We’ve had critter encounters, sort of. The phoebe-bug-spider observation. A phoebe, in-flight, drove a bug into one of several webs, then backed off as a giant spider began feverishly winding it. But the bug escaped! The phoebe gave chase, snatched it back flit across to the powerline and swallowed it! I stood at the porch door looking through the screen, watching the web and drama, surprised.
The bear must have come up the driveway. The image, of course, is not of the driveway, but our ragged wildish landscaping.
Earlier Dave was here delivering a cord of wood. A truckload. He dumped it beside the log splitter and got out to talk with R. When friend G. comes up the drive in his 12-year-old Toyota, he gets out and says something like, “Did you know there’s a deer lying on the road blocking the mailbox?” I was up in the house and didn’t hear this, didn’t know.
Evidently jumping from the roadside pucker-brush, it surprised a driver. Spouse and G. came up to say so, and I suggested calling the game warden’s office for its removal but the woodman wanted to drag it to the ditch and they agreed, saying the Maine Wildlife wouldn’t come.
Oh Cassandra me.
Now, the ravens are calling, calling. R. calls me off the porch where I’m sweeping.
“Quick! Get in here!”
We stare out the window. Up comes a yearling black bear through our ragged landscape. Black and silky, turning to look at us through the screen. The bear’s face is all nose, and brownish, much of its face is reddish brown. It waddles off up toward the well, starts nibbling salad greens (May apples) and ambles off, climbing upwards into the woods.
That night, some of the crackers, the shortwave Northeast Cracker Barrel Net, say we could’ve called the game warden or the town crew. And R. agreed, forgetting having nixed my suggestion. Naturally I pointed it out. Later he says it’s a man thing. Poor old Cassandra. She’s still listening to ravens. Calling to one another.
Oh, if only I’d got the bear’s image. The bear was right there!