural, going about its way, making its home among us. And my words flow of their own accord. But the lens of those summer mornings and the fresh ink on paper before dawn, capturing the voice in my head, I know, and know to appreciate, must be part of the natural flow of life, the pace that moves steadily, though broken up with respites for those who have or can make the time for it — those bear moments.