Sept. 07, 2002 ~ I wish
we still had our old apple tree. There is nothing quite like walking outside, picking an apple and tasting that incredible crunchy sweetness. But it really doesn't get cold enough for apple trees in Texas, and eventually the tree must have figured that out. "Oops! Forget this!" I can just imagine.
A storm was that tree's undoing. It split the central branches, and that, as they say, was that. The end. It took several years for insects to finish the tree off, but after that first big injury, it was only a matter of time.
Deer liked that tree immensely. We had a motion light outside our bedroom window (installed by the previous owners), and when the deer would walk by, heading for the apples, it would trigger the light. Night after night it would wake me. I'd go to the window and there they were, several does, sometimes standing briefly on their hind legs as they reached into the higher branches. Backyard deer in the moonlight, on a Texas summer night... another reason to long for that tree.
Speaking of deer, I saw two of them yesterday at dusk, racing along the fenceline in the back pasture. Such pretty babies. Deer-o, we call them, or big dogs. How did that "big dog" thing start? Years ago, I got up during a storm in the night, and looked outside at the darkened fields. I could just make out some shapes on the other side of our front yard's fence, and in my grogginess, I thought it must be the neighbors' big dogs. A bright flash of lightning lit up the sky, and then I could see them... the deer. Probably half a dozen or more, so close I could have thrown a pebble and hit them. Husband, awakened by the thunder, stumbled into the living room, and we both enjoyed the view. Big dogs, lying in the meadow. For a long time afterwards, "big dog" was our code for deer-o, my way for not naming them out loud. I didn't want hunters to know they were here. Well, it's not exactly a secret, but I didn't want to advertise the fact.
Twice our fence has been cut by hunters, poachers. Cutting a fence is a dangerous proposition. Four simple cuts in those thin strands of barbed wire can wreak absolute havoc. If cattle or horses get out on the road, accidents can happen. The consequences can be disastrous. We've seen this firsthand. Lives ended or ruined. Financial devastation for the owners of the animals... as legally, they are liable for the damage, regardless of how the animals got loose. But I digress. We don't want hunters here, especially without our knowledge. On their own property, fine, but not here. We don't want injuries to our animals or to those who make their homes here. They're "our" deer, you see, and our squirrels. You get the idea. This is their safe haven. And mine.
The deer's presence is obvious. Once a busload of kids on their way to school stopped for a few minutes, just parked on our road, as the kids and driver watched the deer dancing in the hay meadow. A bright, cool, misty morning it was, as the animals raced and pranced and circled all about, having the grandest time. I caught part of that on videotape, and somewhere, that tape lives still.
The deer still come in our yard sometimes; I see their tracks in the dirt. But I long for the days when I could wake in the night, step to the window, and see deer-o on their toes, reaching for the sweetest apples.
Maybe we should plant another tree.
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The county boys filled in the wells yesterday, and they did a fine job, too. Both men know Husband, so they took special pains to do good work. They filled the wells with two dumptruck loads of dirt, and used a backhoe to tamp it down and smooth it out. Even so, the dirt's a little high (because there will be settling), and I know the cows will find that dirt pile straightaway! Cows are such funny things; anything new really grabs their attention. If a tree limb falls in lush grass, chances are good that the cows will stand there and munch dry old leaves instead of sweet tender grass, because it's something new. Tonight I'll bet we find countless hoofprints in the dirt in the hay meadow.
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