“A Story About A Bear” was published as a blog post on July 28, 2008, and is easily recognized as an allegory. It is not an allegory for my life as a whole—I am really not that depressed—but on a specific element of my life. I do believe that I am quickly nearing a crossroads. Those who know me well, know of that of which I write. Others can take this story in the context of the larger “life as a whole” issue, as I think it can be aptly applied as such.
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A Story About A Bear
There was once a small bear cub who lived with his bear family in the hollowed out base of a huge oak tree deep in the woods. The woods were abundant with resources. The berries were plentiful, wildlife abounded, and a nearby stream teamed with fish—oh, how the young bear loved to fish! The cub thoroughly enjoyed his life in these woods. He had lots of friends among the forest animals. And he greatly looked forward to those long winter naps tucked away inside that wonderful old oak tree.
As time went on, the stream began to dry up, just a little at a time so that it was hardly noticeable at first. After a while, the fishing was not as good as it used to be, and many of the young bear’s animal friends began to move away in search of a more sustaining place to live. By the time that the young bear grew to full adulthood, his parents and siblings had moved on to better hunting and fishing grounds. Yet, alas, the young bear still had an attachment to this place that he called home—as it was really the only home that he had ever known.
Years went by. The stream had long ago dried up. The bear had reached middle-age, and all of his friends were long since gone. Even the majestic oak tree had become ravaged by storms and insects. His parents and siblings would send word to the bear from time to time encouraging him to leave that barren place and join them in a new and better land. But somehow he remained captive to that place of his youth, a place that really had ceased to exist many years before.
The aging bear knew that things were vastly different now than they were when he was a young cub, and he knew that things could never again be the same as they once were. In his heart of hearts, the bear knew that he, too, should leave the skeletal remains of his youth behind and move on. But he was compelled to remain in that woods. There were still a few animals left and he didn’t want to let them down. After all, he was now a leader among those animals, and the void created if he left would be just too big.
The bear reasoned that he could still survive in the woods. When it rained, he could still get a little bit of water out of the stream and think of old times. He could subsist on berries that he would gather here and there. He didn’t really need fish in his diet to survive anyway. He could manage to get by.
And so the bear stayed in the woods were he was born. The tree that was his home eventually crumbled to the ground. The woods around him decayed and the dusty remains returned to the earth. And soon the now old bear died, never having ventured from the home of his youth—never knowing the abundance of what might have been just beyond the woods, through the glen, and into a land of plenty beyond.
I live in Wilson, NC. We have a vacation cabin that my family and I visit about every 4-5 weeks. We do rent it out as a rental between our visits but “This Story” resonates with me because of the special meaning our cabin has for me.
I grew up with three brothers, one died at age 23; I was 26 at the time.
I have always had a feeling of loss that has stayed with me. A longing to hear him laugh, just to see that grin he shared so easily with everyone.
He had a brain tumor, recovered,only to die a month later in a car accident.
Being an only girl my mother and I were very close. My mother died 5 years ago with breast cancer.(And yes, she did get exams and do everything right, but still she died from this terrible disease.) Being a nurse I felt helpless as I saw her life and strength wither day by day. I was there every moment possible and I do cherish our time together.
The story reminds me of why I go to the cabin as often as I do. Often, alone.
My husband,boys and my father also go up with me a lot, but when I go alone I find a peace not found anywhere else. It is a 5 hour drive. I am sure we all have a ‘connection’ to my mother there. She loved this place, as we all do. I remember being upstairs in the loft bedroom and being awakened by the smell of bacon cooking and coffee brewing.
I would get up and we would spend “our time” together, sharing a cup of coffee as the we listened to breeze blow through the mountain gap and whistle as it wrestled with the tall maples outside our cabin door.
A time before the boys awakened and we all sat down to enjoy our meal.
Mom and Dad loved nature and took us on long hikes from the time we were able to walk. Even back in Wilson, without mountain views we spent ‘Sunday afternoons walking the woods of farms and finding odd little creatures and old wooden traps set long ago by hunters. Often down by the creeks and streams that ran across fields that once were the lifeline for the people that farmed them.
The story of the bear, reminds me of myself. Always drawn back to the cabin. A small, unassuming cabin tucked in amidst the mountains of Maggie. My haven. My solice. My place of rememberance and hope.
Just like that old bear. I hope to return there, year after year. Trip after trip until I too, take that one last trip and find my way to the stars- where I have no doubt my brother and mother are waiting to show me around!
Thanks for letting me ramble.
Rebecca
By: Rebecca on November 21, 2009
at 1:01 am
Great story.
By: Rebecca on November 21, 2009
at 1:07 am