Birk’s friends Peter and Grace Hart live on their own 40-acre farm in Vermont. Birk has been telling us about them all the way from Elsewhere. This is his first visit. “College friends,” he says. “Grew up in the city. Got fed up with urban life and decided to live close to the Earth.” He’s not quite sure how they support themselves, though he figures they must be okay since they’ve raised three children, two girls and a boy. “They must be doing something right!” he says.

Bins is driving and says, “By those standards the whole of India is doing something right — the population is growing every three seconds!” Birk snorts. “Oh sure, if you ignore the skewed sex ratio... ” I change the topic before they can start one of their endless arguments. I point outside — “Look! Deer!” Actually there are all kinds of animals on view. Aside from the lone wanderer of the night before, we’ve seen tranquil herds of cows sitting out on rich green carpets of grass. Most are standard issue black and white, but there are exotic ones too, with shaggy orange coats and enormous horns. A couple of farms have horses as well as llamas, with their long necks and slightly supercilious expressions.

We spend the night in the capital city of Vermont, Montpelier, in a small motel and are now driving the final hour-and-a-half to the small town closest to Hart’s farm. The scenery is so continuously picturesque that one almost grows tired of it. Emerald green pastures are fenced off from the road, slope-roofed houses made of wood and tile pose in the middle distance, with stands of trees off to the side. Further back, the low hills are furred deep green with forests while overhead, freshly laundered clouds drift like white galleons against the rich blue sky... unreal!

We are passing yet another scene of this type when Birk says, “Stop! Stop!” His voice is hushed and urgent as he points. Bins quickly swings to the gravelly shoulder and stops. “Look,” says Birk, “on the back porch of that house ... do you see it?” There’s a dark shape, rounded and unthreatening, moving slowly along the wooden porch. “Black bear,” says Birk with quiet authority. He’s unbuckling himself and getting out of the car. “Wait! Where are you going?” I ask, amazed at his daring. “To warn the owners,” says Birk. “People leave bird-seed out on their porches in hanging feeders. Bears are attracted to them: they’re opportunists after all. They’ll eat anything! But if the owners don’t know they’ve got a visitor they’ll wander out by mistake and then — wham! Some poor animal gets blamed for being a nuisance.”

Bins and I watch as Birk lumbers towards the front of the house. He reaches the front door, knocks, explains himself and after a few moments, walks unhurriedly back to the car. All the while the bear has been feeding contentedly. As we drive away, we see him tip the feeder into his mouth. “Can’t say I blame him,” says Birk, sympathetically. “This was his land before we humans took it.”

Last episode: Cow quest

Next episode: Goat night

Manjula Padmanabhan, author and artist, writes of her life in the fictional town of Elsewhere, US, in this weekly column

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