You are a bear. You live in the forest. The forest is a dangerous and angry and sometimes very violent place filled with pointy sticks, upset birds, vengeful bugs, and deer. It is your home, though, so it is up to you to know how to live there. It is up to you to find tranquility and ever-changing storm of chaos and raccoons.
What actions, thoughts, and uncontrollable variables determine how safe you feel? It is your job, as a bear in the forest, to find out.
Not all birds are nice. I am sorry if this is a controversial statement, but after much consideration, I have come to the conclusion that not every avian creature has my best interest at heart. In fact, some birds are downright malicious toward me for reasons I have not yet discovered.
The first bit of evidence to support my claim presented itself quite awhile ago. I was sitting under a tree branch outside my cave, enjoying the cool shade and thinking about things I like to think about when I hide from the sun’s heat (being a bear, the migration of squirrels, do squirrels migrate?, wait, what is migration?), when a hawk (at least, I think it was a hawk) swooped down and thrusted its sharp feet at my face.
Why did the bird (I am pretty sure it was a hawk) do this? Had I insulted it? Was there food beneath me and the bird wanted me to move? Was the hawk disappointed with my lack of knowledge regarding squirrel migration? Can birds read my thoughts?
There was no way for me to know. The hawk fled away as quickly as it had swooped in. At the time, I wrote the encounter off as a misunderstanding. Perhaps birds spend so much time in the air, they forget how things that live on the ground (me) do not enjoy being swooped upon.
But a similar encounter happened just last night. Another bird (probably a hawk again) swooped down into my cave as I slept and spent the night screeching at me. I had not invited the hawk in nor had I asked for some sort of horrible wake-up call. The hawk had simply taken it upon itself to come into my home and yell at me until I left my own cave. At first I thought maybe there was some sort of ownership dispute regarding my cave, but I then remembered that birds (especially hawks) do not live in caves. Also, it was definitely my cave, I am sure of that.
I stormed back into MY cave and demanded that the hawk leave. After some more screeching, clawing and flapping, the hawk fled.
I did not sleep the rest of the night. The whole incident was just too unpleasant. Instead, I decided to lay in the mouth of my cave, eat the eggs I keep finding in the tree by my cave, and watch for more malicious, unprovoked avian attackers.
I am sorry for whatever I did (if anything at all). I just wish all birds were nice, but so many of them do not seem to be.
If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?
For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com
You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.
During a rather exhausting yet fruitful dumpster excavation I discovered not one, but two, discarded loaves of stale bread that I had never come across before. Eager to taste my findings, I raced back to my cave with both loaves, still in their plastic sleeves, dangling from my mouth. Their stale ends bounced off one another like bells as I trotted through the forest. The crinkly sound their bouncing produced made me quite happy. I would have smiled if I were not so fearful to lose my bounty.
Once in my cave, I placed each loaf at separate sides of the flat rock surface I sleep on. I sat between the loaves and sniffed each one, trying to decide which to try first. The loaf to my left smelled of seeds and mold. The loaf to my right smelled of pumpkin and dumpster juice. Both were so enticing. Both were wonderful candidates for consumption.
I was torn.
Which loaf deserved to be eaten first?
What if the first loaf I tried was so delicious that no other loaf could compare? Perhaps the second loaf would be disappointing. What if neither were tasty? Or worse yet, what if both were equally enjoyable leaving me satisfied for a short time but yearning for either to have once again?
A torrent of dreadful thoughts filled my head. There could be no way of knowing how to proceed. The lack of conviction I felt made my heart sink.
These loaves. These two potentially wonderful (or disgusting) loaves of bread haunted the very nature of my being.
I needed to properly ponder my dilemma. A nap was in order.
I sprawled out on my back between the loaves and tried my best to drift off to sleep, but the loaves would not let me rest. I knew they were there, waiting. They were waiting for me to decide.
I rolled over on my left side. The exotic aroma of moisture and seeds from plants I had never encountered filled my nostrils. My mouth watered. I reached for the loaf but stopped paw inches from the loaf. I wanted to tear open its wrapping and clamp my maw around its crust.
No. Not yet. I was not ready.
