Thank you, Prajna. This is worth printing out and putting on my mirror: "I love how imagination fills us up to linger in the woods of belonging." I appreciate your support and goodwill. Hugs and more hugs to you and your girls.
Stephanie - Thank you for sharing a big, open piece of your heart with us. It reminded me of your father and the bear, scratched, scarred, hurt even and yet profoundly alive. The kind that wanders close enough to stir something in us we didn’t know needed touching.
Your story brought me back to a younger version of myself, spending summer weeks with my brother and his in-laws near Glacier. We’d eat huckleberry pie until our lips turned purple, and I remember how the sun lingered late into the evening like it, too, didn’t want to leave. One summer, we biked the Going-to-the-Sun Road, passing elk, bighorn sheep, and bears, their presence both awe-inspiring and oddly familiar.
Those were summers of innocence, my heart close family and nature, not yet knowing what lay ahead. And now, years later, I realize how much I long for that simplicity, for the wildness, the wonder, and the people and places that strongly shaped me.
Your story reminded me not only of Glacier, but of what it means to carry memory like an old scar, sometimes faded, sometimes painful but always pointing to what mattered. Like your father’s scratches, some things mark us because something real got close.
Thank you for helping me remember and feel. And for reminding me that even when people drift, something essential remains: in how we listen, how we speak to the world, and how we keep remembering who we are at heart of the matter.
My dear sister made huckleberry pie. We gathered the berries together. That was some pie! And especially, thank you for this: ". . . even when people drift, something essential remains: in how we listen, how we speak to the world, and how we keep remembering who we are at heart of the matter."
Yes this is what lingers, the marking or the scar of the event. I appreciate the thoughtful manner behind your words . . . always have. It's really how we met! Thank you and big hugs to you and yours.
Gosh, what an amazing and heart-warming story. Poignant. It works on so many levels, including the metaphorical! And I LOVE stories like that.
“We both remembered who we were.” That line stopped me. It feels like your dad, and maybe even the bear, would have preferred to stay in the forgetting. I’m imagining the world we’d have if more of us, for more than an instant, forgot who we were; forgot so that our True Selves, the ones who yearn for connection, could surface…and maybe stay a while longer. This will stay with me a while (as all great writing does!).
And 💙 to you for the shout out. The feeling, I hope you know, is more than mutual.
You are a gem of a human being, Kert. Thank you for your kind words. I especially cherish this: "I'm imagining the world we’d have if more of us, for more than an instant, forgot who we were; forgot so that our True Selves, the ones who yearn for connection, could surface…and maybe stay a while longer." Biggest of hugs.
Indeed! My ex and I still live together... Just not in the same room for very long lol.I admire anyone with the confidence to find a child's lost pet...simply by " thinking like a hermit crab."
This scene is so beautifully told - not only the scene with the bear and the father, but also the scene of the father relaying it to the girl, and her response to it. Lovely.
This piece tugs at my heart. I feel so many emotions after reading it. Mostly, I'm glad you find comfort in the patchwork memory you've created about your dad.
The bear story is gorgeous and so full of meaning. I love how your dad felt at home amongst nature and animals. And this: "He got scared too. We both remembered who we were." Sublime wisdom right there. Have you considered publishing this as a children's story/book? I think it has great possibilty.
No doubt about it, you are your father's daughter, Stephanie. He'd be so very proud of you. I'm sorry you didn't get to spend more time with him and get to know him better. Then again, it seems as if you know and understand him quite well. Hugs, my dear friend.
Oh Nancy, your comment means so much to me; I feel seen. Thank you. And thank you for saying that he'd be proud of me. I appreciate entertaining that notion. With gratitude and goodwill, your friend, stephanie XO
My Dad also holds a sweet, tender spot in my heart. I had him a long time. I was 63 when he passed. I know how blessed I was. He was my friend. I miss him.
Your words express that sweet, heart-felt tenderness for your Dad, Christine. Sending you biggest of hugs and thank you for sharing your story (You prove that stories can be told in just a couple of sentences and convey deep emotion. . .)
Love this story; your remembering of it! How that summer grew you into who you are now. Great writing! This is a lovely essay…so happy you’ve shared it again for us! 🤗☺️🫶💕
Thank you for sharing your heart in this beautiful poignant memory, Stephanie. I wonder what longings your father had, and the bear, for surely he remembered the visits with your father. May you each have peace. 💓
Stephanie, you tell this story beautifully.
“What did the bear do when you got scared?”
“He got scared too. We both remembered who we were.”
Thank you for remembering the bear whisperer and sharing with us.
The tender child who has blossomed into a tender adult touched with bear wisdom.
I love how imagination fills us up to linger in the woods of belonging.
Love you, sister.
Thank you, Prajna. This is worth printing out and putting on my mirror: "I love how imagination fills us up to linger in the woods of belonging." I appreciate your support and goodwill. Hugs and more hugs to you and your girls.
Your storytelling brought me to a place of deep awareness…. Of tenderness, curiosity, communion….. my breath… memories … thank you 💕
Thanks for your kind words, Donna. I will cherish this: "Of tenderness, curiosity, communion..."
Arm's around ya.
Stephanie - Thank you for sharing a big, open piece of your heart with us. It reminded me of your father and the bear, scratched, scarred, hurt even and yet profoundly alive. The kind that wanders close enough to stir something in us we didn’t know needed touching.
