The snow is deep on the ground out back. When I left for work Thursday morning, it was unspoiled - a pristine white blanket. When I looked out Friday morning, the scene was quite different. Tracks into and out of the woods, tracks from one side of the yard to the other, and in the middle, right where I customarily seed the lawn with apples, it looked as though a conference of wildlife had been held. The snow there was not just walked through, it was churned up, excavated, rearranged. It had to be the deer looking for the apples I'd put out before Monday's storm.
I watched for them again today as I went about my business, checking periodically from the upstairs window in my room as I put away clothes, or the window over the sink as I washed dishes, or from my office as I frittered away some time in front of the computer. I eventually decided they wouldn't come out today. Perhaps it was too cold to venture out of wherever they were bedded down - in the teens with a stiff wind.
But just at dusk, I looked up once more and saw them moving toward the yard from the tree line. I hadn't put apples out yet, so I hurried out to suit up - boots, scarf, coat, gloves, hat - and headed to the sun porch for the apples. My coat, scarf and hat are all red - there is no hiding in that, nor do I try. I'd like them to not be fearful of me when I go out. I don't try to approach, but I hope they don't run.
They didn't hear the interior door open, but they heard the click of the storm door's latch. Heads came up - wary and watchful but not running. I stepped out slowly, bag of apples in one hand, huge Cortland in the other. "Shhhh, mama. Look here." She stomped...but stayed. I moved slowly, deliberately to the edge of the deck. Underhand toss of the apple in her general direction. Ears up, she watched where it landed. One, then another, and another. The little buck trotted to where one landed, the snow deep but with no crust at all so the apples hit in a puff, and sink straight down. Six, maybe eight tossed out, some big Cortlands, some small, before my attempt at an overhand throw sent her spinning and dashing for the woods. In past the treeline, about half way back they went - and stopped. Turned, watching, waiting. I sent out a couple more, and took myself inside, stomping off snow.
By the time my boots were on the tray, my coat and scarf on the hook, they were back. He was eyes-deep in the snow, pushing it away from the treat, she stood staring at the house. Could she see me in the window over the deck? Or did she just assume I was there? As dark gradually fell, I saw them find three or four of the apples before making their way back into the woods.
I'll look for them again tomorrow.
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Snowdance
It's not the first snow of the winter. We've had a couple short-lived dustings before now, however today it was enough to cover the grass and reflect the moonlight once it got dark outside. But it all started earlier in the day...
Just about 2pm, as I geared up to fill bird feeders and seed buckets from the new bag of seed I picked up yesterday, I saw a flake, then another. It started as a lazy, half-hearted flurry, the kind you have to look closely to be sure is really snow and not just stuff in the air. In less than ten minutes, it became a pretty, but steady snowfall, the ground rapidly whitening around me as I topped off feeders for the noisy customers waiting impatiently in the brush.
Once the seed was stowed, I took the bag of apples with me to the octagon of the deck - my favorite place for salting the lawn with deer apples, the woodland version of an Eostre egg hunt. I lobbed a half dozen Empire across the back lawn, from the cedar deadfall to the side hill, then another half dozen for good measure. I hear they are hungry, not many acorns in the woods for them to eat.
Back inside, with shepherd's pie made and waiting for dinner and a hot cup of cider, I watched the birds converge on the feeders, the woodpecker on the suet. It was only about an hour before the four legged diners arrived, not quite enough snow on the ground to completely hide the apples and they found four or five before wandering up into the brush of the side hill.
They wandered back down again later, didn't seem to find any new apple locations, and eventually made their way out the back towards the power lines behind us.
Dinner time for the humans came and went, with dishes washed 'camping style' (heating hot water in the tea kettle) while Himself finished installing the new hot water heater. Returning to my office, the yard out the window glowed with snow in the dark and there - off at the edge - were long legs. Off went the lights and I sat in the dark and watched the two of them, nosing again in the now-deeper snow and finding still more treasure.
The most entertaining thing of all...the young one, plowing snow with its nose, head tilted sideways, would start to gambol about. The movements so reminiscent of a young goat, with the long legs going in so many directions and invariably ending with an attempted head butt of the mother, an invitation to play that was ignored until it was rebuffed, by a hoof on the head. Off the young one went, back to snow plowing, then kicking and leaping, then another try at getting mom to play. I watched them for fifteen minutes easily, sitting there in the dark of my office, the young one dancing in the snow and the mom going about her serious business of browsing before some noise startled the youngster off into the brush, with mom following sedately along behind, in her own time.
Just about 2pm, as I geared up to fill bird feeders and seed buckets from the new bag of seed I picked up yesterday, I saw a flake, then another. It started as a lazy, half-hearted flurry, the kind you have to look closely to be sure is really snow and not just stuff in the air. In less than ten minutes, it became a pretty, but steady snowfall, the ground rapidly whitening around me as I topped off feeders for the noisy customers waiting impatiently in the brush.
Once the seed was stowed, I took the bag of apples with me to the octagon of the deck - my favorite place for salting the lawn with deer apples, the woodland version of an Eostre egg hunt. I lobbed a half dozen Empire across the back lawn, from the cedar deadfall to the side hill, then another half dozen for good measure. I hear they are hungry, not many acorns in the woods for them to eat.
Back inside, with shepherd's pie made and waiting for dinner and a hot cup of cider, I watched the birds converge on the feeders, the woodpecker on the suet. It was only about an hour before the four legged diners arrived, not quite enough snow on the ground to completely hide the apples and they found four or five before wandering up into the brush of the side hill.
They wandered back down again later, didn't seem to find any new apple locations, and eventually made their way out the back towards the power lines behind us.
Dinner time for the humans came and went, with dishes washed 'camping style' (heating hot water in the tea kettle) while Himself finished installing the new hot water heater. Returning to my office, the yard out the window glowed with snow in the dark and there - off at the edge - were long legs. Off went the lights and I sat in the dark and watched the two of them, nosing again in the now-deeper snow and finding still more treasure.
The most entertaining thing of all...the young one, plowing snow with its nose, head tilted sideways, would start to gambol about. The movements so reminiscent of a young goat, with the long legs going in so many directions and invariably ending with an attempted head butt of the mother, an invitation to play that was ignored until it was rebuffed, by a hoof on the head. Off the young one went, back to snow plowing, then kicking and leaping, then another try at getting mom to play. I watched them for fifteen minutes easily, sitting there in the dark of my office, the young one dancing in the snow and the mom going about her serious business of browsing before some noise startled the youngster off into the brush, with mom following sedately along behind, in her own time.
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