I flipped to my right side. The other loaf’s intoxicating smell tormented me no less. The familiar scent of pumpkins and sickly sweet liquid found in all fine trash receptacles beckoned me. It took every ounce of strength not to abscond with the second loaf and eat it behind the acorn tree near my cave, away from the prying eyes (seeds?) of the first loaf.
These dueling breads played their cruel game for far too long. There was no rest to be had.
I had to make a choice.
I told the breads I was going out for some fresh air. I asked if either loaf needed anything.
Neither responded, but they seemed content.
I wandered out into the forest and came to a sunny clearing. The foliage swayed gently in the breeze. Other woodland creatures chirped and croaked and tweeted around me. The world seemed at peace. I wish I could have been part of that world in that moment.
A robin landed on the ground beside me. It bobbed its tiny head up and down, hunting and pecking for morsels of food. It would snap up something in its beak and immediately drop it if the findings were unsatisfactory. There was a utilitarian rhythm to robin’s method that made me envious. After several rejections, the robin found a rotten berry and swallowed it down. But the tiny bird was far from satisfied. It snapped up a blade of grass and gulped it down without reservation. Next it ate a dried up worm followed by the meat of a cracked acorn. The robin did not discriminate as harshly as I had believed. If there was something the bird found pleasing to its palette (do birds have tongues?), that morsel would be swiftly eaten.
I realized I was being foolish. As a bear, I consider most things a food source. Just because the loaves back at my cave were new to me, didn’t make them anything necessarily special. They were food, plain and simple.
My choice had been made: I would eat both loaves. Perhaps even at the same time.
I thanked the robin and headed back to my cave.
When I arrived, both loaves were gone, most likely spirited away by some invasive forest creature (probably a raccoon and/or six muskrats). I was silly to think they would be safe unattended. They were too delicious for this world.
I was breadless. I had let them slip through my paws. But perhaps, I didn’t deserve such wonderful bread.
I ate some sticks instead. They were good. Just not bread good.
If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?
For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com
You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.
The forest is insanely, chaotically, erratically dangerous. There are so many things that can eat you. So many things that can burn you. So many things that can make horrible screeching sounds at you. So many things that might mock you just because you accidentally tripped on a rock and rolled into some mud and then decided to sleep there because why not? It was comfortable.
Since there are so many threats in daily forest life, it can be difficult to find comfort and solace in even the briefest of moments. Usually, I am on edge. I feel like I have to be prepared for anything the forest might hurl at my defenseless fuzzy fur. Practically speaking, there is no way to avoid anything the forest wants to do to you. If something in the forest wants you hurt or humiliated or nonexisted, it will likely happen.
But that does not mean you cannot at least feel safe. It is important part of living in the forest: convincing yourself that you are safe from its intrinsic dangers and thrashing. Here is a brief list of ways I make myself feel safe. Please be aware, these things might not actually make you safe in the forest, they certainly make me no safer, but they do make me feel safe (for a list of ways to actually feel safe in the forest, please refer to my guide: Here are 100 tips on how to stay safe in the forest).
How to feel safe in the forest:
If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?
For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com
You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.
I like to believe I know my sounds. Most of them are very “grrr” or “arrrrr” based. Sometimes my nose makes “choooo” sound and my padded paws pressing the ground make a sort of short, stout “shtump” sound. I like that one when it gets against crunchy autumn leaves and changes to a “chashtump” noise. That is a good sound.
As of late, however, I have made some interesting new sounds. I thought it would be best to examine them to better understand them.
Rawchacha: I made this sound when a fly got caught in my nose. When I spun my head around to shake it out my mouth flew open, sending the noise from my teeth tongue. I think it is supposed to a sound indicative of something unpleasant or intrusive.
Hrrraccckaaa: This noise was my instant response to a horrible itch I had inside of my throat. Rarely do my insides itch, and when they do, it is truly awful. Making this sound actually alleviated the itch, however, so it has a practical use.
Hurrrc: This is a noise I made when I suddenly awoke from a horrifying dream about ghost-fish chasing me underwater, nipping at my ears and screeching through their gills. I have not had this dream a second time yet, so I do not know if this noise is ghost-fish exclusive.
