Big Boy, the 525-pound black bear who survived the Eaton Fire, has been relocated after taking shelter under an Altadena home. Wildlife officials, knowing he wouldn’t leave on his own, set up a humane trap just outside the property, baiting it with honey, peanut butter, raw chicken, and leftover pastries. After a night of waiting, Big Boy stepped into the steel enclosure, triggering the door behind him. He showed no signs of aggression, only brief confusion as he settled onto the straw-lined floor. Officials monitored him to ensure he was unharmed before transporting him deep into the Angeles National Forest, away from homes and wildfire danger.
REFUGE
We all seek shelter – massive hearts beating beneath wooden floors, between concrete and earth.
Who hasn’t hidden from something larger than themselves, drawn by the scent of sweetness, following ancient instincts?
We are all big boys lost, all creatures seeking passage through this scorched world, dreaming of deep forests.
Between fire and freedom lies a door we must choose, honey-scented courage, and faith in those who understand that even the mightiest need a gentle way back.
We are the last ones who knew boredom. Not the performative kind that kids complain about now, waiting five seconds for a TikTok to load.
No, we knew real boredom. The kind that came with summer road trips, sweating against the vinyl seats of a VW Beetle while mom refused to stop. The kind that came from waiting for a TV show to start because there was no streaming, no on-demand, no online binging. You got what you got, and you learned patience.
Or impatience. We had the last rock genre.
We were the last generation raised without the internet. We remember when phones stayed on walls and when nobody could reach you if you didn’t want to be found. If you wanted to know something, you looked it up in a book or asked someone who might know. And if they didn’t, you just lived with the mystery.
We were raised on the idea that knowledge wasn’t instant. You had to work — or wait — for it.
We were not coddled. We were told to be home when the streetlights came on. If we fell off a bike, we got up. If we got in trouble at school, we got in worse trouble at home. Our parents did not negotiate.
We did not have safe spaces or trigger warnings. We had insults, sarcasm, and the knowledge that the world did not care about our feelings. It made us tough. It made us resourceful.
It made us what we are now: the last generation strong enough to handle the disaster left to us by the Boomers, the worst generation to ever lead a country.
Because they led, and they failed. They burned through resources, built a world where everything had a price tag, and then scoffed at the people left holding the bill. They sold out every ideal they ever pretended to have.
Now, as the world teeters on its latest apocalypse—political, financial, environmental—we will do what we have always done: clean up someone else’s mess. We were built to battle America 2025.
We never wanted to lead. We never asked for this. But if the world has to be put back together, better us than anyone else. We don’t need validation. We don’t need likes, follows, or viral fame. We need results.
Oh well, whatever. We will step in, fix what can be fixed, and ask for nothing in return.
