My room faces the front of the house; I like it that way.
I like the blinds drawn to let in the light, and to allow me to see the stars at night and those lovely clouds in the morning.
I usually stand at that front window and scan the scene, before getting started on my day.
This morning, as I stood there, I found myself thinking, “Gee, I never see a deer any more” — and then, there she was! And she was beautiful!
That field across the road is large and flat and perfectly situated for wildlife. I remember it when it was a very large and productive garden, full of rows of corn and vines, hanging ripe with tomatoes.
As I think of the garden, I also remember the gentleman who cared for the garden. He was tall and slim, with white hair and he seemed to work tirelessly.
Being retired, he filled his time with making the world more attractive, and better tasting!
He worked for the good of his daughter’s family, with whom he lived, but we all benefitted from the tranquil scene which he so tirelessly created.
But now, the bridges that were built so long ago by industrious landowners, have all been washed away and the water runs free over the field.
Because of this, the government desires this large level area to become a swamp. The various grasses come up in the spring and by now are shoulder-to-head high on any young deer.
And so, I stand by my window and watch, transfixed as she browses among the tender green shoots that are so plentiful.
I know what their practice is.
They will browse until they are really full, and then they will bed down in that high grass, where they are invisible to the casual eye.
There they will stay, with their young, if they have them, until early evening.
I see her starting to settle in and then, raising up and eating again. I can understand that.
Don’t we all do that? If it’s there on the plate, we may as well have a few more bites, hadn’t we?
And who knows if some noisy dog, hungry coyote or aggravating human might happen by before dinnertime and disturb the evening meal.
I go on about my work, busying myself with those projects, which I consider so important.
Soon I forget about the pretty little doe that dozes in the tall grasses across the way.
Then, as I am sitting in the library, at my desk, typing, I happen to look up. There I see a bold young deer, leaping jump after jump across the yard that adjoins ours to the wooded area in the back; male or female, I cannot tell.
Then, this morning, I saw deer again! Three mamas with babies, slipping through the fence and across the field. I can’t wait to tell someone!
My brother stops in for coffee and I am excited to tell him about the deer.
However, in typical brother fashion, he tops my story.
He tells of a half-dozen does filing down the steep side of Pea Vine Run and crossing the road into that broad field where they proceed to do, what sounds to me like a May Pole dance, without the pole.
They were soon followed by a half-dozen proud bucks-with their antlers covered in velvet; and the dance continued.
They must have been dancing, it is too early for mating.
His story topped mine, but that’s OK. When morning comes, I’ll be at the window again, watching!
Loretta Nazelrod Brown is a Cumberland freelance writer. Her column appears every other Sunday in the Times-News.