Deer Desperadoes

I wrote last year (“Masting Aftermath,” 12/26/12) about experiencing a heavy masting year for oak acorns. (The masting process is one in which oak trees somehow collaborate to grow a superabundance of acorns every few years, thereby coating the forest floor with far too many acorns for critters to eat—ensuring that some survive to grow the next generation's oak trees.) Everywhere I trekked in the woods last year, the ground was carpeted with countless acorns. I had to watch my step, lest I slip on them and fall.

So last winter the deer, squirrels, turkeys, and other critters were fat and happy—gorging themselves on the oaks' bounty. All that overindulgence came to a screeching halt this fall, as the trees were unusually stingy in their acorn crop. The result is severe hunger in the ranks of these acorn harvesters. I don't know how the squirrels and turkeys are faring, but we've seen lots of evidence of famished deer.

We depend on our free-roaming dogs to keep the deer from invading our garden, and they do a good job of it. A garden fence deters the deer to some degree, but the dogs love to chase any deer who takes a second look at the fence and is contemplating a jump over it into veggie heaven. So once again we made it through the summer with no deer incursions in the garden.

This fall has been a very different story, however. As foraging on tender plants in the woods was brought to a close by the beginning of cold weather and no backup supply of acorns was to be had this year, the deer have repeatedly invaded the clearing. Numerous shrubs and bushes do not get fenced, as the garden does. That is usually no problem, because I've chosen varieties of shrubs known to be shunned by deer.

Well, that may be true for normal years, but when starvation threatens, the deer become desperate. They'll eat most anything green, as well as many other types of barely edible plants. It's irritating as hell to go out in the morning and find that deer have devastated our holly, privet, and other evergreen shrubs.

It makes me wish I had caught one in the act with a large stone in my fist, which I could ricochet painfully off its butt. But when my wave of fury has subsided, I feel sympathy for their plight. What kinds of desperate actions might I take, if I were starving? I try to let go my ire at the severe damage they've caused. After all, most of those shrubs will probably recover next spring... or so I fervently hope.

But I can't help wishing their stolen meal gives them a big bellyache. If so, it might deter them from returning and finishing off what little of the plants they spared.