Kawwwwwfp: This noise was very sudden and very random. I did not anticipate it. I was sitting in a dumpster when it happened, staring at the inside wall of the dumpster. It was strange.
Pafurp: On second thought, I would prefer not to go into how this noise was made…
Hirk: This was the noise I made as I attempted to mock the deer across the river. He does it better than I do though.
Fishurpppppp: I made this sound when I dipped my head in the river. I cannot say for sure that it is not heavily influenced by the fish in the river.
If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?
For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com
You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.
Fruits are not a normal part of my daily diet. When I happen upon them, I certainly take the time to enjoy them, but those moments are so infrequent. Apple cores are the most common fruit I find. They are yummy enough, but the crunchy seeds get stuck in my teeth, making it an unpleasant experience overall. Orange peels are easy to find, too, but despite some entertaining chewability, there is not much enjoyment to be had with an orange peel. The juices that can be found at the bottom of dumpsters often taste like fruits, but there is usually so little of it to lick up and what little there is usually just gets my fur tangled into squishy clumps.
Fruits and I just do not mingle often. Too many restrictions. Too hard to find. Too sticky. So, when I stumbled upon the strange spiky fruit in the dumpster, I had few fruit experiences to help me understand this strange, new fruit. Perhaps that is why, at first, I had no idea it even was a fruit. I found the pointy fruit in a plastic bag among some greasy napkins and a very large bug. The bug did not seem interested in the fruit, being far too preoccupied with the napkins, so I pawed at the odd looking object, noting its pointiness. It had a very pointy tail, which alarmed the roof of my mouth as I began to nibble at it.
I figured that the pointy object I had found was some strange human artifact. Much like the plastic cords I found attached to a big shiny flat thing, this object was likely difficult to eat and, if eaten incorrectly, could even hurt me. With a frustrated swipe of the paw, I pushed the thing aside and continued my dumpster rummaging.
My pawswipe must have been strong enough to break it open, however. A sweet, lovely aroma came from where it had landed against the dumpster wall, and I began a second investigation of the strange spiky object. As any dumpster visitor would, I immediately licked the source of the smell. It was so sweet and pleasant. I chewed on the fruit, ignoring its spiky shell and tail. I devoured it.
It was a happy accident. This strange, potentially harmful object turned out to be my best fruit experience yet. It makes me wonder what else in the forest has an unpleasant outside despite a wonderful inside. Are snakes not the evil serpents they appear to be? Are they actually as harmless and caring as any other forest creature? Is the sun not just a boiling ball of hate and anger? Is it just disguised as so, masking a sweet, nourishing persona beneath its devastating shine? Maybe even the dee- never mind.
I suppose it is difficult to truly understand something until you get to know it or, at least, accidentally swipe it into the side of a dumpster.
If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?
For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com
You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.
Even though I spend all of my time in the forest, I feel like I have not explored very much of it. Sometimes I will walk for a long time in one direction, hoping to feel the excitement that comes with treading unexplored territory, but I usually get too scared or intimidated by the immense size of the forest to go very far in any one direction. I end up back in my cave, enjoying its comfortable and familiar damp pointy walls.
In an attempt to challenge myself and explore more of the forest, I recently tried fighting the urge to turn back at the sight of the unfamiliar during one of my brief forest excursions. I walked away from my cave in a direction that was not toward the river or my favorite tree or the very interesting looking rock I like so much. I went in a direction that was unfamiliar, and I just walked.
And I kept walking.
Aimless but attentive, taking in the sights and the sounds of the forest as I went.
The more attention I gave to those sights and sounds, the more I began to feel like everything I was experiencing was very familiar. I walked until the sun was almost ready to retire into the trees past my sight, and I did not feel like I had seen anything new. It was all very lovely, for sure. I do adore the sights and sounds of the forest, no matter how frequently I experience them, but everything felt more familiar than I had anticipated. Usually that far into a walk, I would be ready to run in whatever direction I had come from, but where I went felt safe and known. Especially when I got to a cave. It was a nice cave. It was damp and rocky and comfortable. It had a delicious and soft bed of moss in one corner. Another corner had a fine collection of rabbit skeletons. There were some leaves spread about. It was wonderful. It was familiar.