Your story brought me back to a younger version of myself, spending summer weeks with my brother and his in-laws near Glacier. We’d eat huckleberry pie until our lips turned purple, and I remember how the sun lingered late into the evening like it, too, didn’t want to leave. One summer, we biked the Going-to-the-Sun Road, passing elk, bighorn sheep, and bears, their presence both awe-inspiring and oddly familiar.
Those were summers of innocence, my heart close family and nature, not yet knowing what lay ahead. And now, years later, I realize how much I long for that simplicity, for the wildness, the wonder, and the people and places that strongly shaped me.
Your story reminded me not only of Glacier, but of what it means to carry memory like an old scar, sometimes faded, sometimes painful but always pointing to what mattered. Like your father’s scratches, some things mark us because something real got close.
Thank you for helping me remember and feel. And for reminding me that even when people drift, something essential remains: in how we listen, how we speak to the world, and how we keep remembering who we are at heart of the matter.
My dear sister made huckleberry pie. We gathered the berries together. That was some pie! And especially, thank you for this: ". . . even when people drift, something essential remains: in how we listen, how we speak to the world, and how we keep remembering who we are at heart of the matter."
Yes this is what lingers, the marking or the scar of the event. I appreciate the thoughtful manner behind your words . . . always have. It's really how we met! Thank you and big hugs to you and yours.
Gosh, what an amazing and heart-warming story. Poignant. It works on so many levels, including the metaphorical! And I LOVE stories like that.
“We both remembered who we were.” That line stopped me. It feels like your dad, and maybe even the bear, would have preferred to stay in the forgetting. I’m imagining the world we’d have if more of us, for more than an instant, forgot who we were; forgot so that our True Selves, the ones who yearn for connection, could surface…and maybe stay a while longer. This will stay with me a while (as all great writing does!).
And 💙 to you for the shout out. The feeling, I hope you know, is more than mutual.
You are a gem of a human being, Kert. Thank you for your kind words. I especially cherish this: "I'm imagining the world we’d have if more of us, for more than an instant, forgot who we were; forgot so that our True Selves, the ones who yearn for connection, could surface…and maybe stay a while longer." Biggest of hugs.
Beautiful story. Sad
Thank you for being here, Janet. Hugs and goodwill.
Your dad sounds like my ex husband. It's interesting how some people are better at communicating with animals than with humans.
For some, it's the wild that lights up the passion in their life, not the traditional. Big hugs.
Your comment touched me Kathleen, I'm married to somebody similar and I saw him in Stephanie's father too. These people are rare gems. <3
Agreed, Stephanie. Rare gems. Hugs.
Indeed! My ex and I still live together... Just not in the same room for very long lol.I admire anyone with the confidence to find a child's lost pet...simply by " thinking like a hermit crab."
This scene is so beautifully told - not only the scene with the bear and the father, but also the scene of the father relaying it to the girl, and her response to it. Lovely.
Thank you. It's always a balm to hear that my writing conveyed a beauty in its telling. Hugs.
So tender... I was your father in the woods, the young bear, the young Stephanie, the old Stephanie. Thank you for sharing it with us xxx
Thank you for underscoring the feeling tone of the piece. Big hugs to you.
What a beautiful story. You are the bear.
Thanks, Marlena. Yes, I'm the bear. Big hugs.
Hi Stephanie,
This piece tugs at my heart. I feel so many emotions after reading it. Mostly, I'm glad you find comfort in the patchwork memory you've created about your dad.
The bear story is gorgeous and so full of meaning. I love how your dad felt at home amongst nature and animals. And this: "He got scared too. We both remembered who we were." Sublime wisdom right there. Have you considered publishing this as a children's story/book? I think it has great possibilty.
No doubt about it, you are your father's daughter, Stephanie. He'd be so very proud of you. I'm sorry you didn't get to spend more time with him and get to know him better. Then again, it seems as if you know and understand him quite well. Hugs, my dear friend.
Oh Nancy, your comment means so much to me; I feel seen. Thank you. And thank you for saying that he'd be proud of me. I appreciate entertaining that notion. With gratitude and goodwill, your friend, stephanie XO
My Dad also holds a sweet, tender spot in my heart. I had him a long time. I was 63 when he passed. I know how blessed I was. He was my friend. I miss him.
Your words express that sweet, heart-felt tenderness for your Dad, Christine. Sending you biggest of hugs and thank you for sharing your story (You prove that stories can be told in just a couple of sentences and convey deep emotion. . .)
Stephanie, that was glorious. Like sharing a lesson of your father’s with all of us. Thank you!
Thanks, Eric! Big hugs.
Love this story; your remembering of it! How that summer grew you into who you are now. Great writing! This is a lovely essay…so happy you’ve shared it again for us! 🤗☺️🫶💕
Thank you, Joan. Isn't it interesting to look back and see what shaped who we are now? Big hugs, my friend.
You took me there. This is beautiful.
Thanks, Amy. I love when a piece of writing opens a door. Much appreciation and all goodwill.
Thank you for sharing your heart in this beautiful poignant memory, Stephanie. I wonder what longings your father had, and the bear, for surely he remembered the visits with your father. May you each have peace. 💓
Thank you for that sweet blessing, Jacqueline. Biggest of hugs.
Her Dad and a bear
reached out clumsily, left scars.
Scratches as stretchmarks.
"scratches as stretchmarks" Love this connotation of birthing. Thank you, Marisol. Big hugs.
Birthing, and/or growing, and/or stretching out a paw or a Pa' :)