The Boneyard in My Back Yard

There's a bit of road that curves off our main dirt road and meanders down across the creek. Then you can turn right and circle back to our house, crossing a meadow and a bridge and then climbing up a couple steep banks to access the front door. I call this route "The Circuit," and I like to drop down there after a walk to the mailbox for the extra exercise and scenery, including a stand of tall white birches near the creek. Or, instead of turning right after the culvert, you can take a left, hit a hairpin turn, and hike up the lane only to double back higher up and if you're lucky, get a view of the valley floor and the wall of mountains beyond.

I've been avoiding both these routes lately, as our neighbor has seen both bear and mountain lion on his game camera. They like the creek, my husband says, and since our neighbor's house is level with it, they see the creatures that haunt that area. My husband also saw a baby bear down there around June, upon investigating why a deer was huffing so loudly. And baby bears mean angry, protective mothers who can't be reasoned with. Furthermore, my daughter sent a recording of mountain lion chirps she heard emanating from behind our house. But my avoidance dates back further, my reluctance to walk there especially alone well justified from experiences spanning the last few years.

Around 2021, on a pleasant stroll on the road that bends leftward, I was taking in the foliage and the cluster of deer grazing on the bank, including some pretty little dappled twins, when I thought I heard movement in the thickly wooded area to their left, where the ground drops away to the level of the creek. I hesitated, and then upon walking past the deer, could have sworn I heard a growl coming from the vicinity of the upper branches of trees. I got out of there and am alive writing this today, but that's not all. If memory serves, I've heard other sounds coming from those woods, and one day, my daughter and I got the kind of surprise you can only experience living out in the country.

It must have been mid-spring or late fall, because the foliage in that dark forest had thinned enough for us to see down the bank onto the forest floor. As we passed the woods, we peered down and saw something stunning--bones were strewn all over the ground. It was an animal graveyard, and we figured we were seeing deer remains. But why so many all in one place? I theorized that the growling and activity I heard was most certainly a mountain lion warning me away--not from his prey of fawns grazing on the bank, but from his fresh kill, which didn't interest me a bit. Maybe mountain lions brought their carcasses back here to feed?

We told my husband about the strange, creepy find and then he solved the mystery for us. The neighbors at the very top of the side road, some half mile up, would go hunting. After a successful expedition, they would discard the remains at the bottom of their hill. This convenient trash can might have seemed removed from civilization for them--far away at least from their own premises--but was a nuisance and a hazard for our family, who had to live with the results.

My daughters and I have recently resumed The Circuit, and the other day, Dill and I climbed up to see the view. The sight of the valley floor was blocked by foliage and a large, red-limbed shrub, but with the fresh air and the sharp fall colors, the invigorating hike was worth the risk. Those neighbors, I believe, have moved on, so there's no supply of fresh meat that would attract predators. Besides, we always carry bear spray.

There's a gorgeous view at the end of this ridge we had cleared a few years ago. I had no idea about the view until we brought a logging company to thin out our overgrown, straggly woods.

The footbridge behind the house. (Well, it was made for ATV crossings, too.)

The meadow with creek running through, taken from our back deck. There's a firepit in the foreground.

This looks like the walk up on the side road. You can turn left and double back to see the view, or keep climbing.