Please bear with me if I repeat myself a few times during this article. But I have to bare it all to make my point.
Part of the Boggan family had returned to Steamboat Springs, Colo. this summer so it was a homecoming of sorts. The eight of us who had made the trip were staying at our old home up on Ski Trail Lane. Because I went to Ole Miss, and the house sat down in a hollow we originally called the house Rebel Holler. (We southerners don’t say hollow, we say holler.) But the name had changed over time; our grands called it the Snow House.
On this night, our family had been out to eat, and we were in two cars. I was with son Bill, daughter-in-law Binnie Jo, and grands Peyton and Maddie. Son Bob, daughter-in-law Gail and grandson Brent had been behind us in coming in to the restaurant. Our group finished their meal, and the children were restless. We had had a lovely dinner and a long day, so Bill’s carload, which I was part of, bid a fond adieu to the family group who had come in later.
The sun was resting on top of Mt. Werner and it was barely dark when we pulled away from the restaurant.
“Our waiter’s a bear of a guy, but he wasn’t unbearable,” Binnie Jo said. We were still laughing about him as we passed Bear Claw condominiums, on our way up Ski Trail Lane to the Snow House.
When we got out of the car a breeze rustled our clothes. “Just carry the bare necessities with you,” Bill told Peyton and Maddie as they began gathering toys in their arms.
I gazed toward the sky and tilted my head back. Moonbright nights can calm the soul, I thought. Then a shiver ran down my spine; there was a strange air about the place, expectant.
A breeze blew an aroma, something I had smelled before, like the lion’s cage at the Jackson zoo.
“I feel like something’s watching us,” Peyton said. “Me too,” echoed Maddie. As we started walking down the 67 steps leading to the Snow House, the boards seemed to moan as if they were trying to warn us of something.
“And I smell something,” Maddie said when we stepped into the house. “It’s like my sweaty tennis shoes.”
“You probably need to take a bath,” I said. “Both of you girls.”
“Later,” Bill said. “We have a movie to watch.”
We had barely settled in on the couch before the front door flew open and the rest of our family burst into the house.
“It’s a bar,” Bob gulped.
“I don’t know what you’ve had to drink.” I stood up.”But this is a house. The bar’s in the restaurant. Where we just came from.”
“No.” His lips barely moved. “A bear. A big bear. Up by our cars.”
“Yogi?” Peyton whispered, tears streaming down her face.
“Panda?” Maddie asked. “Pooh Bear?”
“A real, live, mama bear,” Gail said. “At the top of the driveway.”
“A what?” Maddie screamed, burying her face in Marty, the stuffed penguin she carries everywhere she goes.
My mouth went dry, my stomach tightened. The kind of feeling I used to get when I’d hear cherry bombs on the Fourth of July.
“Just bear in mind that everyone should calm down,” Bill said. “We’re in here and the bear’s out there. Wildlife comes with the territory up here. Let’s settle down and watch the movie I brought, ‘Paddington.’ ”
“It’s a sweet movie about a talking bear. Everybody can enjoy it. But I’m going to slip into my pajamas. I’ve seen the movie,” daughter-in-law Binnie Jo Boggan said, turning toward the downstairs steps.
A scream pierced the night. A door slammed shut. Footsteps pounded up the steps.
“Bears!” Binnie Jo screamed. “Call the police. Bears in our bedroom. They knocked out the window.”
For a moment it was too still. Then children began sobbing.
“911.” Gail’s voice trembled. “I’m calling 911.”
In only a matter of moments, police came, then the wildlife people.
Scented candles were shredded all over the bedroom floor. There were pawprints on the walls. On the bed.
It looked like mama bear had lifted her baby bear out the window when she heard us come in. Food that had been inside was gone. Outside the window they had crawled out of were empty cookie bags and jars of Juice Plus.
The wildlife people spoke in quiet level tones, trying to calm everybody down. They set a trap and told us what to do.
“Don’t you worry,” they said. “The traps are a sure thing. Call us when you catch the bear.”
We put food out each night. Doughnuts. Cakes with icing
It was gone every morning.
No trap was sprung.
Mama Bear and her baby were well fed while we were there.
And nothing I’ve written here is a bare-faced lie.
