"In our very back yard, yes, right in our back yard", my neighbor reported. "The folks up on Duxbury Lane saw her the other day and so did whats-his-name on Alpine Drive. But I could hardly believe my eyes! Looked out the window by the kitchen sink and there's this bear and some cubs up in a tree in our back yard --just, just a few feet away from the house!"

We were about to move into this neighborhood and I had driven by to look at our new house again. My wife had known Mary for some time and we were delighted to be moving in near her. But here she was, telling about a mother bear and what turns out to be three cubs who were wandering around the neighborhood just two doors away from what was to be our house.

I was intrigued. We were moving in from the country: a little town 10 miles away. We had decided that, having crossed the magic 65th year, we would soon be better off in a smaller house, in a neighborhood with folks near by, and with "down-town" only five minutes away. There had frequently been talk of bear roaming around where we had been living, and even an occasional moose, along with regular visits from deer, 'possoms, red foxes, skunks and woodchucks. And, on certain nights-- when the moon was full-- I had heard the coyotes barking and howling in the woods behind our house. But now, we were moving "in town".

The next day, I was dropping off some things at the new house, and, again, there was Mary: out walking her dog, Skipper.

"Well, they've been around. Took down our bird feeder this morning."

I walked back to our new house-to-be and decided to go around to the back, and there it was: the previous owner's bird feeder left behind. But it was knocked to the ground, bent and twisted and empty. "My God!, they've been right here in our back yard!" I exclaimed to myself. Monday was moving day.

Now that we are living in our new house, I have not seen this mother bear or her three cubs, and it's been a couple of months. Other people have, but not recently. I understand that the Fish and Wildlife people transported them back to the country--back to where we had just come from! There's a switch. Perhaps it's best that way, rather than all of us --mother bear, cubs and us-- all living in the same neighborhood. At least it's probably better for us since we have a dog, Sam, who would probably be fascinated by a small --or large-- bear.

"Moving into town". In some ways that's a warm and homey phrase with lots of positive associations: the market, lots of people, stop lights, kids on bikes, dogs, the places where both Ann and I work-- all just five minutes away rather than 10 miles away, as used to be the case.

But I am grateful to that old mother bear for bringing a little wild life into our back yard, even by eating up that bird feeder. I walk Sam each night and morning and when he suddenly stops and strains on his leash, smelling something, eager to track it, go after it into the woods or darkness, the hair rises a little at the nap of my neck, and I speak out: "You there, you old bear?"

"Bad bear, go away", you're supposed to shout, and clap your hands and make a lot of racket so that they'll run away. "Don't get between her and her cubs. Don't look a bear in the eyes. Don't run. Make noise, talk loud and move out of there." These are all handy instructions from our daughter, Amy, who teaches zoology at a near-by college.

We have moved into your territory, old bear. This neighborhood, the woods behind our house and across the road are all your territory, and the forest and small mountains near our old house. This town , this world is yours, by right-- surely yours to roam and to take your cubs hunting in. We have no right to make you leave, but maybe we should divide the territory so that we don't get in each other's way.

However, you bear, you cunning, caring, plucky and clever bear, you have brought my appreciation of my new house to new levels. I am energized by just imagining an encounter with you, am on the qui vive, expecting to run into you behind the house while walking the dog. I am your debtor, your tenant, your neighbor, and I hope that you will never go out of my life or my neighborhood--not entirely. I need to be energized by your pluck, your cunning, your caring, your natural will-to-live and to bring your young into this world. It is we who have entered your terrain, assuming dominion. I'm not certain that creation was intended to be ours, no matter what the Bible says, and I know that this earth is a better place to dwell in with room for life that is natural and free.