My neighbor brought me the bear scat. (See immediately below.) He had it in his hand—and handed it to me. Basically, it’s modestly digested bark and nuts. (Period.) I surely wouldn’t take a knife and fork to it, but it’s a long, long way from what city folk might imagine. Particularly when the world goes wobbly, it is pure joy to be imbedded in the land, listening to bear calls at night (they sound like owls), waking up to farm sounds and having an oasis a long way from Citicorp HQ. I’m one of the old fashioned types—I guess it’s the new fashion, in point of fact—who think we were designed to be in touch with the land in one way or another. (I say all this, while I claim with equal sincerity that I left my heart in San Francisco. Lucky me.)
