As I exit the store, a drink in hand, I strike up a conversation about bears with a pair of older men on the wooden front porch. They tell me that, in the recent past, a posse of Grafton men hunted and killed thirteen bears in one day. At first, they sound happy about it, in a those-damn-bears-had-it-coming kind of way, but to me the news is an absolute bombshell, and my reaction must have shown on my face. When I pull out my notebook and press for details, the men exchange a look and stop talking.
