Help Yourself

 

What's for lunch?  The SJG on rye

The scary news out of Yellowstone reminds me just how lucky I am to be alive.  Years ago, I had quite the near-death experience, at the hands of a bear.  Make that two bears.  Ask hubby.  He was there.  In fact, I'm pretty sure he's the reason we almost died.  I try not to bring it up too often -- only on special occasions.  Birthdays.  Anniversaries.  "Happy birthday!  Remember when you almost got us killed?"  "Happy anniversary, darling.  Thank God we're here to celebrate."  Why dwell on the past? That's my motto.  Except we almost died!

Not everyone would describe me as "outdoorsy."  Okay, no one would describe me as "outdoorsy."  But this particular tale takes place in the mid-70s, when I had long hair and hiking boots.  Back then, hubby was pre-hubby.  What can I say?  It was an arranged marriage.  For the sake of this story, I'll call him the former boyscout.  But I'm the only one who gets to call him that.  If you see him on the street, please address him as "sir."  

Summer before college, the F.B. and the SJG, for some insane reason, decided to go backpacking in Yosemite.  It sounded very romantic at the time, until the mosquitoes started to swarm and devour the majority of my backside.  We set up camp somewhere secluded (bad move) and pre-hubby proceeded to do his boyscout thing.  "See that tree over there?  That's where we put the food."  "Why would we do that?" "It's the only way the bears won't get our food."  "And neither will we." I'd gone to camp in Big Bear, five consecutive summers.  Not once had I seen this nifty maneuver, but I decided to humor him.  I laughed my tush off as the F.B. lassoed a branch and strung up a cloth bag of dehydrated goodies. 

Early in the morning, we awoke to the sound of rustling.  We had company.  "Oh sh*t!" said the SJG.  "Oh f**k!" said the FB.  A few yards away stood Mama Bear, and she looked hungry.  She eyed me.  Too short.  She eyed the FB.  Too salty.  She eyed the cloth bag in the tree.  Just right!   She climbed up, pulled the string and down came three days' worth of snacks.  She dragged it off, ripped the bag apart and feasted away, sharing every morsel with her baby cub.  It was adorable.  If only we had photographic proof of this event.  But then, we'd probably be dead.  Bears are notoriously anti-paparazzi.  With no food, we had no choice.  We had to hike all the way back to civilization.  Ask me how many times I've been camping since.  I think you can guess the answer.