A man’s facial hair becomes very dear to one’s heart after a long bout with the growth process. LIke a farmer and his crop…there’s comes a time for harvest. Bear had decided it was time, but we wouldn’t see it go without proper acknowledgement and historic documentation.
I’ve been lucky enough to be Bear’s muse on several occasions, so it was nice to flip the script. He came over with his dog on a blustery afternoon, we rolled up our pant legs, and headed down to the lake. I should also mention that he forgot to bring the sunbuster that I planned on using, so we were stuck with 2 inexperienced assistants (my son Max and his buddy) trying to hold a floppy bounce in 20mph winds. Thanks dudes, we made it work.
And thank you Bear for my attempt at making a memory of the infamous, late Bear Beard.