Phantom concerts and wandering bears: A few days in the Whitefish life

A few weeks ago, I was sitting on our neighbor's deck, celebrating Kevin's birthday, breathing in the perfect evening air with friends before the wonderful rains came. The air was the texture of velvet, and upon this quilt wafted beautiful live music. But from where?

"Is there a concert in the park?" I asked. We checked the Huckleberry Days schedule in the Pilot, but found nothing listed. We continued to chat and the perfect music continued, loud staccato beats, horns and guitar.

"Let's go walk down to the park," I said. "Maybe something is going on."

I had Brian hooked. "Let's go," he said, and soon we had an entourage, but in normal group fashion, it took another 15 minutes for everyone to be ready. By now, we no longer heard any music and the 10 o'clock hour was a good indication that we might have missed whatever fun was going on. But it was an ideal night for a walk.

So Brian, Erin, Avery, Lyndsay and I took a stroll. We wandered across the old footbridge to a very dark Riverside Park. My mind had created visions of ice cream vendors, a live jazz band, cotton candy and clowns. But all that greeted us was just the willow trees, the river, and some ducks.

We continued up Lupfer Avenue behind the post office and pontificated on the virtues and perils of the new roundabout. The verdict: it's a wonderful traffic-slowing device whose only downfall is an unreasonably difficult legal left-hand turn. But slower traffic is worth the trouble.

Down through town to check Depot Park and we are finally convinced that we missed whatever band had been playing. We stroll down Central Avenue wondering why stores close early in the summer, as if they don't care that one of the best times to capture tourist business would be after dinner and a few drinks.

We arrive back at home and say goodnight to each other. As they drive away, I hear the sounds of the "live" band cranking back up and realize that one of our neighbors is enjoying a live CD, the sound bouncing between the houses of our neighborhood.

It was a perfect stroll, we just needed a reason.

"Brian - it's a bear!"

I throw down the phone and grab my camera; Lyndsay, Bill and Meredith are on the front porch - and walking down Lupfer Avenue is a small black bear.

I fumble with my telephoto lens as it crosses Seventh Street and wanders into our neighbor's yard. I see its dark form as it crosses behind a fence, but as we move across the street to catch another look, and a photo, it is gone.

Neighbors gather, eyes bright at the chance encounter with this wild beast. There is some disappointment too, for those who missed the glimpse of this black shadow, no larger than a dog.

This bear makes us feel more real, more connected to the natural world. I swing my camera by the strap, no shots taken.

The pictures in our mind last longer anyway.

Brian Schott is a Whitefish Pilot columnist.