Tag Archives: trees

I hope I have useful skills for forest living.

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so many useless (2)

I can fit so many leaves in my mouth, and when I see my full-faced reflection on the surface of the river, I feel very proud of myself.

Of course, the deer across the river usually spots me doing this and always tells me that fitting any number of leaves in my mouth is a useless feat fit for those who are more interested in being dead in the forest than being alive. His aggressive and blunt tone aside, the deer has a valid point: what was the purpose of being about to store so many leaves in my mouth at one time?

How is this a useful skill?

I can never think of a way that this skill (which I hesitate to even call it now) would benefit me while I live in the forest.

It does not feed me.

It does not keep me warm.

It does not make me safe.

Fitting many leaves in my mouth is fun certainly, but it seems so useless no matter how much time I spend trying to rationalize its presence in my life.

But I like it.

I like putting leaves in my mouth, and I like putting so many leaves in my mouth that some fall out and I have to nip at them to get them back in even though I know that they would just fall out again.

I like that.

I like everything about putting many leaves in my mouth. I like a lot of things that do not feed me, make me warm, or make me safe. I like rolling through dirt and smelling myself afterward, I like staring at the sky and trying to figure out why it never comes to visit me even though I feel like I am always visiting it by staring at it (but maybe it is staring at me and feels the same?), I like trying to figure out the moon even though I do not think it is possible to figure out the moon, I like knowing how many pinecones there are even though I always lose count, I like knowing what moss smells like, and I like thinking about all of these things that are considered useless by the deer (and probably others) in the scope of my life in the forest.

Thinking about these things makes me happy just like doing these things makes me happy. And when I am happy, I do not worry about feeling hungry, warm, or safe. Feeling happy is enough.

I wonder how many pinecones I can fit in my mouth…

I am a bear.

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 the book of faces.

What do you do when the water from above will not let you do anything?

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rain bear (2)

My fur is very soggy at this moment, and I am not okay with it.

The water from above has been torrential lately and has hindered the enjoyment I usually have for being outside of my cave. My sedimentary status has not be driven by a fear of water (from the sky or otherwise). I usually do not mind being wet. I enjoy a good frolic in the river (when the deer is not present, of course), and on hot days, rain is welcomed.

But the continuous berating of precipitation has become exhausting, and has driven me out into the storm that has become my home. Before accepting my wet fate, I had been in my cave for many moon cycles (I think; it has become very difficult to tell when the sun is up or not in all this gloom), and I have run out of activities to do.

I have counted every single loose rock on the cave floor (there are 37) and have named them (my favorite of the bunch are Glenn, Ned, Samantha, Andy, Emily, Gwen, Rock, Small Rock, Other Rock, The Rock Formally Known as Big Rock [back when there were only 36 rocks, before I dropped one], and Steve).

I gathered several blades of grass and tried to create a game using them. I invited Rob (the squirrel) over to play, but he said the rules were too confusing and then bit my nose and ran to his tree.

The final straw that pushed me out of my solitary cave is when I tried to draw portraits of familiar faces using a stick and soft dirt. Things started out well enough. I did a fine job on Rob (the squirrel), but the water from above crept into my cave and washed it away. The same thing occurred when I drew other woodland creatures who have been kind. Knowing the above water’s sinister disposition, I decided to draw the deer in the hopes that it would also cleanse the foul beast from my home, but the water did not. The above water had other plans and puddled around the image of the deer as if it were trying to protect it.

I do not think I like the water from above. I sloshed a pawful of water from the protective moat and washed away the image of the deer. I had had it with being in my cave.

I did not care how soggy I became, it was better than sitting that cave, trapped by the deer-loving above water.

Now I sit in the pouring water, waiting for it to stop. I wonder if my acceptance of defeat will make the water calm itself. Only time will tell.

I am a bear.

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 the book of faces.

Please do not tell me if I am not a bear.

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deer bear (2)

As far as I know and for as long as I have been able to know things, I have been a bear. I have molded just about every aspect of my life out of my understanding of my own bearness, so everything about all of me reflects what I think being a bear means.

So I hope I am a bear.

When I really try to think about or feel my bearness, I do not have any doubts that I am what I have always claimed to be: a bear. However, there is a large, resting doubt sitting beneath any of the confidence I have ever been able to muster when it comes to my being a bear. What if, to the rest of the forest’s understanding, I am not a bear? What if my understanding of what a bear is or what a bear is supposed to be is not correct?

