The fight was on. We each pursued the same object yet with opposing goals. My opponent attacked stealthily by night; I countered by day. My opponent damaged what I had carefully nurtured. My opponent incessantly nibbled away at my sanity—I was losing the battle, the status quo couldn’t continue.
My first stop, True Value. I found a sympathetic clerk.
“I need something to eliminate a predator methodically munching through my garden,” I lamented.
“Try a .22”, she responded quite seriously.
Somehow I hadn’t been picturing facing off against Bambi with weaponry, I was hoping for a more subtle, less fatal deterrent.
“Well, are you certain it’s a deer? What do the bite marks look like on the stalks, are they
a clean cut or rough?”
In my furor over finding the emergent garden buds all bitten off, except of course the Foxglove, I hadn’t had the instinct to inspect the stalks for smooth or ragged ends. But a thought dawned on me as I pictured the Foxglove flourishing in my garden, perhaps I could just plant a garden of poisonous plants. In the meantime, however, I still wanted to rescue my remaining flowering flora from nightly incisor damage.
The salesman at the Farmer’s Union was equally understanding. He had had numerous incidents with woodchucks and thought a rabbit or woodchuck more likely than a deer as I described the damage.
“Have you ever seen a woodchuck run? They are fast!” he mused while he led me to the display of Deer Away, Wolf Urine and other garden predator problem solvers. He also pointed out the Havahart traps hanging up which I could rent for just $5. Somehow, the cost was the least of my objections to attempting to catch a large woodchuck in a wire mesh cage. I just couldn’t picture myself transporting the crated creature in my car to some isolated location or even to some neighboring garden and opening the cage door. I actually would prefer not to come face to face with my opponent at this point.
So it was that as dusk settled last evening, I was circling my garden trying to imitate how a fox might pee. A small quantity at a time? Would he spray or make a small puddle? And is the potential presence of a fox really going to scare away a bold rabbit who has been dining nightly in my garden? I should have gone with the wolf urine, I thought wistfully, as I held my nose to keep from inhaling the noxious smell. Wolves are much more intimidating than foxes.
Then in the middle of the night I was woken suddenly, no not by a rush of wild animals fleeing from a fox, but by a torrential downpour. So much for the fox pee.
Tentatively I crept to my garden this morning to see if the newest flower buds had been preserved for one more night. Yes, success! Well, for one night at any rate. Maybe if we get a nightly deluge I’ll have balloon flowers and lilies in bloom before summer ends. Or possibly I could put a real fox on a leash and create my own guard fox. Now that would add more interest than a bird bath. But without rain in the forecast, I imagine that instead of continuing to plot against my four legged adversaries, I'll simply wait until next spring and plant a lot of foxglove.
with the sense of hearing. Ting, ting, shring, the halyards gently knock against the masts swaying in the breeze along the Lake Michigan shoreline. A symphony of wind chimes calls out as bikers, walkers and runners glide along the lakeshore walking path.
traffic recede. Visitors and residents alike amble under the trellis of Pritzker Pavilion. With a symphony practicing on stage strolling cross the lawn is like brushing by the violins and oboes, violas and clarinets as the crescendo of New York, New York builds throughout the venue. A pause, the notes permeate the space between the trellis and grass, surrounding and filling the entranced on-lookers.
while the sounds of children squealing in delight bounce between the two tall towers and a stream of water arcs out of the pursing lips. Shouts of “Hey guys!”, “Look at this!”, “C’m here!” are tossed among the kids splashing through the sheet of water.
