The night before last, a red fox coursed back and forth across the north yard of the Cottage, tracking an appealing warm-blooded scent. He moved in and out of camera range as he did so, quietly stalking his prey. The only sound captured by the camera was the swish and snap of winter grass as his feet moved and then the loud, heavy thud of an eastern cottontail rabbit leaping from the safety of the habitat fence and running for his life with the fox pursuing in silence. Looking at the footage of his run, he seemed to be chasing for fun instead of hunger, trotting with his head held high instead of moving low and fast. I wondered if he had, perhaps, already eaten. I wondered if foxes sometimes hunt for play.
I was awed by his beauty and grace. Even though the night vision captured him in shades of gray, it was easy to imagine his stunning color because I had seen foxes here in the daylight. And even though he was stalking a rabbit, he did not violate the Rules of Hospitality that are in effect here because he did not kill any living being on this property. Best of all, the presence of fox is a sign that after nearly five years of effort, the ecosystem on this tiny piece of land is continuing to heal. The land, the spirits, and all the players are responding positively to the physical and spiritual healing work being done.
Coyote [B. Rhodes]
A variety of wild neighbors are regular visitors to the unfenced portions of my land. Foxes, coyotes, raccoons, opossums, bobcats, mink, and black bears travel along a natural wildlife corridor that runs through the gardens, the north yard, and the greenway beyond the Cottage boundaries. Usually, they are just passing through; sometimes, they are seeking a place for temporary rest or shelter; occasionally, they are hunting for a meal. Rabbits den within the habitat fence, as do other smaller mammals. Once a year or so, a black bear sow will send her cubs up the white pine on the western boundary or the lob lolly pine on the northern line while she goes off in search of a meal or quiet time for herself.
If not for the cameras that give scattered coverage to the property and the presence of our resident farm dog (Hank), most of the time, I would not have visual confirmation that these guests and sometimes temporary residents have ever been here. Of course, there are exceptions, like the baby possum determined to be rescued who made his presence known and the rabbits who nibble clover in the front gardens. Or the mother possum with babies who somehow managed to get inside the chicken run after the chickens were in the coop for the night. Mama P was sleeping on top of the tin roof that shades part of the run. Hank gave a gentle alert to her presence, and she moved on before daybreak and the need for intervention. And the bears! Bears are my biggest wildlife delight in more ways than one. Outside of the minor bits of bother they have caused here, the bears and I have stories and a connection all our own, and my encounters with them are a phenomenal part of my life.
The personal encounters and the images the cameras capture are a source of delight and wonder. Because my spouse and I work hard to follow the guidelines recommended by organizations such as BearWise and BearSmart, we have minimized the risks of conflict with not only bears but the other predatory species that share our environment and could be a threat to our animal companions, including our chickens.
This has been a learning process over time, and in the five years we have lived here and the two since Hank joined us, there has been only one major interspecies conflict. That conflict involved a scary midnight, through-the-fence encounter between a frightened young Hank with his chemically hijacked brain and a sow bear and her cubs. One of the cubs ended up treeing itself right outside the interior fence and staying there long after Hank was removed from the scene. The poor little thing cried in terror until its mother finally called it down. I was horrified and mortified that Hank had caused such trauma to the bears and that they had done the same to my sweet boy just by their presence.
The more profound trauma for me was knowing how much worse things could have been for everyone if that bear had, against the odds, decided to come over the six-foot high fence to defend her cubs. Or even worse, if she had abandoned the cub in the tree. Black bears in this region are generally not aggressive and will retreat to avoid conflict if given the chance. I know this from personal experience, which has supplemented my spiritual certainty of this truth, and because I choose to use reliable scientific-based resources to educate myself about the wildlife with whom I share my home.
The result of this encounter was that I worked with Hank to help redirect his reaction to nature in the same way I worked to redirect his response to any perceived threat. Delivery trucks were once the bane of his existence! That work is probably why his alert to the possums in the chicken run was gentle, and his next direct bear encounter was significantly different. In addition to training exercises, I talked with Hank about our relationship with bears. He looked at me as though he was unsure what to think when I told him that bears are like our chickens. We do not have to trust them, but we do have to take care of them. It is our job not to frighten them, and we must keep them safe.
Last spring, Hank and I shared the first bear encounter of the season through the back fence.
I was putting the chickens up when I heard him speaking in a slobbery, low, hesitant, barking growl. I went to see what the commotion was about and saw him standing by the fence, facing north. He had his ball in his mouth (of course), which muffled his voice. I honestly think he confused the poor bear more than frightened it. At first, all I could see were two ears and two paws sticking out on either side of a slender tree about 20 feet away from the fence. The bear had not climbed the tree but was certainly able to go up if he needed to. When he heard me talking calmly to Hank and heard Hank calming down, he peeked around the left side of the tree and held my gaze for probably 15 seconds. He was gorgeous—dark golden-brown muzzle, round young face, eyes that were bright and brown and clear. I was instantly enchanted by the presence of his beauty and power.
