Home. It's the place where childhood and memory live together. But the home of my childhood is changing. The ice we depend on is melting away. My cub and I are in uncharted waters.
Other than the lights that danced in the sky, it was total darkness for half of the year. I thought the sun had gone forever. I remember the day it finally reappeared. My brother and I loved the sunshine. We could go and explore again.
In summer, the sun never sets for half the year. The unending daylight brings a great wave of new life. Everyone rushes to raise their families in the warm summer sun.
Fire and ice have always been enemies. But now, fire is winning. Even the land is beginning to melt beneath our feet. The old routes through our home are becoming impassable. This is not the summer I knew. This is some other season.
The world had never seemed so vast and lonely. I didn't know if I could survive without her. I wandered alone for the next three years. I did not encounter another ice bear in all that time. I wasn't really alone, though. She was with me. She was a part of every experience, every decision, every journey. A part of the bear that I had become. Her knowledge is what got me through those three long, grueling winters.
We ice bears are great survivors. We have always mastered the changes we have faced. We have done so by carrying the knowledge of those who've gone before. Where to find ice. How to find food. How to adapt to an evolving landscape. But I am reaching the limits of what I know about this world. These new changes seem to me almost insurmountable. My daughter will learn what it takes to be a great ice bear. She will endure. But what kind of world will she call home?