Hackles rose on Mickey’s back, and a low growl began rumbling in her throat. Grant froze and laid a hand on her head. “Shh. It’s probably just the cows,” he whispered as he peered around a bush. Huckleberry bushes rustled and swayed in front of him. A black snout and head covered with glossy fur emerged.
Mickey’s growl grew louder. Then, larger than Grant’s imagination, a bear with glistening fur rose on its back legs. It lifted its snout, testing the air. Satisfied, it lowered back on all fours and padded around another bush, searching for any berries left after the family had gathered theirs.
Panic gave way to wonder. It’s so big. So powerful. I’ve never been this close to a bear before. It doesn’t see me and probably doesn’t smell me.
The dog’s warning increased. “Quiet,” Grant hissed. The bear hesitated and reversed directions. Once again, it lifted its nose, drinking deeply of the air. Fear returned. Fear he’d never known before. Fear worse than when Momma and Father hadn’t come home when getting chicks, or when Momma broke her arm. That had been a gnawing fear, nibbling at his mind. This one was different; it clawed at his stomach. No one knew exactly where he was. No one but Mickey, and she couldn’t tell anyone.
Something gave strength to his legs. Something bigger than himself. Power he’d never felt before helped him dodge and weave as he raced through the brush toward the creek. His heart pounded in his ears. Was there something behind him? He couldn’t turn to look. When his lungs felt like they would burst, he leaned over, his hands on his knees.
He wondered: Is this how Ellen felt when I left her alone at the swamp, with Uncle Sherman’s unpredictable bull, and Belle desperate for help? Is this what Belle felt? She’s just a cow, but still a live animal. What do cows feel anyway? What about the chickens during the flood? Father was probably afraid when Momma broke her arm, and he yelled at me. Maybe Irene, too, when she was left in charge. (Except from the chapter called Wandering in Spruceland Farms: A Cowboy with No Horse)
I think about this section of the book on my evening walks, which aren’t wandering excursions. Wearing a weighted vest and carrying the folded and frayed chapter of 1 Peter that I am trying to cement in my memory, I pound out steps. If I don’t walk off my day, no matter how productive or peaceful, my sleep isn’t as deep.
As dusk grows deeper on these fall days, when I come around a section of the field, I look toward a volunteer apple tree that was old we bought the property more than thirty years ago. Last year, below it’s weighted branches I saw a black stump. “Wait, that can’t be a stump.”
Then the stump moved and lumbered closer to the tree. Piper and Misty, my four-legged faithful companions, paused then perked up their ears. Before they could investigate, I reversed directions, deciding I’d rather circle our middle field where the cows still grazed.
Fear comes in many different forms and from various sources. Fear of man, fear of nature, and fear of ourselves result in crippling consequences. But what about fear of God? This is a fear that brings life and freedom, wisdom and protection, peace and joy beyond our circumstances, delight and wonder, expectation and confidence.1
May you know this kind of fear—one leading to relationship and worship.
Writing news:
Spruceland Farms: A Cowboy with No Horse—I recorded it as an audio book last week. Now I need to go through the next lessons to learn how to polish and upload it.
Little Farm Series: Speckles the Ordinary Chicken—I placed an order for the soft-cover edition; hopefully they will arrive soon. I created an Amazon author page, although I haven’t done anything beyond putting in my name. After I receive the sample copy of the hardcover edition, I will open up links for sales from the printer.
Speckles the Brave—The illustrator sent me the pictures for the story to review. They are just as beautiful as in the first book.
Picture book Spruceland Farms: Beautiful Hands—I’ve received the illustrations for the story but still need to review them for any alterations.
Can you see the bear paw print in this pile of cow manure that we found in our field this month? Do you see the old bear marks under the fresh ones on the first picture?
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