Tag: deer

Edging Toward Fall

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The garden’s been a bit off this summer. Some of my tomatoes, on different plants in different beds, did whatever that is in the photo on the left. Tasty enough, but weird; also a smaller crop than usual. Weather? Critters? Meanwhile a resourceful bunny managed to break in through the chicken wire. In the time it took me to find the break and block it up, she nipped all the flowers off the squash plants and munched up many squash leaves. They have recovered, but there will be no bounty in the freezer this year.

It was, however, a good year for crabapples, which are much appreciated by the deer. Also by me, as the deer spend most of their time snarfing up the crabapples and leave my flowers alone. There are three new fawns this summer, and one of last year’s little guys is now sporting two single-spike, prongless antlers, which means Mama Doe really doesn’t want him around. If deer wonder anything, he must wonder why she keeps chasing him away from where the rest of them are feeding (“Mom! It’s me!”). At first he tried just keeping out of her reach as she nosed through the fallen fruit, but lately he’s started coming earlier in the afternoon, before the others get there. Life as a young buck isn’t easy.

The phlox in the backyard are thriving this year. I planted garlic chives around them on the advice that this would keep deer away, but the deer would wade right through it as soon as they saw the flowerbuds, and chowed down on them. This year I have a lot of milkweed coming up among the chives, in front of the phlox. Whether deer won’t cross the milkweed or whether they’re too distracted by the siren call of the crabapples, the phlox is flourishing, unmolested. 

The plumbago in the front yard is flourishing too. Plumbago is such a useful workhorse of a groundcover. Neither the deer nor the rabbits eat it. It holds back in early spring when the daffodils are in glory, leaping out just when it’s time to cover the daffs’ long, drooping, yellowing leaves; in full summer it bursts into blue flowers; and come fall the leaves turn bright red. This is a plant that really leans into the seasons. It spreads, but slowly, and I’d like to expand its share of the yard. Despite its excellence plumbago can be hard to find in nurseries, so I’ve ordered a few more from my catalogs.

While I was searching nurseries for plumbago, I found this pot of black pansies. Pansies can handle a fair bit of frost, so there’s a good chance they will last till Halloween. They will look nice and witchy sitting on the front steps with some pumpkins. That tomato I started out with also looked a bit witchy, but part of its witchcraft was turning into two BLT sandwiches yesterday. It did an excellent job.

A Sense of Time

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I’ve put the jasmine tobacco that blooms from early evening through early morning, next to the sundial that bears its witness in daylight only. It only struck me that this was possibly amusing when the first flowers began to open as the sundial, so to speak, shut down. Conservation of – well, something. The sundial, sitting there on the plinth Doug made for it, bears a legend in raised letters: “time began in a garden.” But the original Garden was a place of eternal timelessness. Time as we know it began when people left the Garden.

The sundial tells sun time, which is not the same as the time on a clock. With daylight savings time we set our clocks forward one hour, deliberately to get the clock into a new relationship with the sun. So in summer, the sundial starts out an hour behind clock time. Then there are time zones. Ann Arbor is about 700 miles from Boston, but they share the same time zone and so the same clock time. That’s about three fourths of a time zone, so the sundial and the clock are about another three fourths of an hour out of sync. When my sundial here says eleven fifteen, the clock on the kitchen wall says it’s one o’clock. The Old Farmer’s Almanac carries time zone corrections for various cities if you want to be precise. Based from Boston, of course.

But the natural world’s sense of time isn’t a clock. It’s built in; it’s a flow – bloom, set fruit, ripen, fall. Deer have their fawns when summer’s far enough under way to feed them. Mama here has led her two babies to the easy pickings of fallen fruit under the crabapple tree, more nutritious than the forage available in winter, and giving the little ones time to store up some body fat.

The milkweed’s covered in pods that will wait to burst until fall, when their winged seeds can sail out onto newly bare spots on the ground, and settle in for the cold they need in order to sprout. It’s complex, but they found a niche and filled it. The monarch butterflies haven’t quite colonized these yet, but I expect they will.

The weeping cherry tree is first to bloom in spring, early to leaf out, and early to begin losing its leaves, as it’s doing now. It makes a touch of autumn on the front path, fallen leaves next to the plumbago starting its late summer bloom. This is my favorite groundcover, because it holds back in spring while the daffodils burst into glory, then wakes up and spreads over the dying daffodil leaves, tidying the garden. I greatly admire its natural, nuanced sense of time. Also I love the color. 