I have tried to convince myself that, even if such a line of thinking is not true, it does not matter. If I know I am a bear, then I must be a bear. End of story. Yet, that does little in the way of easing the lingering questions and doubts. They persist, ever gnawing at my identity like I would gnaw a moldy branch I found under some leaves.

If you, or anybody for that matter, know that I am not a bear, please do not tell me. I have given this a lot of thought, and the mere idea of confirming my non-bearness is so incredibly unnerving to me that I truly believe ignorance would be a better course of action.

I do not need to know if I am not a bear. There is so little to gain from that knowledge yet so much to lose. If I stop being a bear, I have no idea how I will begin to understand me or my interactions with everything ever. These issues are already difficult to process even when I feel firmly about being a bear, so the stress and anxiety that would come with having to reconsider all of being me would be far too much, an overload of everythingness.

What would I gain from knowing that I am not a bear, though? Would I not just question the validity of being a different thing just as frequently and with just as much intensity? What if I am something that I do not like or want to be? What if I am a deer across the river or dirt? I would prefer to be dirt, but either way, what would I get out of knowing something like that? What would anyone get knowing something like that?

I would prefer to stay in the dark. I would prefer to keep being who I think I am rather than what I might actually be, even if it means ignoring the latter completely.

I am a bear.

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 the book of faces.

This place is strange.

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Mall (2)

This place is strange. There are so many humans milling about. They move like a river of arms and legs and faces down long narrow caves that branch out into smaller caves. Each of these caves is filled with different things. There are several caves housing fabrics of various colors and size. There are a few caves with things that light up and make noises (the humans love these things and look at them as they walk around). There is even a cave filled with dismembered, miniature versions of me (which are quite terrifying).

The humans feel the need to visit multiple caves in this place; some humans even visit every one of them. They are like ants marching through their hill. But instead of bringing food or resources to the caves within the hill to make their community better, the humans take things away from these caves. They leave carrying loads of bags and boxes filled with things they found (stole?). They chat with other humans (who are not there) on those things that light up and make noise about how they just found (stole?) a brand new version of the thing that lights up and makes noise.

It is all very confusing.

One human cub carries a recently reassembled version of me under her arm. She seems happy about it, until she sees the real me. Maybe I make her upset because I was not wearing a hat like the smaller version of me.

I do not know if I like this place, but I am starting to think this place does not like me.

Three humans with sticks yell at me. Other humans watch. It is quite humiliating.

I run for the exit (or what I think is the exit) and crash into fake, faceless, humans covered in furs and strange flat snakes around their waists. I try to leave again and tumble into a small table thing for serving hot, delicious nuts. The humans behind the table are not pleased, but I do not waste the intrusive moment, and I scoop as many pawfuls of nuts into my mouth as possible.

More humans with sticks show up. There are lights outside filling the massive, interconnected, human cave system with hues of blue and red.

I try to exit once more. This time it is successful. I find myself outside near the dumpster that led me here in the first place. The air is better outside than inside the human cave. To think I was almost trapped in there is a very upsetting thought.

Maybe all the humans milling about inside are trapped. Maybe they are being made to take things from those caves and forced to carry them around. I hope not. That would be quite sad.

At least I found some nuts. That was nice.

I am a bear.

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 the book of faces.

Do trees care about me?

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tree face (2)

I cannot tell whether or not trees care about me.

I have known about trees practically all of my life, and for as long as I have been aware of them, I have assumed they have had as much care and interest in me as I have had in them. That is why I tell trees my every woe and discontent. That is why I spend so much time staring at trees and waiting for them to speak back. That is why I have been so patient with trees even when they do things like almost fall on me or not support my weight on their limbs or provide shade for hostile creatures like the deer across the river.

I have given trees a lot of my time and energy, and I have always assumed that such time and energy were reciprocated. However, a recent event has made me question the trees’ dedication to me.

I was sitting under a tree, gathering shade and enjoying the scratchiness of its bark, when I noticed something interesting about the tree: it was a home. The tree had a large number of tiny ants climbing in and out of its base through small holes and between scales of bark. It was a fascinating sight, and I spent quite some time just staring at it.

Right in the middle of taking in the majesty of these ants, a limb from the tree fell onto my head.

That is okay. That has happened before. It will happen again. It did, though, make me think: why do the ants get to live here? Ants live in this tree and the tree is perfectly fine with it. Do I get to live in this tree? No. In fact, this tree attacks me when I use it for shade. And every time I have slept in the branches of it, I have fallen out of the tree, finding myself slamming into the forest floor, far below the tree.