Bear tree [S. Barker]
Here is a photo of the tree behind which he was hiding. I did not have my phone with me and missed capturing what would have been my best photo of a bear ever. As it was, Hank, although silent, strained against my hold on his collar, and the bear moved his head back behind the tree. I managed to get Hank into the house and went back outside to apologize for his behavior.
Bear peeked out a couple more times to check the havoc, I suppose. I wanted to say “peekaboo” but did not want to add another offense to our account. He turned and walked away once he was satisfied that Hank was gone and would not be able to give chase.
I will never forget seeing that face as he looked at me from around the side of the tree.
The fox came back a second night, moving around the habitat fence, still undetected by Hank. I suspect there are dens in the neighborhood because the haunting, spooky mating calls were loud and definitely nearby over several nights in January. Foxes stay in their home range all their life, so the foxes I have seen in the past should still be in this area. Last year, I was fortunate to see a mother fox with one of her kits in full, glorious color in my front yard, and I like the thought that, as with the bears, I might be honored to see generation after generation of this particular wild.
There is, however, an aspect of this fox sighting that disturbs me, and that is knowing that it will not be long before seasonal posts that demand that something be done about some fox, coyote, or bear will begin to appear on neighborhood social media groups. Misinformation will be shared and doubled down on, with wildlife being the terrible villain in every story and humans and their sometimes improperly cared for pets and livestock the unfortunate victims. Every chicken, lamb, goat, duck, etc., that is killed by a coyote, fox, raccoon, or bear will bring an outcry and demand and threats for bloody revenge. Yes, predators kill small dogs, cats, chickens, and other livestock. (So will dogs, by the way.) However, the majority of conflicts of this nature are avoidable when humans take necessary precautions. The misplaced anger that occurs when they happen would be non-existent if people truly accepted responsibility for the lives in their care. Around here, it also results in murdered wildlife, including foxes and bears.
To be honest, I cannot understand such willful, lazy thinking and focused hatred against animals. My love of wildlife and willingness to coexist is so deeply interwoven with my spiritual beliefs and actions as a practicing Witch and Pagan that I simply cannot imagine any other way of existence. When I started the prep work for writing this column, I repeatedly asked myself how I would connect my spirituality and my craft to co-existing with wildlife. The answer I kept coming up with was, how could I not?
I know many Pagans and Witches happily live urban lives and are not as connected to nature as I am. I also know that many people who work to live bear-wise and in harmony with nature are not Witches or Pagans. But my personal experience with everything becomes more and more connected to my relationship with this land and the spirits and beings that reside here, and learning to live in peaceful, successful, spiritual, practical coexistence is an essential part of that.
A yearling black bear [B. Rhodes]
I keep 22 chickens to have eggs for my family and eggs to sell. The coop is housed in a 12×16 barn purchased, unassembled, from a big box store. A hungry enough bear could peel it like a grape. The floor is reinforced with hardware cloth to prevent predators from tunneling in. The chicken run is fully enclosed and covered with avian netting. But the chickens spend a part of every afternoon free-ranging in the small fenced-in backyard adjacent to the north yard and the wildlife corridor; sometimes Hank is with them in his chicken tender capacity, but most of the time, they are alone. If a predator comes over the fence or gets into the run or the coop and kills my birds, the responsibility for that lies with me in that I am knowingly keeping livestock in an area where predators live. It is not the fault of the hungry animal who recognized a food source that I provided.
If I do not leash my dog when we walk in the woods or confine him to a fenced yard at home, or if I do not train him well enough to have control of him absolutely and he has a physical encounter with wildlife and is injured or killed, the responsibility for that lies with me. Even worse, if I let my dog out onto my open property knowing that bears live in the area and my dog is injured or killed in a conflict, that is my responsibility. If I deliberately set my dog on a bear that I see on my property and my dog is injured or killed in the conflict, I damn well ought to go to jail for cruelty and abuse.
The slow deconstruction of existing societies is bringing humanity to a place where the necessity to coexist with nature peacefully is inevitable for our survival. Our misperceptions of power and our hubris about being better or more than the wild things are coming undone as our civilization comes unwound. All the clocks are running out, and still we ask, “What Time is it, Mr. Fox?”
There was a night last fall when I went out to say goodnight to my gardens. The air was chilly, making me grateful for soft corduroy, flannel, and fleece. I was not expecting to encounter bear fur, but I did indeed do just that towards the bottom of the orchard. A large bear was moving in from the north as I was moving in from the south. I said, “Oh, hello, bear.” He did not answer in any way that I could hear, but we each lingered for a moment before he turned and walked away. At that moment, I thought that when I leave this place, surely I will follow a bear or a fox along a path to my new beginning.
So mote it be.
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