My Postage Stamp of Native Soil
On the way home Sunday, I snapped some photos.
I ran across some black bear poop. Across it, not through it, with my car. So I stopped to check it out.
As you can see, the scat is black – and it will be weeks before the bears are eating berries. Case proven. Black bear poop is black. Science be damned.
The cell phone? Likely some unwary tourist fell prey.
I had to snap the sign at the White Otter River. The river is designated a canoe trail. Which it is. Maybe a hundred years ago a canoe went through here. And, listen, the White Otter River is not white. It is brown. A very, very muddy brown. And any otters in it, I guarantee, will not be white.
I had to snap this sign, because I believe it contains an unnecessary admonition. It is a one-lane bridge with no guard rails. Has to be a Guv’mint sign.
I passed one sign that said Winding Road for 3 Km. What a baloney sign. It should read: Winding Trail for 90 Km with Blind Hills and Blind Curves and Billions of Blankety-Blank Potholes. I didn’t stop for a photo. Who would believe me?
Speaking of Guv’mint, it built the highway between Caramat and the outside world, i.e., Highway 11, the alternative TransCanada. The Guv’mint will tell you it is a paved road. Hah. Who yuh gonna believe? It is a corduroy road with some hard ridges. But no potholes. You may find that hard to believe the way your car vibrates continuously.
When I got home, Olga told me about the visitor she had the night below. A bear. Colour black. Now, the Guv’mint says, over and over, Be Bear Wise. Don’t lure the bears. Don’t leave stinking fish guts in your yard, or overflowing birdfeeders, or small children.
If you don’t lure the bears, they won’t bother you.
Hah. This bruin threw around the empty bin of birdseed. It greased up the glass of our patio door to the top of the frame as it tried to gain entry. It shat on our lawn.
The colour of said shat? Black.
This is what we call in the North, bushwa. What the Guv’mint says, I mean.
So now I’m back home, I’ve got to think of something to write.
And I want to say to all you writers out there, writers in search of a subject: Stick to your own backyard.
Don’t come prowling ’round my yard. You won’t find no subjects up here but mighty bland, colourless stuff (Excuse my English).
But if you do come up, drop in.
I’ve got beverages on ice.
And an 0 Henry bar the bear didn’t get.