Coexistence
I recently emailed my sister a photo my husband had taken on our street, with the subject line “New Neighbor.” The photo was of a deer.
Here in the suburbs of northern New Jersey, we share our lives with many wild creatures, but only recently have deer joined our local menagerie—though they’ve never been strangers to many New Jersey neighborhoods.
A few years ago I was visiting a town several miles to the west and I heard a woman shouting, “Scram! Scram!” I turned and saw what I thought was a huge brown dog bolting through her shrubbery. Then, with a shock, I realized it was a deer.
Why was she chasing such a lovely creature from her yard? I didn’t know the answer then, but now I do, because they’ve come to town. A parcel of undeveloped land where they used to live is being developed and they’re looking for a new habitat.
Deer have to eat. And suburban yards, with their lush and various landscaping, represent an all-you-can eat buffet, vastly appealing and there for the taking.
It’s not unusual to glance out a window and see two or three or even four of them placidly helping themselves to garden shrubbery.
(One might expect deer to focus on lawns, grazing like cows, but they don’t. They only eat grass if there’s nothing else around that they like better—and in the suburbs there are lots of things that they like better.)
March is pansy month here in northern New Jersey, because pansies tolerate chilly weather better than most other annuals. People look forward to seeing the “We have pansies” signs posted at garden centers, and buying pansy seedlings for outdoor planters is a spring ritual.
This year I planted a lovely batch of pansies in planters along my driveway, all the colors that I like—orange, purple, lavender, and lots of two-toned ones with yellow edges and dark centers.
A few days later I looked out one morning to see that all the flowers had disappeared. When I inspected, I could tell by the way the stems had been bitten so neatly that the deer were to blame—just as the previous year they had visited my day-lily patch and nipped off all the buds right before they were to bloom. Hostas are one of their absolute favorite things, like big lettuce leaves to be devoured in a few bites.
Of course people try various stratagems to repel the deer, like bars of soap—especially Irish Spring—or strips of fabric softener. Human hair and human urine are recommended. One can buy commercially produced evil-smelling sprays or make one’s own, with ingredients like sour milk, garlic, and rotten eggs. Or one can plant things that deer supposedly don’t care for. Garden centers sell shrubs with hang tags that read, “Deer don’t like me.”
Nonetheless deer are beautiful, and of course they were here before we were, roaming freely in woods that have now shrunk and shrunk as the suburbs have expanded.
Their preferred times to venture abroad are morning and evening, when it’s not really dark but not really light. It can be magical to be taking an after-dinner walk and turn a corner to find a cluster of them glowing pale brown against a deep green lawn.
It’s especially magical if a doe has a fawn still with Bambi fawn spots in tow—or even a doe with twin fawns, a family group we see on and off in our yard.
Sometimes they are bold enough to come out at mid-day. Yesterday afternoon I looked out a window that faces our driveway and saw a good-sized deer loping by. I noticed it step over into my neighbor’s yard, still very close, and crept outside to get a better look.
It looked right back at me and turned its huge ears this way and that as I greeted it. From time to time it glanced to the side, back down the driveway in the direction it had come from.
Interestingly, the deer was a young buck we have come to recognize—very distinctive because he only has half a set of antlers, apparently having lost the other half in some mishap. He couldn’t be taken for a unicorn though because the remaining antler is forked, with two prongs.
“Are you looking for a friend?” I asked and his ears swiveled toward me. “Are you?” I asked. “Are you?”
I leaned over the porch rail to look down the driveway too, and standing about ten feet away was indeed a friend, another buck, about the same size but with a full set of antlers.
Here in the suburbs of northern New Jersey, we share our lives with many wild creatures, but only recently have deer joined our local menagerie—though they’ve never been strangers to many New Jersey neighborhoods.
A few years ago I was visiting a town several miles to the west and I heard a woman shouting, “Scram! Scram!” I turned and saw what I thought was a huge brown dog bolting through her shrubbery. Then, with a shock, I realized it was a deer.
Why was she chasing such a lovely creature from her yard? I didn’t know the answer then, but now I do, because they’ve come to town. A parcel of undeveloped land where they used to live is being developed and they’re looking for a new habitat.
Deer have to eat. And suburban yards, with their lush and various landscaping, represent an all-you-can eat buffet, vastly appealing and there for the taking.
It’s not unusual to glance out a window and see two or three or even four of them placidly helping themselves to garden shrubbery.
(One might expect deer to focus on lawns, grazing like cows, but they don’t. They only eat grass if there’s nothing else around that they like better—and in the suburbs there are lots of things that they like better.)
March is pansy month here in northern New Jersey, because pansies tolerate chilly weather better than most other annuals. People look forward to seeing the “We have pansies” signs posted at garden centers, and buying pansy seedlings for outdoor planters is a spring ritual.
This year I planted a lovely batch of pansies in planters along my driveway, all the colors that I like—orange, purple, lavender, and lots of two-toned ones with yellow edges and dark centers.
A few days later I looked out one morning to see that all the flowers had disappeared. When I inspected, I could tell by the way the stems had been bitten so neatly that the deer were to blame—just as the previous year they had visited my day-lily patch and nipped off all the buds right before they were to bloom. Hostas are one of their absolute favorite things, like big lettuce leaves to be devoured in a few bites.
Of course people try various stratagems to repel the deer, like bars of soap—especially Irish Spring—or strips of fabric softener. Human hair and human urine are recommended. One can buy commercially produced evil-smelling sprays or make one’s own, with ingredients like sour milk, garlic, and rotten eggs. Or one can plant things that deer supposedly don’t care for. Garden centers sell shrubs with hang tags that read, “Deer don’t like me.”
Nonetheless deer are beautiful, and of course they were here before we were, roaming freely in woods that have now shrunk and shrunk as the suburbs have expanded.
Their preferred times to venture abroad are morning and evening, when it’s not really dark but not really light. It can be magical to be taking an after-dinner walk and turn a corner to find a cluster of them glowing pale brown against a deep green lawn.
It’s especially magical if a doe has a fawn still with Bambi fawn spots in tow—or even a doe with twin fawns, a family group we see on and off in our yard.
Sometimes they are bold enough to come out at mid-day. Yesterday afternoon I looked out a window that faces our driveway and saw a good-sized deer loping by. I noticed it step over into my neighbor’s yard, still very close, and crept outside to get a better look.
It looked right back at me and turned its huge ears this way and that as I greeted it. From time to time it glanced to the side, back down the driveway in the direction it had come from.
Interestingly, the deer was a young buck we have come to recognize—very distinctive because he only has half a set of antlers, apparently having lost the other half in some mishap. He couldn’t be taken for a unicorn though because the remaining antler is forked, with two prongs.
“Are you looking for a friend?” I asked and his ears swiveled toward me. “Are you?” I asked. “Are you?”
I leaned over the porch rail to look down the driveway too, and standing about ten feet away was indeed a friend, another buck, about the same size but with a full set of antlers.
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