During this thought, I considered the ants. Despite being able to live here, I am sure there are some things about this tree the ants do not get to enjoy. What if a limb falls on them? A limb that would leave a bump on my head would completely destroy them.

I do not think that tree (or any tree) hates me or the ants. I think trees might just be indifferent. They provide wonderful shade and lovely homes for some creatures, but they can also crush us and throw us from their tops, and they seem to do this indiscriminately.

I thought trees were there for me. For the ants. For the creatures of the forest. I do not think they are there for themselves, but they are definitely not here for any of us. Maybe trees just are. Trees are just here to be trees, whether that helps or hurts us is more up to us than it is to any tree.

I am a bear.

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.

I think there might be too many leaves.

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bear leaves (2)

Calculating the ever-growing number of leaves that seem to fall from trees is an impossible task. Just when you think they have all fallen and that there could not be any more lingering up in the branches, more come.

I tried to consolidate the number of leaves in the direct vicinity of my cave one afternoon in hopes that it would make the opening of my cave more appealing to forest creatures who pass by. Rob (the squirrel) calls this “curb appeal.” He also suggest I trim some of the low branches of nearby trees, but I decided this would be cruel since the trees did nothing wrong and did not deserve such a punishment. Trees are pure entities who only have good will toward everything else in the forest (even the awful act of shedding leaves is actually beyond their control). If anyone or anything was to blame for the number of leaves on the ground, it was the wind…

I knew the wind was to blame after my initial leaf consolidation.

I had seven tidy piles collected that resulted a nice grassy clearing to lay in. The sun beamed through the bare branches to heat my newly cleared spot. It was refreshing to have the warmth beneath by belly meat. Before I could drift off to sleep, a rush of crunchy orange and red things pelted me in the face.

I sprung from the clearing to see that the piles I had collected were launching a full assault against me and their driving force was, beyond any doubt, the wind.

I felt betrayed. The wind was often the source of delicious smells. Why would it turn on me with such malice?

I wondered if I was hasty in blaming the wind. Maybe there were really just too many leaves.

There was only one way to find out. I would turn the leaves into something constructive. With the help of Rob (the squirrel) I skewered leaves on fallen twigs and used bits of twine from the dumpster to cinch them together. Eventually I had enough to begin forming the twigs into shapes. The shapes eventually formed images. From the leaf skewers I formed the shapes of many things in the forest: rabbits, squirrels, rocks, trees (ironically enough), me, and even a really big leaf.

From the chaos I created something wonderful. Rob (the squirrel) even lauded my work (even though he said that if the squirrel I made was him, it was a bit fatter than he’d like it to be).

With an overwhelming sense of pride in my work, I decided I had deserved a nap. I went into my cave and fell asleep the moment my head hit the dirt floor.

Hours later, I awoke to find my work ransacked by raccoons. They had destroyed all the shapes I had made (perhaps I should have thrown just one raccoon into the mix).

I wanted to be angry about what had occurred, but I wasn’t. Instead, I was struck with an epiphany.

Too many leaves was not the problem.

Vandal art critic raccoons were.

I am a bear.

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.

Hiding day.

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hiding (2)

Yesterday was a hiding day.

I do not know from what I hid, but I hid from it for quite a long time. I frequently find myself using a nice hiding day to keep away from whatever emotions, deer, bad weather, or rowdy squirrels could potentially give me trouble in a given day. It is nice to just hide away sometimes.

This particular hiding day, however, I wanted to know something: what happened when I hid? Did my worries and troubles really go away? Did the forest worry for my presence, perhaps even going so far as to send search parties out for me? Did anyone actually know where I hid?

There were so many mysteries on hiding days. Another mystery I had to figure out was how I would collect data on a hiding day. How could I hide and understand how the forest functioned while I was hiding? I would have to trust a friend.

I considered trusting Rob (the squirrel), but I knew he would do what all squirrels do (lie). Instead, I decided to ask a very friendly blue bird who nested in a small bush outside of my cave. The bird agreed to fly around the forest during my hiding day, seeing if anything out of the ordinary would happen, particularly things that seemed dependent on the presence of a bear (me).

Then I hid.

I hid inside the very bush where my new bird friend usually nested. It was a good hide. I spent practically all day sitting and hiding and enjoying some peaceful napping and staring.

Then the tiny blue bird came back and reported what he had found.

Nothing.

He told me that the forest had remained the same throughout the day. Nothing of notable importance had shifted in any way he could discern.

Everything was fine.

Without me.

Everything kept moving as it always had and likely always will.

It felt strange.

