A recent Sunday column, now dubbed "Post It Notes" on Westport Patch:
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They look so adorable, with their gentle faces and the babies trailing behind. What harm could they possibly do?
A lot, I've discovered. Looks can be deceiving.
I'm speaking of the deer, of course, and the devastation they wreck in summer time when every garden offers them plenty of pickens. My grandmother used to gripe about her deer and I thought she was nuts. "But they're so cute!" I'd argue. So what if they nibbled on a few leaves here and there?
Now that I live here, where the deer may just have us outnumbered, I get it. And I don't know why, but for some reason, my garden seems to be a prime destination for all the four-legged creatures around.
I've got a row of lovely purple roses. They put on an abundant display of color about a month ago, and were preparing for a second burst — until yesterday. I went outside and discovered that deer had chomped off every single rose bud on all nine plants. I nearly cried.
And in the backyard, I've got what's trying to be a vegetable patch. I've already lost two huge clusters of fat tomatoes to the greedy buggers. It's as if the head deer calls all his buddies to say, "Hey fellas, the salad bar's open again! The nice lady even planted swiss chard for us this year!"
They mow down the lettuce, shear off the tops of the broccoli. They even eat the flowers and leaves off a patch of hostas — plants that they bypass in almost every yard on the street.
I'm a pretty fair person, generally speaking. And I'm willing to share. If the deer need some snacks, they're welcome to the pine trees, a little holly, maybe even some boxwood. I'd even be willing to donate my roses to the cause, if they'd just eat the blooms that are already on their way out.
But noooo.
They've got to have the baby blossoms just days away from opening, the ones that I've nurtured and cultivated and anticipated for weeks. It's downright rude.
This is the thanks I get for stocking the salad bar?
I've tried everything to dissuade the deer. Malorgonite scattered around the base of the roses. Planting lavender. Wolf urine. Last summer my neighbor told me a friend of hers scattered bars of Irish Spring around her garden and she stayed deer-free. So she and I bought a lifetime supply of the stuff and dangled bars of soap on fences and trees. It looked completely crazy. And after a few weeks, the deer decided they didn't mind the chipper Irish Spring scent so much after all.
Then there are the various sprays. The one I tried smells like vomit mixed with rotten eggs – a combination which the beasts supposedly find unappetizing. It does seem to keep them away for a week or so, but if I don't reapply it religiously, I end up with shorn rose bushes. And the problem is, I've got to smell it, too.
What really gets my goat is that my Irish Spring friend across the street has roses, hostas and utterly unprotected rows of tomato plants, which the deer leave alone. Why? Why?
I don't wish the monsters on her or anyone else, but I'd be more than thrilled if the darn deer would saunter right past my yard the next time they go grazing.
This salad bar is closed.