April Comes

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Now that we’re past groundhogs and the equinox, it’s really starting to look like spring. April veers from Fools’ Day to Arbor Day, sweeping Passover and Easter along in a current of National Poetry Month, rainshowers, and regrowth. If T.S. Eliot thought April was the cruelest month for pushing out lilacs before he was ready, what did he think of the daffodils? Look at them there, mocking misanthropes. Go daffodils, I say.

Last fall Doug helped me plant a lot of scilla in the lawn, perfect bulbs for the job because they bloom and fade before the grass needs mowing. Also, the deer and rabbits won’t eat the flowers. They will, however, nip off the emerging tips of the leaves. It’s a little hard to tell which perpetrator is responsible for this damage – rabbits have sharp front incisors and make clean cuts; deer bites are more ragged. There are both types of damage here, so the bunnies and the Bambis are sharing. How lovely that would be if they were eating weeds. 

I like my flowers to naturalize into nice thick boisterous clumps, swaths, and patches, but I do think this little one growing all by itself in the leafmulch is very elegant. It was moved off its original spot by unknown forces of nature: hyperactive squirrels; frost heave; or maybe the human element of a snow plow going a little too deep, a little off target. Sometimes it turns out well when your plans go astray.

It’s time to start the seeds for my garden. Doug took the folding tables upstairs to the big sunny window in the guest room, we set them up, and I spread my trays across them. Frassy was extremely interested in this, even more so when I started filling pots with dirt. She stepped from one tray to the next, inspecting, and apparently approved enough to commandeer one of them for a nap.

Outside, meanwhile, the perennials that vanished with winter are reasserting themselves. T.S. Eliot might see these as ghastly hands reaching up from the grave, but in fact they’re new growth rising from the roots of peonies. They have all of April and all of May to build out the torrent of ruffles and perfume that will burst from them in June; they’re in no rush. I’m happy as long as I can see it coming.

 

Snow and Shadows

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I put on my insulated snow pants, Doug’s thick, heavy alpaca sweater that he found too warm to wear, wool socks, snow boots, down-filled gloves, and my great big hooded down coat, and went out to take pictures of this beautiful, if hyperactive, winter. The sky was bright, the snow was brilliant, and the shadows were deep. Even the tracks of Christen’s truck, where she plowed our driveway, made a dramatic statement. The world was black, white, and blue.

The snow became a record of everything happening in the yard. I walked to the mailbox and back to put a letter out, leaving a swoopy swath, a frozen wake. When I went out again to bring in arriving mail I saw my footprint trail and got inspired – or maybe goofy. The cursive loop on the upper right is my path back.

The deer made more sensible trails, skirting the crabapple tree where, alas, there was no more fallen fruit, on their way from the river to the woods. Some clouds passing through moved the shadows around. My gloves were supposed to work on touchscreens, but my phone failed to recognize them. I pulled one oversize sweater sleeve out from my coat cuff over my hand, slipped off the glove, and snapped the shutter. Except a phone doesn’t have the kind of shutter that snaps. I think I activated it to scan.

Winter shadows bring out so much structure we otherwise don’t see. Documenting it reminded me of another function of shadows. Tomorrow will be Groundhog’s Day! The premise is ridiculous in Michigan, where starting at February second we are absolutely going to have six more weeks of winter, shadows or not. Furthermore, our local groundhog comes out of her burrow at random times during the winter, for her own woodchucky reasons. She makes amusing, long wallows as she shuffles through the snow between the woods and the deck. But a bit of the ridiculous to lighten up life in its coldest moments is not amiss.

Then I came inside, removed my insulating layers, fixed a cup of tea, and scrolled through my photos. They were full of animal tracks, but the only critter out there was me, protected by fur, wool, and feathers, whose providers perhaps found shelter under our decks, sheds, and woodpiles. A mutual aid society. The sun slid off to the west and the string of lights on the deck came on, both muffled and emphasized by the softly folded snow. The lights burn for six hours and then the timer turns them off, leaving the sky undisturbed and whoever’s sleeping under the deck in peace. I feel a lot more charitable toward the deer and woodchucks, and even squirrels, in winter. It’s hard times for them, and after all I have no flowers or tomatoes to worry about. In hard times everyone needs all the friends they can get.

Deer Again

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These are my poinsettias that spent the summer outside on the deck, where long hours of daylight turned them green. I always bring them in before frost and wait for the shortening days to turn them red again, but this year I accidentally discovered how to speed up that process. I ran out of regular houseplant food, and gave them the kind for flowering plants. It makes sense, as the red parts are not leaves but bracts, and bracts are specialized to support flowers. I’ve never heard this advised and it’s only happened this once, so may be coincidental. But I’m trying it from now on, so eventually I will know.

