It seemed I was in a remake of "Harry and the Hendersons," but instead of Yeti, it was deer appearing silently and as if by magic yesterday. The sun had gained warmth by the time I'd finished in the barn (except for that darned Inga who wouldn't budge this time; we'll both be sorry this morning) so my little house tribe and I headed out to the deck. Looking up from the pages of my book, I saw a couple of does down in the front pasture. I paused in my reading to watch as one or two joined the first, and then they just kept coming. I counted fifteen by the time they'd organized and started moving up Irish Acres, following the road up the hill. My friend Dolly loses it when she sees one deer, and would have been in throes of ecstasy at the sight of this many together. I was pretty amazed, myself; the book lay forgotten in my lap.
I had taken pictures of the anemones in the early morning, brave flowers that had withstood being buried in snow, their bright cerise petals glowing in the sunlight. I also took a number of photos of the deer. Unfortunately, the camera and computer seem to talk to each other only under direct supervision of a Nikon tech. Maybe it is me they don't like. I am starting to take this personally.
Later in the afternoon I glanced out the window and there was that handsome buck with the big spread of antlers just at the edge of the woods. Had I missed him in the morning? It has been my experience that bucks follow does, and not just during rut. Whether that is because, as the hunters in the family told me, he waits to see if the does are safe before he'll come out into the open or if he comes last as a rear guard, I don't know. Maybe he was with the morning herd and had been in the thick brush on the other side of the road. Regardless, it certainly was a day for deer.