A bear on the porch is where I draw the line. I’m willing to share the yard with the bear that has been marauding my neighborhood all spring. But when she came up onto the deck, I had to ask her to leave. She agreed.
I live in the woods. I feed birds. Sometimes in the spring, I feed bears, though not intentionally. This has been going on for several years now. My current ursine visitor appears to be a young female, probably on her own for the first time. Black bears typically spend 16-17 months with their mothers before they’re independent.
I suspect that this youngster learned her bad habits from her mother. Last year, a sow brought her three cubs through the yard, doing little mischief.
I learned years ago to take down the feeders before the bears are out of hibernation. Of course, that date was hard to gauge this year. Winter began the first week of April and ended a few days later. In many cases, hibernation ended early.
Two years ago, the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife appropriately dealt with the problem by putting up posters in the neighborhood, reminding residents to avoid leaving anything in the yard that a bear might find appetizing.
That certainly includes bird feeders, but also trash bins, open compost piles and greasy barbecue grills.
Bears aren’t the problem. Bears have lived in my neighborhood for 10,000 years. I’ve only been in this spot for a quarter century. Relocating bears is seldom necessary, and rarely done. It’s best if we all just get along.
So far, my furry little friend seems OK with that. She’s way too bold for her own good, but she’s also respectful. She avoids people, not so much out of fear, but rather because she just doesn’t want confrontation. The local dogs bark at her without much enthusiasm. I guess we all know each other.
When it comes right down to it, the bear is more courteous than the rest of my neighbors.
I contend that I own my yard, but a dozen squirrels disagree. The chipmunks just ignore me. The eastern phoebes nesting on my garage now have nestlings, and both parents raise an alarm the moment I walk out the front door.
They’re not being pleasant neighbors at all.
So we come back around to bird-feeding. Although the birds can find plenty of food on their own, they’re comfortable enough in my backyard to enjoy a few of the sunflower seeds I put out when the bears aren’t around.
In return for the entertainment they provide me, I have a responsibility to keep the feeders safe and clean. I have a responsibility to discourage bad bear behavior by not leading them into temptation.
Maine has a lot of wildlife — I dare say, more than any other eastern state. It’s something Mainers are proud of. Accordingly, we have many more interactions with wildlife. Wild animals are part of our lives, and we’re also part of theirs. Sometimes we must manage their behavior. Most times, we must manage ours.
There are so many examples. Don’t chase loons with boats or moose with snowmobiles. Don’t feed foxes. Don’t illegally stock fish or discard live bait. Don’t harass wildlife with drones.
We’ve even had to modernize our thinking on such practices as balloon releases. Who knew they looked like food to some critters? Who knew seabirds could get tangled in plastic six-pack rings?
What are we to do about our hatred of insects and our fondness for insecticides? Aerial insectivores such as swallows and flycatchers are disappearing rapidly. Bats have been in trouble for years.
Should we be feeding deer? Unless they get into the peonies, deer are cute. But anything that artificially brings them together into bigger groups poses the risk of spreading ticks and disease.
Meanwhile, I’m merely trying to coexist peacefully with a bear who was bold enough to walk across my lawn at 9:30 in the morning, just as I was getting ready to mow. She paused long enough to make sure I hadn’t put feeders back out yet, then moseyed toward the neighbor’s yard.
Last week, she tried to get into my compost bucket outside the kitchen door. When I originally built a wooden container box for it, I installed a solid latch just in case a future bear tried to open it. For 20 years, no bear tried — until now.
The bears are getting smarter. I’m just trying to keep up.