As you see beyond that windowsill, we have a lot of snow right now. Snow in December is delightful, at least for those of us who work from home or not at all. The deer, scourge of my garden in spring and summer, become scenic in a winter landscape. They might be posing for a Christmas card. The season must be difficult for deer, with food less abundant and more shelter needed, but just their perseverance gives an aura of reassurance, a feeling of peace. Hard times can be gotten through. 

The typical seasonal representatives of deer, of course, are reindeer, and they are well represented in the winter decor in my home. Like all the best holiday decorations, these carry a lot of memories for me – Christmas parties, the very good friends I celebrated with, and especially my friend Andree, who applied the gold and tied the ribbons that distinguish these fellows. Or girls – I have learned that all reindeer have antlers, and only females keep them in the winter.

Frassy prefers a softer kind of reindeer. She has an easy life in our house, lounging on quilts, but on the other hand she has killed four mice since she moved in with us. If she had to survive in the wild, I expect she too would persevere.

The Deer in the Yard

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It’s mating season for white tailed deer and Mr. Eight-point, the buck on the scene with my local herd, had a challenger. Mr. Six-point came along prospecting for the last of the fallen crabapples. It’s hard to tell from these pictures, but in real life he was clearly the smaller of the two. Nevertheless, when the older buck showed up the younger stood his ground. They bowed their heads and engaged, as I watched from my window.

I would call it locking horns except they were deer, so they were locking antlers. They seemed intent on the process, until a car came down the street toward them. Then they broke off the tussle with one accord, watched until the car was past, and went right back to it.

There were no running starts, just a walking approach to each other, entanglement, and some pulling up and back that looked pretty indecisive. They engaged, disengaged, and engaged again. It was slow, even stately, and went on for ten or fifteen minutes, and then it was over. 

Mr. Eight-point rejoined the does and fawns, who were off under my neighbor’s trees practicing their Christmas Sleigh Procession technique, totally ignoring the fight, or argument, or whatever it was, between the males. Mr. Six-point lingered under the crabapple tree for a few more minutes, saving face, then wandered off into the woods. How civilized, I thought, but considering how civilization is doing these days, the bucks were ahead.

By now the sun was setting, giving good evidence for the advantages to deer of being crepuscular. There’s a latecomer doe in this photo, but she’s hard to see. I didn’t know she was there when I took the photo – just a photo of a nice sunset – until she emerged from the skirts of the evergreens and trotted off to meet her kin. Startled, I checked the photo and yes, she was there all the time. My eyes were on the sky. You can only see what you are looking at.

Slow to Get the Message

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So I looked out my window at this nice bucolic scene, the deer browsing among the fallen crabapples on the front lawn. Very peaceful and lovely. Then I noticed one of the deer kept chasing another one away. They usually shared quite amicably but I’d seen this before, and this was the time of year for it. The chaser was the lead doe, and the chasee was a young fellow with just the first, nubby suggestions of coming antlers on his forehead. A button buck. She’d chase him off a short distance, he’d come back, she’d chase him off again, over and over. She was determined. I pictured thought bubbles over their heads: “Hey Mom it’s me” from the button buck, and “You’ve got those things on your head, get out” from the doe. It makes me very sad for him, but I guess this is how deer prevent inbreeding. 

It’s hard to think of winter coming, with the weather as warm as it’s been through September. It’s been giving me cognitive dissonance – on warm Michigan days I expect the sun to be up till 9:30 or 10:00 at night, but it’s setting by 7:30. No more saving yard work for after dinner: the warm weather keeps the tomatoes ripening, so I keep weeding them.

The zinnias and cosmos continue too, but as they get taller and taller, reaching for the retreating sun, they’ve started toppling over into the mini-pumpkin patch. That’s not a giant zinnia, it’s a wee pumpkin.

Rooting around under the tomatoes, I found another four-leaf clover. There’s one plant in here that turns them out fairly consistently, so I can be generous with what I wish on them. I used this one to wish good luck to young mister button buck.

Things That Stay, Things That Change

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Faithful to the season, the hellebores lifted themselves out of the dirt in time to wave hello to lent. I should have been paying closer attention, because I missed getting my paczki this year – a special Polish pastry available only at Mardi Gras. Not, of course, called Mardi Gras in Polish, but I have enough trouble spelling paczki (it’s pronounced “punchkey”) to venture another Polish word. Every year the hellebore tribe increases in my yard; they seem especially ruffly this year.

The tribe of the deer increased this year, too. Over the winter we had a group of eight, then a group of twelve, but now they’ve merged into a group of twenty, more than I’ve ever seen at once on my lawn. It’s odd, because normally the herds break into smaller units come spring. Maybe the deer equivalent of paczki is coming up in through the grass.

