Full of Piss and Vinegar (5.5 minute read)

It was one of the nicest late afternoons we had had in days. The fire on the other side of the mountain had much better containment, and the wind was blowing the smoke away from us. Also, the late Autumn heat was beginning to subside, and I was chomping at the bit to take a long, brisk walk.

The property was huge and had paved driveways leading all over the place. I had been listening to music all day in the clay studio, and didn’t want to bring the AirPods on my walk; I wanted all my senses tuning in to this new environment, so different from my home.

It was September of 2021, and I was on a residency at Buffalo Creek Art Center in Gardnerville, Nevada. I had been so apprehensive about accepting this invitation initially. I was offered a residency in ceramics and I had never operated a kiln. However, my sculptures were good, even though I had only been hand-building in clay for about 6 years. I struggled with my anxiety around my lack of knowledge about firing a kiln. After much angst, I decided what the hell… I can do this!

As luck would have it, a fellow by the name of Heath and myself were the only two artists in residency for the month of September. Covid flareups caused a couple of international artists to cancel, and the Caldor fire burning to the south and west of Lake Tahoe took out the rest. Steve, the director of Buffalo Creek Art Center, actually tried to call and ask me to delay a few days, but I was already on a flight from Atlanta to Reno.

When Steve picked me up at the airport, the skies were blue with big, puffy clouds, and it was quite warm out. During the ninety-minute drive to Gardnerville, the smoke came in on us. At the ranch it was difficult to see any distance. Steve pointed toward the smokey grayness, and told me there was a huge mountain face hidden there. Mel and Bill, the husband and wife caretakers of the property reported that they found smoldering embers on the property… the size of quarters. It seemed that we might need to evacuate at a moment’s notice. To say I was unsettled is an understatement.

The next day, the immediate danger had passed. I settled into the ceramic studio and began by making sketches… and then a maquette. Steve toured me around the property in the four-wheeler that afternoon. It seemed that about two-thirds of the property was open land, meaning few trees. Several acres were dedicated to the sculpture park, where previous artists in residency had installed a wide variety of large works. There was an apple orchard and a large vegetable garden, all surrounded by electric fences. Steve explained that in addition to the numerous deer herds, they had black bear that loved nothing more than getting into the fruit and vegetables. He pointed out where bears had bent the metal around the garbage enclosure.

We then drove through the part of the property that was in trees. A sizable stream ran down from the mountain, and three consecutive ponds had been created down the slope. There were several buildings that had moved into this area, including an old railroad car that had been turned into a library. Charm oozed from this magical place where I was sure fairies lived. Steve remarked that it was a favorite place for the bears, and that he had seen them splashing around in the ponds having a swim. I could totally picture it in my mind. That evening Heath, my fellow artist-in-residence, arrived from Utah. He was younger than me, had a conservative mohawk (yes, there is such a thing), and an infectious laugh. I knew immediately that we were compatible enough to share a house for a month.

Time went faster than I thought it would, and I learned that I could, in fact, spend eight hours a day every day making art. The Caldor fire was contained little by little, and we began to have more days with less smoke and good air quality. This was about 10 days into my residency.

I had had a productive day in the studio, and was looking forward to a brisk walk around the ranch. It was still quite warm out, so I waited until just before dusk, when the shadows were longer and the temperature began to drop. The light was beautiful. It was my favorite time of day. I had a sense of peace and joy as I walked through the covered bridge in the sculpture park. There was no smoke in the air, and I enjoyed inhaling deeply. The sun dropped behind the big mountain between the art center and Lake Tahoe. The driveway veered to the right, and I was a stone’s throw from the creek and the ponds. I turned around at that point, not wanting to come across any bears frolicking in the ponds.

I hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when a bear, galloping on all fours, appeared from a blind curve. He was running toward the stream… and I was right in his path! We both abruptly stopped in our tracks. I am so proud of what I did next. I ceased to be Karen, the city-girl artist. I became a big, burly mountain man, full of piss and vinegar! “GIT OUTTA HERE!!!”, I bellowed as I put my hands on my hips, and stood 6 feet tall.

The bear pivoted on one foot, and as my Daddy would have said… ran like a scalded dog. I caught my breath, reached for my cellphone and called Heath. “HEATH, HEATH! A BEAR, A BEAR!!” He looked out the window of the studio and reported seeing a bear hauling ass away from where I was. “What did you do to that bear?? You obviously scared the hell out of him!!”

There was a lot of joking about a 5’3″ Southern woman scaring a 400 pound bear for the remainder of my time at Buffalo Creek Art Center. On subsequent walks, I was never without bear spray… just in case. Even though I was terrified in the moment, I regard that bear encounter as one of the top experiences of my life. I was figuratively touched by a wild bear… he was 40 feet away from me. He had the power to take my life if he had chosen to do so, but I scared him more than he scared me. The bear elevated me in that moment. All my self-doubt about my ability as a ceramic sculptor… that all disappeared. Because I stood up to a wild bear.

Karen Adams. January 2024.