This week’s short story is non-fiction. Well, mostly non-fiction. I actually write a fair number of non-fiction autobiographical stories but until now, everything I’ve been posting on my weekly blog has been fiction.
I did a live presentation of this story over the weekend. Rather, it was a version of this story. I’ve done a lot of tweaking since then.
As always, I hope you read, enjoy, comment, share, or go on about your day.
My family is traveling to Yellowstone National Park in about a month and my mom has been getting a little bit concerned about bears. Apparently, there are a lot of bears at Yellowstone and she’s worried we may run into one. She’s been reading up on bear spray and assures us we’ll be able to get some as soon as we get to the park.
Actually, I guess you can buy the stuff at 7-11 in that part of the country.
I don’t know why she’s so concerned, to be honest. When it comes to National Parks and bears, I have the worst luck.
About ten years ago, Pat and I took a trip to Washington DC. We spent most of our time in the city but for a day trip, we went to Shenandoah National Park. It was a foggy day and unfortunately, most of the views of the valley were obscured.
As we were driving, Pat suddenly shouted “BEAR” and pointed across the road to where a bear was clearly hanging out waiting to be noticed. I fumbled with my camera and took one picture:
As you can see, it is a blurry picture of what might be a bear walking back into the forest. Looks like the butt of a black bear from what I can tell. I’m sure it was a bear but this picture could be used as proof of Bigfoot about as easily as it could be used as proof of a bear.
That would not be my final failed encounter with a bear in a National Park.