It’s 4:04 in the morning. The dog is barking. Darcy is fearless but hanging close on the back stoop with a commanding view above the patio and pond. Barking that close to the house might mean something big. It’s still dark. Summer temps dictate the back sliding glass door is open with the screen and the screen has a slit in it for the dog to go through at her pleasure. She was barking at 3:14 too, but my slumber was heavy and deep, unshakeable, and she stopped after a few minutes. Now what? I rolled over. The skylight above my head is wide open, and, pushed in by a new cold front, I can smell the fresh air coming through after the rain.

Then I remembered. Damned! I forgot to close the electric fence for the bees. It was raining like hell when my day was done, and I thought I will just come back later after the thunderstorm passes and turn on the solar fence. Big mistake. My memory is not what it once was. And then, oh no, I also left some drone comb on the ground for the chickens to peck and a whole frame of drone comb near the stack of fence posts. The chickens love drone comb larvae, but so do many other creatures, the larvae providing a high protein snack for the finder/keepers, and bears have a nose that can smell protein about as far away as a shark to blood in the water.

With my list of miscues so long, there was no escaping my responsibility. I slouched out of bed and turned on the high ceiling lights and dressed quickly. Once I start something, I do it quickly. I might start late but burn a keen focus. I knew where my shoes were. That’s a start. Keen. Shoes. Under the table below the big mirror. My million-watt flashlight on the hallway cupboard. Out the front door to the truck. Darcy is still barking on the opposite side of the house, moving towards the bee yard. Whatever it is, is still in proximity.

Last year, at this time of spring, a bear was coming every night for a taste of bee protein. Seven hives were destroyed before I redesigned the apiary and installed the solar fence.

Down the driveway, in the yard now, yep the electric gate wide open. In the light of my headlights, the cut-comb piece was untouched -- a good sign. I grab the flashlight and jump out of the truck. A fast sweep of the yard. Darcy’s blue eyeballs shining back at me from the bank of the pond. Nothing much else. A whiff of skunk. Could that be it?

I shut the gate of the solar fence, turned it on, waited for the click, click to tell me it is working just fine, then picked up the wax comb. I walked along the brook as the dog barked. I didn’t want to get too far from the truck. No bear spray, no gun. The million-watt flashlight was nearly spent, ready for a recharge. Everything was ok, the hives untouched, yet the yard felt spooky and alive with all the new greenery on the trees and shimmering newness of the foliage and the thickness of the lawn grass. The mossy patches of grass were like sponges soaked to the gills. I drove out the driveway to check the other hives near the state highway. All good.

The bears are here. They are all around. It’s all cute and fuzzy until it’s not. A black bear grabbed a Boy Scout’s leg in his sleeping bag a few weeks ago in Harriman State Park. The bear was put down. A bear walked into a neighbor’s garage over on Decker Drive and went through the garbage can. A woman in northern New Jersey was attacked while walking down her lane in the afternoon to get her mail. I am not going to list all the incidents. Whatever the reason -- protecting cubs, hunger, accidental involvement -- it just makes me uncomfortable. Thankfully, we seem a long way from a drought and food is plentiful right now. I am not here to alarm anyone but, I don’t want to see the day when these bears are starving.

On my way back to bed, I gave the brave dog a good pat on the head and I plugged in the 2800 lumen rechargeable HID spotlight to give it a good recharge for the next event.