I thanked the bird for its time and observations and went to my cave. I napped some more. It was difficult to sleep with the knowledge of how unimportant I was to daily forest activities.

I had a dream where the bird, though observant and thorough, simply missed all the tiny aspects I impacted on a daily basis. He missed how the floor of my cave grew cold without me. He missed how Rob (the squirrel) was likely even more aimless and crazy than usual without my presence to balance him. He missed how the deer across the river probably did not even go to the river when I was not there. He missed that his day had even completely changed because of a simple request from me. He missed how the sun came up a few hours later and left a few hours earlier and how the moon did not shine as brightly as it usually did and how the sky fell a few feet downward and…

But that was just a dream. And a nice thought. But maybe he really did just miss a couple things.

I am a bear.

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.

Branches and roots and bark and being a home for others: I want to be a tree sometimes.

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tree roots (2)

I like being a bear, but I would be fibbing if I said I never dreamed about being a tree. Trees are noble, silent, and everseeing and probably everknowing and smell great. Trees are tall and impressive. They taste good. They are fun to chew on. Trees are everything to everyone forever and never complain about having to fulfill that duty all of the time.

I like trees.

I am not a tree, though. I will never be a tree. And maybe that is for the best, but I do like pretending I can be a tree. One of my favorite pastimes is digging my pointy claws into the soft earth and pretending they are tangled roots to my tree being. I dig in and settle myself and let the wind and the elements run through my fur and my ears.

I pretend I can see everything in that spot forever. I imagine the seasons passing over me constantly and consistently. I imagine my fur as gnarled branches reaching toward the sky, acting as homes for birds and bugs and bees and leaves and light and anything else that is light enough to stay there when it wants to. I close my eyes and think about existing in the same spot for what must feel like always and experiencing that single spot for so long that you know everything about it.

Eventually the soil gets uncomfortable, though. I realize I am not a tree and shake the dirt off my toes and go back to being what I know I am: a bear. I will never truly get to experience the longevity or evereverythinging of treeness.

I only know how to experience bearness. I suppose that is not too horrible, but I do constantly find myself trying to know existing beyond what existing as a bear has to offer. I wish I could be like the raccoon I ran into while sleeping in a dumpster a few days ago who was chewing on his own leg and foaming from the mouth and (maybe even) the ears: I wish I could just accept who I am.

But I cannot. I think I always desire the -ness of another being, and I will probably always have a hard time accepting my own bearness. I can still pretend, however. I can still take a few moments out of my day to hurl my claws into some dirt and pretend that I am a tree.

Even if  I am just a bear.

I am a bear.

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

Please do not scream at me.

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Screaming (2)

There are many things that scare me: loud, unidentifiable sounds; loud, identifiable sounds; not being a bear; being too much of a bear; loud, angry opossums; fish who have sharp teeth; the idea of trees possibly ending one day and me having to understand a forest without trees and considering maybe it would be easier to see everyone from a distance but then again maybe it is nice not being able to see everyone from a long distance; drowning; hunger; Rob (the squirrel) (please do not tell him).

I could go on.

And I will for a moment: birds that stare at me aggressively; tents collapsing on me while I am sifting through them; possible anti-bear sentiments that various woodland creature or maybe even rocks hold but are not vocal about while I am in their presence; rocks maybe not liking me; overthinking rocks; disrespecting rocks by considering my analysis of them “overthinking”; not having fur; getting trapped in a dumpster.

There is one thing I really do not like, however. Something that bothers me more than any other fear or anxiety I have. A thing that makes me worry about leaving my cave in the morning.

That thing is other things screaming at me.

High pitched, loud shouting sounds coming from any being and directed toward me makes my fur stand up straight and my back shiver. It fills my mind with unease and worry.

Please.

Do not scream at me.

The strange thing about my burdensome worry is that I have only been screamed at by a few things just a handful of times.

Once, a tree and the sky screamed at me practically at the same time. I was out in the woods, licking a rock, when the sky made a terrifying, violent screaming sound. Before I could even process how terrified I was, a tree right by me began to scream too. Then it fell over.

I ran.

I ran as fast as I could to my cave and hid there until I napped.

I still do not know why the tree and the sky screamed at me in such a manner. Maybe they did not like the way I was licking that rock. Maybe they did not like me. I do not know, but it upsets me to no end.

A human screamed at me once, too.

I once found and explored a large, strange object near a dumpster I frequent. At first, I thought the object was just a large rock, but I could smell some kind of delicious food within the rock. I looked for an entrance or some kind of opening. After some searching, I found a way into the rock. It was not a rock, though. It was actually a cave. A well lit, strangely decorated cave. This cave was amazing. It had a tiny, personal sun inside of it. It also lacked rabbit skeletons and, instead, had various colors plastered all around the walls of the cave. This cave was fascinating.

