229: Connecticut encounter

While Bernd and Elsita scaled Namibia’s highest mountain (see Namibia Diary #228) I was in the United States. Family Health International conveniently paid for my fare and I spent two weeks at their headquarters in Arlington, Virginia, and at a nearby conference. (This was the closest I got to President Obama, but it was fun anyway.)

Afterwards I added a few days’ vacation and a visit to southwestern Ohio where my undergraduate alma mater awarded me an alumni citation for professional achievement. Returning to Wilmington College after 37 years felt both strange and wonderful: This small Quaker school now aims for similar goals as ours in Namibia – namely to provide an opportunity for first-generation college students to get a degree and build a better future(40% of their student body). Although hard-hit like everyone else in the recession, the faculty voluntarily agreed to a pay-cut and several retired professors are offering their services for free (including several of mine from way-back) -- thus ensuring that the college will pull through without sacrificing the quality of their education.

In the New York and Washington areas, I was royally treated by friends and relatives, and I marvel that our family has not yet been forgotten – if anything, the friendships have deepened over the years. Thanks to everyone for their interest and hospitality. I feel spoiled and loved and eternally grateful.

That said, I hardly thought my stories of travels in the US could compare to the nail-biting adventures of the family’s mountain-climbers, especially Elsita’s Saga of the Shredded Shoes -- until I reached Connecticut.

Heading northeast by train from New York, I looked out the window for signs of wildlife. Just to the side of the tracks, I saw a gray heron, some egrets, a few chipmunks, two deer, and a loon. Once in Connecticut, my cousin announced the daily program: We would spend the first day near a local pond to go hiking and swimming and enjoy a picnic on a grassy knoll. On the second day we should look for wild orchids, hike in a nearby state part, and have another picnic. Everything worked out perfectly: The swimming was cold but clear, the food was yummy and fresh, and the hikes provided an incentive for more of the same. Sure enough, we also got to see some blooming wild orchids (here is Bob pointing at one), walk along the Appalachian Trail (you see cousin Carol and Bob by the sign-post), and enjoy some lovely views.







If it weren’t for my cousins’ cat, however, we would have missed the highlight of my stay. While the rest of us slept, he (the cat) started pacing at 5:20 in the morning, eventually waking Carol. As she got up to let the cat out, she looked outside the back door to the tin garbage bin that stores the household supply of wild bird food. Suddenly, Carol let out a hoarse whisper that she repeated three times, each time elevated in volume and alarm: “Bear! Bear! BEAR!”

The instant these magic words reached my ears, I jumped up and grabbed my camera. I needn’t have rushed, however. The object of Carol’s call was sitting placidly, nose inside his treasure trove, seemingly oblivious to the gawking humans just inches away on the other side of the glass door.

The scene took my breath away. I had seen bears only fleetingly before, and always at a distance. This bear was huge. And powerful. And very, VERY close.

With the rising dawn, I snapped some pictures. We didn’t want to frighten him, thinking that a scared bear might be more than we could handle. On the other hand, Carol lamented that they had just bought a large sack full of bird-seed. Would the bear eat it all? Trying to save his investment, Bob opened the bathroom window, just inches from the bear’s head. The bear slowly rose, sauntered across the lawn and turned back around, only to return across the little garden bridge two minutes later in order to finish off his object-of-desire. This dance took place twice more in the next half hour, as the lure of fresh sunflower seeds always brought the bear back. Here he is, in full glory.






When he finally had his fill, the bear stood up and left. Graceful and unperturbed, he was an object of great beauty. The rest of us talked about the bear’s visit all day. This was the first time Bob and Carol had seen a bear in over a year, and they had never encountered one this close. And only two hours from downtown Manhattan! It takes my breath away, just thinking of it. I’m still smiling.