Greetings from Glacier National Park

It was summer 1963 and I was three and a half years old. In a few months President Kennedy would be assassinated, followed in six weeks by the birth of my little brother. But it was our driving trip from our home in Minnesota through Montana and to Glacier National Park that is imprinted on my memory.

Our first at Glacier we secured a camp-site and my Dad erected our new canvas tent, which comfortably slept a small brigade. However, at this time, our tribe consisted of just us three – mom, dad and myself. A Minnesota State wildlife biologist, my Dad was in his element in nature and full of enthusiasm to explore Glacier. After setting up a camp and getting dinner on the Coleman stove, he took me up to use the bathroom and wash up, leaving my jumpy mother to watch over what almost certainly a large can of Dinty Moore beef stew.

When Dad and I arrive back from our evening ablutions, my mom was in the Chevy, doors locked, windows up.

“What are you doing in there?” my Dad shouted.

“Bear,” my mom said, her eyes a little wild behind cat-eye glasses. “Big Bear.”

Turns out, while we were gone, a black bear had sauntered up behind my mom, no doubt aroused by the scent of the delicious Hormel stew. A neighboring camper had then shouted, “Hey Lady, there’s a bear right behind you.” My Mom whirled and came face to face with Yogi. I wish I would have seen it, but I am sure she came close to the existing world record for the high jump.

I was absolutely thrilled, but my Mother was not. My objections notwithstanding, my mother and I slept the rest of the trip in the car, at her insistence, while my father slept alone in our gigantic tent. On a hike through the forest, he told me secretly that each night he heard a bear circling the tent snuffling and scratching. I was beyond envy. I asked if we could catch a cub and bring it home, but my father explained that cubs belonged in the woods with their mothers. This was a rotten answer, I thought, but it was true.

Thanks to Glacier National Park, I am still thrilled by bears.

Sincerely,
John Idstrom