Dinnertime

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.