It is my belief that the mice set us up. That’s how the bear(s) knew where to go.
On a mountain in Butte County, a wide-ranging crew of Black people have embarked on a mission of land stewardship.
That means if you want that country cottage, you have to build it yourself.
When we first saw the land after our veteran land steward – let’s call her Goldi-Locs for her long locs that are the gold of California hills – asked for help putting up a fence to ward off potential trespassers. What had been lavish green hills of Douglas fir were now covered with dark spires like burnt matches pushing into the sky.
Up close, moss and ferns edged out from the bases of blackened tree stumps. A lizard skittered by, the only sign of life. No birds. No squirrels. No mice.
And no bears.
Fast forward five years, and FEMA has done all it will do to clear burned trees. The remaining trees are dead and have to be logged and milled.
The most urgent work is to clear the dirt access roads clogged with dead trees. For shelter while we, I mean, they do that, we bought an old trailer that has seen better days but suits our needs.
My husband has anticipated 99% of our needs – tents, saws, canopies, batteries, shovels, rakes, axes, picks, etc., and Goldi-Locs instructs and reminds us how to get from step A to B, but there is nothing like the experience you gain on your own. Meaning: you don’t how to do it until you do it. No matter what you read, what somebody says, until you do it, you don’t know.
So, I thought I knew what I was doing. It was my job to assist with the cooking and set-up. And the break-down. There are cupboards in the trailer and a refrigerator, so I stored a couple of unopened boxes of spaghetti and an unopened bottle of olive oil, salt (Lawry’s of course), pepper, garlic powder and dried Italian herbs in the cupboard. In the refrigerator, which seals closed like any normal refrigerator I (accidently) left a box of butter.
Two weeks later, we get a call in Oakland from Goldi-Locs that the door of the trailer was hanging off its hinge, visible from her trailer uphill and 150 yards west of ours.
She said she would enlist the help of another (male) neighbor, to investigate.
An hour later, we got the report: No one was in the cabin, but a bear – or bears – had been. Outside, a torn box of spaghetti with just one or two remaining stiff strands lay in the dirt. Inside, the salt, pepper, herbs and garlic oil were an aromatic mess on the floor, while coffee grounds were scattered over the counter (After-dinner coffee?).
Paw prints led to the bathroom and beyond a single, muddy paw print marked the duvet on our bed.
Besides claw marks in the cupboard, and a swipe of dirt on the front and side of the refrigerator, there was no major damage.
Goldi-Locs and G. cleaned up the worst of it and were able to get the door up on the hinge and lock it. The trailer remained unmolested until our return.
In the meantime, some sleuthing – as Nancy Drew would put it – had been done. Visitors to the mountain confessed that they had previously prepared a vegetarian meal of – that’s right– pasta in a red sauce with sautéed garlic, onions, and Lawry’s and Italian herbs.
They ate outdoors. The scent filled the air. Mice have returned to the forest. They know how to get under, over and into trailers. Easy-peasy. They managed to get a little of the Italian meal. The bears wanted some. The mice shrugged their little shoulders and said, “we got everything but the crumbs, but over in the next yard, they have everything you need to MAKE IT YOURSELVES.”
So, it was Yogi, ‘smarter than the average bear, according to himself – and no doubt accompanied by Boo-Boo (the Fool), lumbered over to our unoccupied trailer and gently opened the door. The spaghetti in one cupboard, seasonings in the other, olive oil and look out- butter for bread in the refrigerator.
Yes, everything they needed. The whole recipe, or so the trifling mice said, having omitted fresh onion and bell pepper. The mice had left out the most important part – how to get the job done. Yogi had been given no information on pots, turning on the stove, boiling water, etc.
Disappointed, it was time for a nap, but the bed was neither hard, nor soft, but too small and as their cave was more comfortable, Yogi was of the mind to head home, maybe go fishing on the way in that nice stream up the hill.
Boo-Boo (the Fool), however, was of the mind to spitefully take do what bears do in the woods, but Yogi reminded him that, as it is their forest it is wise not to do that where you eat.
But when Yogi is not around, evidence shows that Boo-Boo routinely returns to the scene of the crime and leaves a little something in the middle of the path to the outhouse. Just because.
The mischievous mice have yet to be apprehended.
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