A few years ago, My husband Dale and I, were out looking at antique graves and gravestones. (The way I see it is if it's over 100 years old it is no longer a "collectable," but has now become an official, cherished antique.) Funny thing about antiques... the closer I get to becoming one, the more I am attracted to them.
This particular antiqueing expedition began in an aged cemetery, nestled in a charming wooded forest in the foothills of Noel, Missouri. The kind of graveyard where you stoop down and read the loving words etched forever in the stones that tell the stories of loves and lives gone by.
The stories of families and of loss. Of illness and plagues. The children's stories are there... the ones who all died in the same year. You see the effects of war and you feel an extreme gratitude to those whom you will never meet.
This particular day was one of the loveliest
fall days I can recall in recent memory.
The leaves were aglow with vibrant crimsons
and golds, the colors of fine wine as it
might appear in a crystal goblet when the
firelight shimmers through it.
The sky was an azure blue. Cool, crisp air
blew past my face and the sun was providing
some exquisite backlighting for the visual
effects of autumn at it's peak.
Dale had wondered off into one of the oldest
areas of the cemetery. I was in my own little
world imagining what it must have been like
to have lived over one hundred years ago.
It was THEN that the whole scene changed
and I was certain that I too was to become
part of the very painting that I was so enjoying!
AACK!! I heard a voice! It was Dale, saying,"
Uh, Robin...look behind you.."
I turned and there it was. Not TEN feet from
me. Looking me STRAIGHT in the eye. a BEAR!
A Big old hairy, scary BEAR!! (didn't I JUST
see a gravestone, that said,"John Brown:
Et by a Bear, 1889"???..I am SURE that
I did.)
My first response was to offer one of my
famous blood curdling screams. It is a scream
that I am certain has the capability of waking
the dead. (No pun intended) It is a scream
with substance. None of this "Help me..
Help Me.. I am going to faint straight away
on the fainting couch" screams for me,
No sirree. I have a "If you want to
live, and remain in one piece, you will do
whatever is necessary to get your tush out
of the way and I mean NOW!!" screams!
The perplexing thing was that although I
do not recall this particular bear being
one of my classmates while I was studying
voice at the Oklahoma City University School
of Fine Arts,...he was nevertheless either
classically trained himself or a wonderful
imitator of the art. HE made the SAME excruciating
sound that I did! "AAAAHHHHH!!!"
I said!!.."AAAAAAHH!!" said he!
Well, THAT scared me more!!! Enough so that
he was now going to receive an encore!! "AAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!"
We were now performing in harmonic STEREO, ( "Daddy sang Basssss..Moma sang Tenor" ) in the middle of a resting place for dead people. And I for one, was much determined not to contribute to the current population of people who had assumed room temperature, thank you very much.
My second thought, (part of my "flee, flight or flight some more" theory..I removed the "fight" option from this scenario almost immediately), was to accomplish a move I learned by watching cartoons as a child. You know the one. You STOP. You prepare to start your feet in a running motion. Your body lifts magically FOUR feet off of the ground and in mid-air you begin to spin your legs thus beginning a "get the hey outta there" procedure.
The interesting thing was that this poor bear must have seen the very same cartoons and as I was preparing my great escape, he performed the VERY SAME maneuver with amazing dexterity. Thank the LORD, he was seeming to be moving in the opposite direction of myself. No time to stop and make sure that I was not about to become the "Entree du Jour."
Off I went! Beginning my race from the snares of death...the from the jaws of my demise!! Feets don't FAILLLLLL me now!!
It was then that I proceeded ... to fall flat on my face, tripping over my own untied shoe string. Hello grass.
I looked up to see my poor husband doubled over in the pangs of grief at the prospect of me bein' et by a bear and all, and he, of course, becoming a pre-mature widower. (The way I see it...ANYTIME I depart this earth, he would become a pre-mature widower.)..Wait...are those tears I see streaming down his face? Yes! He is crying! He really LOVES me!
Why is he laughing? He is doubled over LAUGHING! He is cackling at me in my last seconds of life as I know it! DADGUM his ornery hide!
"WHYYYYYYY are you laughing at MEEEEEEEEEEEE?" I wailed, turning and checking for warm BEAR breath on my neck.
"You SCARED that poor bear to death.
He is all the way to Colorado by now, poor
thing." he allowed.
"It's a plot," I think to myself...LIFE
INSURANCE! That's what he is after! Where
is that BEAR!! Where IS he??!!
Well after some time, suffering the sounds of silence, I was finally convinced that indeed, I did manage to win my fight for life with one of God's magnificent great beasts. Yup, I would live to fall on my own shoe strings yet another day.
Now SINCE this time, Dale and I were privileged to become the proud foster parents of TWO, count em, TWO, Black Bears, Mork and Mindy. Their mother was shot and killed by a hunter in Arkansas, (illegally, I might add). The sheriff found the twins...just a couple of weeks old. He tried to find a zoo to take the orphans. Well, bears are expensive to maintain. No one wanted the babies. It was then that the phone call came to me, a known DOG rescuer. (Can you spell D O G???)
It seemed there was a small zoo that would
accept the pair, IF they could find financial
sponsors to pay for the feeding and cages
of the duo. That's where we came in. Now
we are by no means, wealthy...but we agreed
to pay for the care of the babies. Here are
some pictures of them when we first got them.
Forgive the picture quality. It was in the
"olden days", before digitals.
The first time I held Mindy. Later, we had
to have them de-clawed so that we could hold
them and work with them. They would never
be able to be released to the wild now anyway.
They had no one to show them how to survive.
They would "kneed bread" with their
little claws. OUCH!
Mama loves her baby bear, Mork.
Here are the twins, when they were about 6 months old..getting BIG..needing more space.
I would go to one of the hoity-toity grocery
stores here in Tulsa. They would throw away
any produce with the slightest look of impending
doom. I then, would gather my "baby
food," and drive up to the zoo which
was about an hour from our home. The twins
knew the sound of my car and would start
to WAIL at the thought that MOM was coming
with GRAPES! Bears LOVE grapes, and I would
feed them to Mork and Mindy by hand. They
took them as gently as any dog I have ever
seen. They were both VERY careful not to
"eat" Mom.
Well the babies were growing. Soon the USDA came out and told us we had to get a larger pen for them. The zoo had no place to build the pen. The time had come to find a permanent home for our twins.
Mork and Mindy traveled back to the place of their birth, Arkansas. They now live in one of those wonderful "Drive-through" exotic animal parks. They were spayed and neutered and are most happy to reside together.
Dale and I have been to visit the "twins,"
several times. It is true. A child never
forgets the sound of it's "mother's"
voice. "Moma's HERE! Where are my baby
BEARS?!! Come to you Mama!! Mama has GRAPES
for her babies! Mama loves her baby bears!"
"Baby" Mork, stands over 6 feet tall, and weighs 345 pounds. Mindy is considerably smaller, at around 275 pounds.
I have often journeyed back in my mind, to
that soft autumn day. (the day, I feared
was my last.) The very species I was running
away from then, I now RUN to with maternal
exuberance. Yes, my life was spared, and
I now have been truly blessed. Not only did
I NOT become "Spam-on-a-stick",
that day. I have become a real Bear Moma.
And my kids are probably much like yours.
They have sibling spats...They love the sound
of their Moma's voice,...that..and they still
love grapes.
Written by Robin Pressnall
Copyright, 11-16-99