I found this guy outside the Black Bear Café in Ossipee, NH,
right along Rte. 16. As I stood in the parking lot taking the picture, a man
walked out, looked at me, looked at the bear, and struck a pose. “Sorry,” says
me, “you’re not as cute as the bear.”
And, this is not just any bear—this is The Donut Bear. Or
rather, like an icon in a Russian Orthodox Church, a crafted representation of
an important figure of faith.
To begin, you might find it useful to know that my family,
like all others, has a particular language to which logic need not apply. In
fact, it often seems that if Logic were to apply to many aspects of the laws
and language by which my relations and I govern ourselves, said application
would be summarily rejected out of paw.
Growing up, we read the Berenstein Bear books, which would
occasionally feature the whole Bear family heading off for burgers and
milkshakes at the local Burger Bear. So, being a witty bunch (to ourselves, if
not one else) this title for all fast food establishments wormed its way into
family jargon. Ergo, we did not eat at McDonalds or Burger Kings, but we very
infrequently frequented Burger Bear.
About twenty years later and this spring, I was on the phone
with my sister who lives far away from my rabbitty warren. It was going to be a
long day with a tight schedule and I didn’t see how, when, or where I was going
to feed myself. Because it is New England, I could count on at least one Dunkin
Donut store existing between the road I had to travel. “I’ll just get a donut,”
I said, in high pitched desperation.
“A donut is not dinner,” says Smarter Bunny. “I’m sure that
Dunkin Donut Bear has smoothies or something.” The Donut Bear?!
How delightful.
That day, I did manage to find myself an amazing strawberry
smoothie from a nice local coffee shop and continued my evening feeling
refreshed, nourished and all other things that a good visit from The Donut Bear
ought engender.
I have since decided that The Donut Bear is a force in the
world who provides perfect refreshing snacks. Several friends now understand
the concept of The Donut Bear, who despite his name seems to have a penchant
for smoothies and mocha lattes. The Donut Bear, is, of course, larger than
anything as petty as labels. The Donut Bear is also good at baking cookies for
friends, and now that it is fall, I believe that The Donut Bear is squarely
behind apple pie for breakfast, as well as, obviously, cider donuts.
Physically, I believe that The Donut Bear looks a little
like Homer Simpson crossed with a Carebear. Vocally, he sounds like Tom Waits
with a lisp. “Here, kid, you look tired. I made you this hot cocoa—did you
want whipped cream on that? Of course you did. Hold on.” Try it.
Recently, I was in a totally hip café. As someone who loves
Donut Bears and blogs under a picture of an adorable baby bunny, you may be
surprised to learn that I am not the most hipster bunny around. Skinny jeans
are not my thing, and I like gears on my bike. I found this particular place
intimidating, as it seemed to be run by kids who looked like they would hang
out in the art and music room of high school, occasionally making a run to the
parking lot to smoke cigarettes. Smoking is bad, but the artistic-goth-punk,
“this is bad and we’re too cool to care about your rules” attitude is still a
potent combination to make one feel about three inches tall. Only, I’m guessing
these kids didn’t smoke—there was way too much focus in the café on
internationally certified organic teas and artisan-brewed coffee hand milled by
free-range improv artists from a local collective.
As I just need to check my email, I bought a muffin and a
cup of tea, which I had the honor of selecting from a double-sided menu of tea,
replete with overflowing descriptions of each blend. “Mint, please,” I said, ignoring
the other eight words in the title describing mint tea. I pay for my snacks and
Skinny McGee trots off, clinks around with a bunch of different vessels of hot
water and scoops of leaves and then returns to the counter. My muffin is
sitting, all Donut Bear-delicious looking, on a plate on the counter. Skinny
plops down a mug, which I assume is for tea. Then she presents me with a tiny
teapot, and pours scalding water onto the leaves. And then she leaves.
How, you might ask, do I know that the water is scalding?
Because in trying to carry a small muffin plate, a mug, and a teensy teapot to
a table, I slosh scalding water onto my paws. I set it all down and regrip, and
was rewarded by a 1.5 degree burn on my finger from holding the teapot. More
scalding water spills onto my muffin. As I needed both hands to maneuver to a
table, I decided to forgo the whimsy of the teapot. I poured the tea into the
mug, and took my soggy muffin and unsteeped minty hot water to a table. Where
the internet did not work. When questioned, the super hip little dude with
skinny jeans, cool tattoos and a chunky wool hat at the counter told me, while
smiling, “Yeah, we’re part of a subscriber-based network, sort of a community
thing.”
This café was not the territory of The Donut Bear. I think
that is obvious.
Which is why I was so happy to see this carving of The Donut
Bear a few hours later, proof that, despite unpleasantly hip cafes, the Donut
Bear can still be found when one least expects and most needs a snack.
Here, in its questionable glory, is the legend of the Donut
Bear:
Once upon a time, there was a small bear. He was
invisible to most people and his name was the Donut Bear. The Donut Bear
appointed himself as a non-denominational patron saint to those who were weary
from traveling, from long days moving stacks of paper in offices, or staring at
endlessly shimmering screens, or who were otherwise tired and having a bad day.
The Donut Bear would find these people, tired and cranky in their cars or
offices and silently guide them towards the nearest bakery or café. In their
angst, these grumpy people only knew that they were propelled by a force larger
than themselves towards a good cup of coffee and a delicious muffin, or a cold
smoothie and a frosted donut. As if by magic, the bear knew what each person’s
comfort snack would be and gently pushed them in that direction with his soft
fuzzy paws. Being no bigger than a teddy bear, our hero moves invisibly through
hustling crowds tapping a leg here and turning an elbow there, and, through his
small actions, improves a thousand people’s mood. Next time you find yourself
soothed by a fresh baked cookie or glass of iced tea, perhaps acquired when you
least expected and most needed such refreshment, look down and you may see the
Donut Bear, quietly making the world a better place, one un-crankied person at
a time.
Love,
Granite Bunny