And it had food!

There was another, much tinier, cave inside this large cave and it was filled with food! I started to rummage through the tiny cave. It was more bountiful than any dumpster I had ever encountered.

Then, the screaming began.

A human was hurling loud, high pitched screeching sounds at me and making very aggressive hand gestures at me.

I was more terrified than when the tree and the sky screamed at me.

Again, I ran.

I ran to my cave.

It did not have food or lovely colors or caves inside of caves, but it also did not have anything screaming at me.

I still worry about screaming. Though it so infrequently happens, I still have anxiety about it and feel like it could happen again at any moment. I sometimes try to think about why those things screamed at me. Why make awful sounds at me that just scare me? Did I deserve those sounds? I have no idea. Was I merely misinterpreting these sounds? Were they not even directed toward me or about me? I do not know.

But I do know the sounds. I do know how much I hate them. And I do know I do not want them to happen to me again.

I am a bear.

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

Imagine the thrashing.

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tree dreams (2)

I like to ask all the things I meet whether or not they dream. Some give me forward, understandable answers. Rob (the squirrel), for example, always tells me about a single dream he has where is he king of the forest and all efforts by all creatures of the forest must advance his influence and/or provide resources for him. He says his dream always ends with a large bird rebelling his rule and snatching him from his stick built throne. He always wakes up right as the bird of prey’s vicious talons enter his stomach.  Strange but understandable.

I never ask for that much detail exactly, but I always figure it is good to let a squirrel express him/herself. Squirrels can act a bit… off when they do not get exactly what they want.

Some creatures have nicer dreams. A mole I accidentally sat on once and asked this question of to distract from the awkward topic of me accidentally sitting on her described very calming, sound based dreams. She told me that the sound of her tiny claws digging through soil relaxes her in her sleep for some reason as her mind recollects it during repose. It is usually accompanied with the mumbles and rumbles of things above her. I figured she would be frustrated by the sounds, but she explained to me that they are so familiar to her despite being a bit of a mystery, so they are soothing.

Not everything answers the question with a coherent response. Every raccoon I have asked, for example, has hissed at me as a response to my dream question. I realize that most of the raccoons are in the middle of a crucial dumpster diving expedition when I ask, but the hissing is really quite rude. Opossums, too, tend to respond in hisses as they rummage refuse.

The hisses are actually comforting compared to the silent responses I get from the most fascinating inhabitants of the forest. No rock has ever told me about a dream it has had. I have met many rocks, and not a single one has expressed even the slightest interest in dreams or sleep (or in other topics like water, fish, the sky, food, other rocks, or even the concept of silence). This sometimes leads me to suspect that perhaps rocks are not living, but I usually ignore this line of thinking since it seems to me inappropriate and slightly rude to presume the living status of something you are not living as. I am not, and have never been, a rock, so I have a hard time writing all rocks off as nonliving things.

Trees are a different story, however.

I know trees are living.

I know because they change in shape and color and they move and grow and sometimes I even think I hear them sing to me when it gets particularly windy.

But they never speak.

Trees do not take the time to speak to you. No tree will express joy, discontent, or any other emotion even if given a perfectly suitable platform to do so. Trees remain silent, and I think it might be a choice of theirs.

So, as you might expect, no tree will answer my dream question. I have asked nearly every tree I have ever encountered, but every tree I ask gives the same stoic silence that the last one gave me.

But I really want to know. I want to know if trees rest and if they do, I want to know if they dream and if they do, I want to know what they dream about. I think things that dream tend to dream about the things they witness, feel, consider, and experience. Trees have the time and space to consider and witness just about everything, so their dreams must be amazing concoctions of patched together bits of everything that has been, is, and ever will be.

Their nightmares must be terrifying.

As interesting as it must be to be there for everything, it must also lead to some traumatic experiences. Trees see the bad, nasty side of the forest. They see the part of the forest that insists you survive off anything you can find if you desire to survive at all. They see how cruel winter can be to every creature and how the blistering sun can be during the summer and how there just are not enough resources for every creature and how babies of any species can be desserts for another species.

That must make for some terrifying nightmares. A tree suddenly waking from a horrible dream must make for intimidating sight. Imagine all the thrashing it could do with those desperate, all-seeing limbs.

I am a bear.

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 read a list by Bear that details how to approach opossums over at The Higgs Weldon.