Every spring, without fail, at least one morning trip to the garden is marked by the discovery of an overturned composter. Unlike the weeds that I’m working to smother as I completely overhaul my veggie garden, I don’t have much control over where the bears wander and what they will smash. If you compost and you live on a mountain, you will have bears.
The first time it happened I was really po’d. It was a huge mess. The second time we had to replace a composter. Now, I just laugh.
Over the years we’ve opted for composters that can be tipped versus smashed. I have an unwritten agreement with the local Mama Bears that they wait until I’m in bed for their raids (this was not always so, with one dusk visit to the compost heap resulting in a close encounter with a mom and her cub and a change of pants for this author). 
It’s funny how so many things in nature can be a cause for fear or frustration until you understand the purpose. I don’t claim to know what the ecological purpose of a bear is, aside from making sure that I don’t eat too much of that corn I planted, but I’m willing to keep investigating.
In the meantime, I do know my laughter over the spilled compost is not a surrender to the bears. It’s a shedding of my frustration with things I can’t control and looking for constructive ways to deal with them.
Picking My Battles 