The kids and I happen to be reading Carl Hiassen’s SCAT this week:
We also happened to be shopping today for a gift to give a soon-to-be-ten-year-old friend who loves the outdoors. We bought him James Halfpenny and Jim Bruchac’s SCATS AND TRACKS OF THE NORTHEAST:
And then, in a truly bizarre confluence of, um, poopiness … we had a black bear visit our back yard. I kid you not. Here, check it out:
It was a strange thing, to stand together just inside the glass slider to our yard and watch a bear scour our (now crumpled) bird feeder*, get up and meander through the newly tilled blueberry bed (thank heavens we haven’t planted the bushes yet), and then lope across the yard, past the shed, and into the neighbor’s yard. An honest-to-goodness black bear. In our back yard.
You can bet we were out scat-hunting in the former bird feeding station this morning. Nothing interesting to report.
* Evidence of the bear was first found at my neighbor’s feeders on Easter morning. We let our feeders go dry immediately (they were close to it anyway as our feeding and FeederWatching season ended at the beginning of April), but even still the bear paid a visit. I’m hoping s/he moves on before stumbling upon the neighbor’s beehives …
** I have also spent a good deal of time this week finalizing my presentation for this weekend’s New England SCBWI conference. I’ll be leading a workshop on writing trade non-fiction. It will not be poopy. I promise.