Member-only story
The Prayer and The Black Bear
A Note of Thanks
My wife and I just arrived at my artist residency in Nelson, British Columbia.
It’s called The Narrows, a name fitting for our journey back to gladness following the loss of our daughter. The artist’s haven sits on a lush, two-acre plot of woodland hills only accessible by boat. We’re here for two weeks, nestled deep into the mountains among the deer, elk, wild turkeys, and robins. The black bears are still hibernating near the peaks, we are told, where enduring snow caps shelter their dark caverns.
“This is skunk cabbage,” our host, Erica, says, pointing to the almost fluorescent yellow flowers that look like calla lilies protruding from the remnants of winter earth. Their green stems, bright and sturdy, emerge like mythical bean stalks from the browns of mud and anemic leaves — a sign of spring awakening. “As they grow, they’ll start to stink like skunks,” she continues. “And when the bears finally wake up, they’ll come down and eat it all; it helps clean their system.”
