It’s been a busy week up here in Turkey Hollow with heavy rains and cooling temperatures. The wildlife are starting to get a sense that winter is coming and they have to fatten up to make it through the brutal snow and cold. Every time I look out the window, some sort of animal is grazing.

This week we had a special visitor. Last Sunday, while writing for the blog, I glanced out my office window and did a double take. Strolling across my back yard was a new visitor - a big black bear. I was so excited that I could barely operate my camera, but thankfully I managed to take a decent picture before the beautiful animal headed back into the woods (see picture below).

Now, I know that the presence of this creature is both good and bad. The good news is that I have a majestic bear meandering around my land. It is another character in the endless performance of wildlife outside of my window. The bad news is that I have to be very careful with this one. These bears can be dangerous and cause significant property damage.

Thinking that I needed some wisdom to handle my new guest, I headed up to visit my neighbor Wayne Keller, who has lived up on this hill for several decades. There isn't much that Keller doesn't know and he has been my mentor in adjusting to mountain life, though I am sure that I am a source of great amusement to him at times.

My neighbor has seen the bear several times over the last two weeks. He mentioned that the young bear is about a year old and that they have a range of about 50 miles. Wayne thinks that the little visitor is going to be in the neighborhood for a while.

We chatted for a while, and he entranced me with stories of bears standing on his porch trying to get into his bird feeders. I could listen to Wayne tell stories about these hills all day. Most importantly, however, he shared some useful tips on how to avoid unwanted encounters with our new resident.

We don't get mail in Turkey Hollow and we have to go into town to the post office. But after writing about growing old and being lonely in the age of HIV/AIDS, I received a ton of email from people all over the country. No posting on my blog has generated so much response and I am happy that I was able to articulate a journey that others seem to be taking.

One email was especially powerful. It is from Kergan Edwards-Stout and I have obtained permission from Kergan to share it with you. I edited out some nice words about me so as not to distract from the power of Kergan’s message, which powerfully speaks for so many of us. Here is his email:

Mr. Mixner,

Just wanted to thank you for the elegant essay you wrote on your site about your home, HIV/AIDS, and loneliness. It truly was both beautiful and touching.

There was a time in my life where death was all around me. I worked and volunteered at AIDS Project Los Angeles, cared for my lover through his death, and watched numerous friends and acquaintances perish as well. Though at the time our community seemed solid, focused and galvanized, now very few of us seem to even "remember when." Not only is our focus gone, but the complacency we are left with seems a supremely unfitting tribute to all of those whom we have lost.

I would never have imagined that I could go from the life I lead then, to the one I'm leading now. Today, I am the adoptive father of two amazing kids, and my days are full of life and love and living. And yet even now, I know that my ability to parent is directly formed through my experiences as a caretaker for my lover and friends, guiding them to their deaths.

Few people in my life now seem to be able to connect with the emotions of such collective loss, acting instead as if it is something in some ancient history book. "Oh, yeah--I remember AIDS!" Have we lost the ability to connect with each other? Is the pain so great that we have just shut down? Is it denial? Apathy? Ignorance?

Several months ago there was a cover story in the LA Times about the NAMES quilt and how it now lays largely in a warehouse in Atlanta, gathering dust. And yet there is a woman there who tends the quilt, who has been there since that first day in SF with Cleve Jones. She works endlessly, patching and mending panels as they are returned from exhibits. She plays dance music to "her boys" as she works, often alone late at night, and wonders why people have forgotten.

I feel a real affinity for that woman. The pain and sorrow I feel for my losses at times seems almost unbearable. And then one of my boys will call out, and the moment is gone, replaced by a dull ache. As much as I want "life," it is essential to somehow hold onto this part of our past and carry it with us, so that those we've lost will live on in our memories...

We need leaders able to harness our collective pain and anger, and help us channel it productively in creating a better world.

Yours,
Kergan Edwards-Stout

Have a good week folks.