The Deer People Love Those Pesky Pears

The Pear-Eater

For the last several evenings as I’ve gone out to close up the coop, I’ve come face-to-face with the same young doe.  At least I think it’s the same one.  To my untrained eye and in the almost-dark, it’s a little hard to distinguish the nuances.

She stands near our collapsing gazebo (a project for next summer, perhaps) checking out the lawn around our heritage pear tree.  The fruit has been falling for the last week or so with big thonking sounds when it hits the roof of our new (almost completed) woodshed.

Ripening Pears

We assume, because they are detaching themselves from the mother tree, that those pesky pears are ripe.  They are, as they have been for the last 120 years, hard as rocks.  My grandmother declared them “only fit for pickled pears” as did my mother.  I might add “for pickled pears and deer” who seem content to gobble them up, seemingly without effort.  Not like the birds who try one peck and then abandon the endeavor.  (I often wonder if those pears are capable of bending beaks.)

Woodshed Under The Pear Tree

In any case, our evening encounters have been pleasant.  I stop ten or twelve feet away, and we look at one another for a minute or two.  I then welcome the visitor to the garden and offer as many pears as she wants.  But I do admonish her to leave our roses and geraniums and camelia bushes alone.  So far, so good.

Ms. Doe’s Calling Card

I hope the word about the pears doesn’t travel around the neighborhood.  I think I draw the line at deer.  I especially don’t want the Bear People to show up.  I don’t think our conversations would be quite so pleasant…

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