The thermometer this morning read 16.4 degrees F. Time to burrow into the hall closet for the heavy coat, hat, gloves and scarf. It was 7:30 and the birds were hungry. Time to get their feeders out and hung for the day.

The first spring I lived in this area, I didn’t know about bears. The former owner of the house had said something about losing a feeder to bears, but what with unpacking boxes and settling the dogs into their new home, I hadn’t really paid attention.

Outside was a sturdy metal pole, well installed into concrete. On top was a bar with two hooks, perfect for bird feeders. In no time, I had the feeders up and birds had begun visiting.

One morning I looked out and didn’t see the feeders or the pole. What? I dressed swiftly and headed out to the area. The feeders were there on the ground, empty, and the sturdy pole had been pulled down and bent over at an angle of more than 90 degrees. I tried to pull the pole back up but couldn’t get it to budge.

Later that day, I walked over to the neighbor’s house and asked about bears. “Don’t leave your feeder out overnight,” she said. “Bring it in every night from April 1 to December 1.” I decided that was good advice.

Among my stuff I’d packed and moved was an old bird feeder, the kind with a plastic lining and a metal cage to keep out squirrels and large birds. The plastic had long since deteriorated and been thrown out, but the metal cage was perfect for holding dog hair and thread orts. I’d used it before and had always enjoyed watching the birds take the hair and bits of thread for their nests.

After the pole incident, I didn’t dare hang the cage too high, so I looped it over a hook about three feet off the ground. I figured a visiting bear would see what it was and leave it alone. I was wrong. One morning I came out to find the cage on the ground, stomped flat in the middle an obvious expression of disappointment on the bear’s part. I tossed the cage.

I believed I now had an understanding of what to do and not do as far as bears and bird feeders go, but the bears had one more lesson for me. It was October, we’d gone out to dinner and I’d left the feeder out because it was still light. When we got home, it was twilight still bright enough to see into the yard without turning on any lights. Bright enough to see the feeder hanging from its hook except it wasn’t there. In that short time, before full darkness, the bear had come and taken the feeder away with him. It was two years before I found the feeder, down at the edge of the swamp.

One summer night, just as I was getting into bed, the motion detector light came on outside the garage. I quickly made for the window in time to see the rear end of black bear ambling away. I’d seen a bear! It’s one thing to have your feeder stolen by one; it’s quite another to actually see one.

A later visit to the Squam Lake Science Center gave me a very different view of our native black bear. Two captive bears were interacting with one another, standing up to their full height and chasing each other around the fenced area. Seeing live black bears, full grown, teeth bared and claws extended, was a stark reminder of their true power.

They aren’t cuddly overgrown teddy bears, but wild creatures, intent on filling their bellies before the long hibernation, rebuilding their reserves after a long winter’s sleep, and protecting their young from any danger, real or imagined. It isn't wise to encourage them to come too close to our homes or our pets, or to allow them to think of our home grounds as feeding areas.

So now, well before twilight sets in, I bring the feeders into the house every night. I don't even dare leave them on the enclosed porch for fear of the smell enticing a bear to break in. Each morning I don a coat and gloves and carry the feeders back outside, a ritual I don't enjoy.

On this particular morning, I looped three feeders over my arms and walked out to the poles in the frigid air. In the nearby trees, several chickadees warned others of my approach. A nuthatch gave its odd call. I hung the feeders, then walked a few feet away to check on the dogs. When I turned back, the birds were already feasting. I watched for a moment then returned inside. It was time for my breakfast.

By Susan M. Poirier, Master Gardener