living with those who share your space

This summer a mama decided her twin babies would be safe sleeping the day away in our meadows or under any one of our trees.

But for many days now we haven't seen mama at all. Her fawns now consider our ridgemeadow a sort of safehouse, considering us curiosities not threats.  And Jerome and I do not threaten despite our history with the considerable damage of their ancestors.

Our property is obviously a very established pathway for the deer on Asbury Ridge, the evidence clear in prints and scat and well worn plant life all over our acreage. We don't interfere and since we aren't subsisting on what we grow,  we can share. But it's disheartening when rose buds disappear in the night, blushing red apples hang on the trees with a single bite removed, beets are torn up literally from the ground.
The photo at the top of this post is how our gardens appear today. The winter photo shows how it appeared before we removed the yews and dug out the old flower bed replacing it with roses and peonies and the liberty apple.

As I'm writing this post a crew from Sacred Ground Landscaping is removing our pond. The fellows working today told us from the signs they see it's the neighborhood raccoon watering hole. Many of our neighbors have been seriously troubled by raccoons and have lost chickens and much of their garden produce. It is one reason we are absolutely vigilant about closing up our flock at dusk. We are not removing the pond to eliminate the coons. It was a decision made based on or our changing physical capabilities. It is the one garden on our landscape that we are no longer able to manage on our own. The area will be redesigned into an evening resting place, a bit of a secret garden with a fire pit and perhaps a solar water feature. Once the new soil is in place tomorrow we'll have to give it time to settle before we move forward. This new garden won't be planted out til spring, giving me the winter to dream of its possibilities.
The pond has provided water for so much of the wildlife that shares this amazing place. My heart is heavy that we are removing what they've come to depend on throughout the seasons. The decision wasn't made lightly and I'm still bruised by it.
It's always a wrestling match, mostly with our own hearts and minds, making decisions that will ripple out from the centerpoint. We do the best we can and then let go.
Perhaps this reads like a tempest in a teapot. But it's where I am just now.