Another spring surprise for me was this orchid, a gift from a friend last year, reblooming. I’ve been given orchids before, enjoyed them while they bloomed, and then watched them wither and die. My previous experience with orchids was as corsages, or seeing them in California where they grew outdoors. So I assumed a windowsill was not great orchid habitat, yet here she is, all aglow. 

Behind her, in brighter light, is another outdoor California plant, a bougainvillea, which has come back from a near-death experience. It had dwindled to a total of four leaves before I realized the gnats in the room were a sign of fungus in its soil. I had a three-pronged attack for this, so I’m not sure which part worked. First I mixed hydrogen peroxide into a pitcher of water and soaked the soil with it, as a fungus killer. Then I poked holes in the soil nearest the sad bare branches and shook in some rooting powder, to try to regenerate healthy roots. Then I painted the four stalwart leaves with Miracle-gro, a foliar feeder, to help it out until its roots recovered. It worked! Yay!

Meanwhile, it’s been fun getting to know our new cat. Frassy has found all Zerlina’s old favorite spots, and invented a few of her own. Zerlina was afraid of sticks, or anything sticklike, from which we guessed she had once been abused with them. Frassy seems to be trauma-free. She’s especially fond of Doug. Here he is playing with her with a feather toy on a stick. She’s already bitten through the string once – see the knot where I tied it back together? She’s also ferocious with her two toy mice. If we do really have a mouse in the house, I hope we won’t for long.

Rain and Clover

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b faux familyI have a good lawn for deer and rabbits, full – if only accidentally – of diverse edible weeds. Looking out over it, especially when Charlie has just mowed, the lawn looks smooth and manicured. Appearances frequently deceive. For instance, this photo might look like a nuclear deer family, two fawns, a buck, and a doe. But four other the deer had already gone ahead into the woods before I got my camera out. The buck would have been bringing up the rear as usual, except that the fawns were lollygagging behind. But as soon as I made a tiny sound of satisfaction at getting this photo, their heads snapped up and the fawns leaped after the does, while Mr. Buck stood guard in case I made any moves. I didn’t. I was trying to see whether he was an eight point or a ten point, but he was gone before I could be sure.

b also grass mixMy lawn has a lot of white clover in it, which some consider a weed but I do not. In my suburban childhood it was common for lawns to be seeded with half grass and half clover. Clover is sturdy, holding up well to children and pets; clover fixes nitrogen so you don’t need fertilizer; and clover flowers attract bees, which will pollinate your garden plants and fruit trees. Charlie was late  mowing this week, because we had two days of Hurricane Beryl’s leftovers drenching Michigan with rain. Amazing that a hurricane came all the way from Africa to crash into Texas and charge up the Mississippi and Ohio River valleys to the normally hurricane-free Michigan. Many were the frantic sump pumps in Ann Arbor, but the sandy soil of my yard was up to the task. When it was over, everything was safe and green, green, green.

b milkweedBesides the clover, there’s plantain in the lawn and purslane at the margins. Plantain, native to Europe, was called “white man’s footprint” by Native Americans: where the white man set his foot was where you found plantain. It’s not only edible to deer, it’s edible to us. Purslane is, too. My attempts to actually eat these plants have never worked out. Purslane leaves are small and have to be gathered in large quantities, and I found plantain, which grows flat against the ground, hard to clean. I magnanimously leave them for the deer, in spite of which they persist in eating things they really, really shouldn’t. For instance, milkweed. Milkweed is poisonous, but if you are a clueless fawn, well, just look at those big, juicy leaves. I assume it’s the fawns because I assume they don’t grow up if they eat the milkweed.

b flowersDeer sometimes also eat my rudbeckia, yarrow, and shasta daisies. Garden catalogs will tell you they shun these plants, but garden catalogs have never met my deer. Every evening or two, I walk through the yard with my trusty spray bottles of animal repellants, switching off now and then so the critters don’t get used to one of them. I almost dread to say so, for fear it will jinx their effectiveness.

b carilady birdbathThe amount of rain in that storm varied a lot from one part of town to the next. I don’t currently have a working rain gauge, but friends and neighbors have measured anywhere from five to seven inches over two days. One curious thing I’ve noticed is more birds using the birdbath after a rainstorm. This seems totally counter-intuitive to me. Didn’t they shower in the rain?  Is it easier to bathe when they’re already wet? Or maybe newly-fallen rain is more attractive to them than water that’s been sitting around for a few days. Not being a bird, I will never know.