Communing With Critters

As you can maybe see in the pic, our bear visitor was collared

Sometimes I’m torn about using the word remote to describe how we’re living here at Empty Mountain. As in, “we live remotely in the woods.” I mean, the nearest town (population 918 as of 2022) is an easy 10-minute drive away, and we can literally pick up a freshly made pizza there any day of the week, between the hours of 11am and 2am. So remote feels like a bit of a stretch. Still, the closest  connection to the grid of electricity is situated 2-miles down the canyon; we don’t have running water; we’re surrounded by trees almost as far as the imagination can imagine; and the quality of quietude here feels akin to one of the great wonders of the world. In the surroundings of EM, the influence of humans is minimal. But everything is relative. There are certainly way more remote ways to live than what we’ve got going on out here.

In any case, when one lives remotely, in closer proximity to natural wilderness settings, the chance for personal encounters with the locals who live there - AKA the wildlife - are pretty well guaranteed. When living in Missoula, my most frequent animal interactions were with other people’s dogs and our own cats. But in the woods, there is a whole new cast of characters. We have coyotes and deer and elk. We have black bears and rattlesnakes. We have ticks and yellowjackets and flies. And each creature and critter has its own individual code of conduct, and therefore also requires a different method of human approach, when it comes to how best to live together with it.

Just as few days ago, for example, I found the wooden perch we crafted last year, which houses water and seed for the local birds, toppled over. At first I thought maybe it was the wind. But after standing it back up and repairing the damage that resulted from its thud to the ground (and restocking it with fresh seed), I found it toppled back over the next morning. It was then I suspected we might have a black bear on our hands. After the second toppling, we left it down. Later that same day, I was on the porch reading a book in our hanging Sky Chair (living the dream!), when I heard a rummaging sound in the nearby woods that sounded big, but not like a deer. Sure enough it was a black bear. She strolled right to the knocked over perch and sat down to snack on the remnants of the seed on the ground. I’m notoriously bad at guesstimating distances, but I’d say she and I were about 50-feet from one another.

While common practice is to make a startling sound to ward off a black bear, I felt zero threat and 100% delight and intrigue in being able to observe her so closely, so I quietly fetched my digital camera to take video and filmed her visit instead. Human hubris? For sure. But I also think there was more to it than just that. There was a genuine intimacy involved too. A human to bear connection that felt special and untarnished by fear.

I did eventually make some noise to scare her away. I mean, I’m no dummy. I’m aware that having a black bear feel comfortable enough to wander on in close to our cabin in the middle of the day is not ideal. It’s best for everyone - her and us - that she not be drawn close to our homestead. This is all to say that we are no longer putting out seed for the birds, which I don’t mind telling you is a great disappointment. One of my favorite things is watching the birds at the perch. We are still putting water out, but the birds don’t come nearly as often now.

I’m finding it’s easier to see and experience the reality of cause and effect when living in the woods. When you feed the birds you don’t just feed the birds. You also feed the chipmunks on the ground, who reap the rewards of the mess the birds make. Which causes the chipmunk community to proliferate, and become more of a pesky problem than cute rascals you enjoy watching scurry about. Feeding the birds also creates a possible danger situation for the birds, as now they are also being stalked and lunged at by the cat, who loves to sit at the base of the perch and wait for his moment to spring into action. And then, sometimes, feeding the birds calls in a bear. So there’s that.

One thing connects to and leads to another thing. This is because that is, as the Buddha taught. So, sadly, no more bird seed, at least for now. The perch has been standing since we stopped putting out seed, so it seems the black bear is aware the party is over. But maybe no more bird seed will also equate to some of the chipmunks finding other places to dwell and hang that don’t involve our shower house or under or ON our porch (yes, they are now starting to be brazen enough to come on the porch, sometimes even when we’re on it!), which would be good. I mean, for Pete’s sake, we have a cat who loves to chase and kill them and we are still vastly out numbered. Similar to bears, this gal super adores them, but she also wants to enjoy them from a safe distance away. I mean, let’s face it, the cuteness factor of chippies kinda goes out the window when they’re making a destructive ruckus in your living space.