Was it my cave? It felt like my cave. It smelled and tasted like my cave. I had walked away from my cave, though, so I was confused. What was I supposed to do? I did what came naturally to me: I slept in the cave. When I woke, it still felt like my cave. When I went outside of the cave, it felt like the outside of my cave.
Either I had just walked back to my cave by accident or I had stumbled upon an exact replica of everything I knew. I was not sure which was true, so I licked the pile of moss in the corner and napped a little longer. It felt right, and, really, either way, I felt like I was at home.
If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?
For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com
You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.
Here is a list of things that I at first thought were against me but were not:
If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?
For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com
You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.
In the forest, I am just one, single thing going among many other going things. My going is mostly me walking throughout the forest, brushing up against trees and occasionally swimming in the river, usually looking for food. I know my going.
I do not know the going of others, though, and it makes living in the forest a little intimidating. So many things go. Wind goes around the forest, carrying leaves and debris with it, making those things go as well. Squirrels go to and from wherever it is squirrels go (maybe everywhere given how quickly they go). The water in the river goes, too. I do not know where it goes, but I know it goes. Even trees go in their own way. They sway and drop leaves and twigs and go through time, too, and it is easy to feel yourself go through time when you rest motionlessly in a single spot for an extended period of time (I know from my experiences trying to mimic trees with little success (how do they do it so well?)).
All the going is overwhelming. I know I contribute to it, but that does not make thinking about it any less daunting. Rarely does the going of something else really hinder my own going, but the mere thought of a going collision is scary. It makes everything in the forest feel fast and fragile, a strange delicate balance that could tip over and ruin all going for everyone in an instant.
I usually try not to think about it. I usually try to just mind my own going and hope everything else in the forest does the same, but the thought usually creeps into my mind as I go about my going, and forces me to think of what could happen if goings collided. If goings were interrupted. If goings were stopped.
When it gets too bad, I stop going. I shutdown my forward bearness both physically and mentally and I try to stop going. I try to just be a bear, a non-going bear. It is my way of trying to be the me I am where I am. It is not always easy.
But it can lead to naps.
If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?
For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com
You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.
Relative to most forest creatures, I am quite large. I know this when I think about it. The problem, however, is that I rarely think about my largeness. It is easy to forgot about my largeness when I am merely traversing the forest, trying to be a bear. Maybe I just need more practice thinking about two things at one time (bearness and largeness). Or, maybe I should start focusing more on the largeness part.
It does not affect everything I do in the forest. My largeness is usually not a problem. I fit through most bushes and generally I do not need to scrape up against a tree unless I want to scratch an itch. I still float, too. When I get into the river, I spread out my largeness and I float about. It is nice until the deer across the river inevitably hisses at me with its horrible face, but even that, I believe, is not caused my largeness.
My largeness has caused pain and suffering to those around it, though. The bench I found among a lightly treed part of the forest was one such victim. I sat on it, enjoying my time on it as my fur baked in the sun. It was ever so comfortable and relaxing until I heard a thundering crack beneath me. I looked around, trying to understand where the sound came from, and then, it happened again. I fell through the bench and onto the dirt. With some dramatic thrashing, howling, and wriggling I am not proud of, I managed to escape the corpse of the bench, but the bench was gone. Destroyed. No longer a bench. I felt awful for what I had done. I tried to apologize to the bench, but I was unable to, the guilt holding back my thoughts and forcing me to scurry into the forest where my largeness got in the way again as I stepped on an anthill by total accident.
Had I murdered again? Had I turned into such a terrible beast, unable to care or empathize with those who were subjected to my largeness? Before I could answer any of these questions, the biting began.
I ran some more, bumping into trees and smashing branches and stepping on who knows what. By the time I was back in my cave, I promised myself I would try to control my largeness. When I woke from the nap that followed that event, I realized there was little I could do about my largeness. I suppose being large is just part of being a bear. I also realized, though, that I needed to at least be more mindful of my largeness. I had a duty, as a largeness having creature, to ensure my largeness did not negatively hurt others.
I also do not like ant bites…
If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site?
For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com
You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.
Hello, I am a bear 