My father loved to buy cases of bread at Rice's Bakery, and we loved it when he did. There was nothing as mouth watering as freshly baked bread with butter and honey or jelly on it, and Rice's Bakery baked delicious breads.
Back in the sixties, there were some black bears that were moved from Yellowstone Park and relocated on Lookout Pass. The move went without any obstacles, but soon an unforeseen and potentially dangerous situation arose. The bears from Yellowstone were use to coming up to cars, and they showed no natural fear of humans or cars. The immigrants from Yellowstone now residing on Lookout didn't know that they were now suppose to be " wild bears" ,and that cars and humans were suppose to be off limits.
An unexpected new tourist site spring up on Lookout Pass when the new arrivals from the Park began to come down and check out the cars and curious humans who parked and watched the bears. Hey, we can't blame the bears because as far as I know, they can't read, and they did not know they were in a wilderness now and not a national park.
So, what does this have to do with bread and Rice's Bakery? Well, I will tell you. One late afternoon my dad, mother, little sister, and my brother and I got in the car and drove up to the Rice's. Dad went in and bought a case of freshly baked bread and put it in the truck of our car. Dad turned around and said that he had been reading about the bears coming down on Lookout, and maybe we would like to go up and see them. My brother and I gave an overwhelming vote of approval, so off we headed for Lookout Pass.
We got up on Lookout, and saw several cars parked by the side of the road. We looked over and there were three pretty good size black bears coming down the side of the mountain. Dad pulled our car over, too, and my brother and I, both sitting in the back seat, trembled with excitement as the bears got closer and closer.
Then, to our utter horror, two of the bears started to climb up on our trunk, and one got on the top of the car. There my brother and I were, face to face with what now looked like two monsters of Leviathan size.
Why were we the lucky? ones chosen for this close encounter of the third kind? All of a sudden dad had a flash of realization. He had forgotten about the fresh bread in the trunk of the car. The bears were sniffing it out and , and they were trying their darnedest to open up what must have looked like big tin can to the them, that we were sitting in.
By that time my mother was almost hysterical, and I imagine that my brother and I were almost wetting our britches. Finally, the two bears gave up, climbed down from the car, and lumbered away and back up the mountain. Breathing a collective sigh of relief, my dad started the car, and back down the hill to Wallace we went.
To this day every time that I eat freshly baked bread, I expect to see a bear or two appear.