Did You See That?
I’ve needed glasses for a few years, now. Okay, make that ten years. I wear them when I’m driving because I figure I owe it to everyone else on the road, but beyond that I mostly don’t bother. If life is slightly blurry around the edges, that’s fine by me.
It might be a different story if I looked good in glasses. No need to go into detail here about my oversized, misshapen cranium. Suffice to say that even Yvonne had to admit I have challenges in the frames department. I can’t wear contacts, either.
I was managing pretty well until this summer, when I started to notice what I wasn’t noticing. During my typical daily walk at the family cottage, for example, I saw a pair of riders on horseback approaching in the distance. As they crested a hill, however, I realized it was actually four humans and two dogs on leashes.
On the road the following evening, I said to my mother, “Check out that cat. Why is it walking so funny?”
Mom’s eyes narrowed behind her thick lenses. “Because it’s a crow?”
I agreed I should give my glasses a try, at least during solitary strolls on the country roads. Who knew what else I was missing?
The next day my prescription shades revealed distinct leaves on trees that used to be masses of green. The hawk soaring overhead turned out to be an osprey and the reddish blur in the distance came into focus as a deer. It was practically a National Geographic special.
I was heading down the hill that leads to the main road when I heard twigs snapping. Turning my corrected vision to the left, I quickly located the culprit. A black head with small ears loomed over a fence a few yards away. The creature was on its hind legs, watching me with small brown eyes.
Without my glasses, I might have mistaken it for an unusually agile Labrador retriever. With my glasses, I could positively ID it as a black bear. A young black bear, but a bear nonetheless.
Here’s where I saw it:
I’ve read those tips about what to do when confronted by a bear (usually a sidebar with a report of a bear mauling), but I didn’t pay much attention. In the dozens of summers I’ve spent at my cottage, I’ve never once seen a bear. Maybe I missed some that were actually there, but I doubt it. That kind of news tends to get around.
Faced with the real thing, I couldn’t remember what to do. Whistle? Clap? Sing? Crouch? Run? Play dead?
While I weighed my options, the bear climbed over the fence and walked across the road in front of me. It watched me the whole time.
Soon it was behind me, moving quickly up the hill and deeper into the bushes. I continued down the hill, my head swiveling exorcist-style. The young bear didn’t worry me that much, but the prospect of meeting its mother didn’t appeal. (What kind of mom would let her youngster roam the roads at noon in a well-populated area, anyway? There’s a perfectly good garbage dump ten miles down the road. Bear heaven.)
Turning at the bottom of the hill, I headed toward home. Walking a lot faster than usual, if you must know. Practically running.
I was about to cross the highway when I heard more twigs snapping. The sound was louder this time, so I figured it had to be the mother bear.
Out of the bush came the same young bear—or its identical twin. Once again it crossed the road in front of me, this time even closer. It didn’t even look at me. Obviously I am not much of a threat.
Here’s where I saw it the second time:
It took my legs a few seconds to pick up the signal from my brain but when I finally crossed the highway, I saw the same group of people I’d mistaken for horses a few days earlier.
“I’d pick up that Chihuahua if I were you,” I said. “There’s a bear in the bush.”
The man gave me a skeptical look and I wondered how many other annoying facial expressions I’d missed in my years of not wearing glasses.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “The people I rented the cottage from said there aren’t any bears around here.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said, keeping watch over my shoulder. “I’m wearing my glasses.”
And I’ll be wearing them during all my walks from now on.
Cottage country is no place for vanity.
It might be a different story if I looked good in glasses. No need to go into detail here about my oversized, misshapen cranium. Suffice to say that even Yvonne had to admit I have challenges in the frames department. I can’t wear contacts, either.
I was managing pretty well until this summer, when I started to notice what I wasn’t noticing. During my typical daily walk at the family cottage, for example, I saw a pair of riders on horseback approaching in the distance. As they crested a hill, however, I realized it was actually four humans and two dogs on leashes.
On the road the following evening, I said to my mother, “Check out that cat. Why is it walking so funny?”
Mom’s eyes narrowed behind her thick lenses. “Because it’s a crow?”
I agreed I should give my glasses a try, at least during solitary strolls on the country roads. Who knew what else I was missing?
The next day my prescription shades revealed distinct leaves on trees that used to be masses of green. The hawk soaring overhead turned out to be an osprey and the reddish blur in the distance came into focus as a deer. It was practically a National Geographic special.
I was heading down the hill that leads to the main road when I heard twigs snapping. Turning my corrected vision to the left, I quickly located the culprit. A black head with small ears loomed over a fence a few yards away. The creature was on its hind legs, watching me with small brown eyes.
Without my glasses, I might have mistaken it for an unusually agile Labrador retriever. With my glasses, I could positively ID it as a black bear. A young black bear, but a bear nonetheless.
Here’s where I saw it:
I’ve read those tips about what to do when confronted by a bear (usually a sidebar with a report of a bear mauling), but I didn’t pay much attention. In the dozens of summers I’ve spent at my cottage, I’ve never once seen a bear. Maybe I missed some that were actually there, but I doubt it. That kind of news tends to get around.
Faced with the real thing, I couldn’t remember what to do. Whistle? Clap? Sing? Crouch? Run? Play dead?
While I weighed my options, the bear climbed over the fence and walked across the road in front of me. It watched me the whole time.
Soon it was behind me, moving quickly up the hill and deeper into the bushes. I continued down the hill, my head swiveling exorcist-style. The young bear didn’t worry me that much, but the prospect of meeting its mother didn’t appeal. (What kind of mom would let her youngster roam the roads at noon in a well-populated area, anyway? There’s a perfectly good garbage dump ten miles down the road. Bear heaven.)
Turning at the bottom of the hill, I headed toward home. Walking a lot faster than usual, if you must know. Practically running.
I was about to cross the highway when I heard more twigs snapping. The sound was louder this time, so I figured it had to be the mother bear.
Out of the bush came the same young bear—or its identical twin. Once again it crossed the road in front of me, this time even closer. It didn’t even look at me. Obviously I am not much of a threat.
Here’s where I saw it the second time:
It took my legs a few seconds to pick up the signal from my brain but when I finally crossed the highway, I saw the same group of people I’d mistaken for horses a few days earlier.
“I’d pick up that Chihuahua if I were you,” I said. “There’s a bear in the bush.”
The man gave me a skeptical look and I wondered how many other annoying facial expressions I’d missed in my years of not wearing glasses.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “The people I rented the cottage from said there aren’t any bears around here.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said, keeping watch over my shoulder. “I’m wearing my glasses.”
And I’ll be wearing them during all my walks from now on.
Cottage country is no place for vanity.
posted by Yvonne and Sandy, loveincbook.com at 6:00 PM
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