Hay deer

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist 

Hay days finally came to the creek valley. The rain stopped, and even though the hay was past its prime, it was better late than never.

On the first of our hay days, Greg rode up and down the fields on the little red tractor. The four-foot sickle bar cut smoothly through the grass out to the side while Greg kept a careful watch for any wildlife that might be hidden in its path.

By the end of the day, the hay in both of our three-acre fields was cut and we decided to take a walk along the valley road. The hay lay drying in the early evening air. It smelled wonderful.

We paused at the end of the pasture, enjoying the shade of the large oak tree that grows there. We looked out across the newly cut hay, and there, on the far side of the field, we saw two tiny deer, barely as large as our puppy dog. They walked across the field as though they had not a care in the world. After a while, their mother stepped out of the woods behind them. She stood alert, her ears cupped forward. She looked across the field toward us and pawed the ground. Slowly, her twins came to her side and began to suckle. Their tails wagged. Their mother stood perfectly still looking in our direction, her ears forward.

Greg had told me earlier that he had seen the two little deer bedded down in the tall grass and so he had purposely not cut the hay along the field's upper edge. We stood, as still as the attentive mother deer, and watched, and then another little deer came out of the woods, as tiny a creature as I imagined a deer could ever be. The mother looked at this newcomer and again stomped her forefoot, as though warning this truly tiny deer of our presence, but the little one was oblivious and came across the cut hay toward us. It continued on its zig zag course, and came amazingly close. It did not know fear. I suppose its mother had not yet had the chance to teach it to be wary.

Finally, the twins stopped nursing and began to wander about, though they stayed close to their mother. She, however, did not move and stood on alert as she watched the third, ever so tiny deer, approach us. We did not move. We stood silent and watched.

Minutes passed. I wondered what would happen, and then, out of the woods stepped the little deer's mother. She headed straight across the cut hay to the little deer, who saw her and turned to follow her back across the grass, away from us, and up into the woods. Only then did the twin's mother relax her guard. Her ears fell casually to the side with a flicker, and she turned towards her own offspring and also headed back into the woods, her twins following close behind.

I really do not know, but I believe that the twin's mother, knowing that her own offspring were safe, would have continued keeping watch over the little deer, and that if its mother had not appeared, I am certain that she would have kept a careful watch over it, and perhaps have even taken it in as her own.

I had to smile. I am so very thankful for life here in the creek valley.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com. 
 
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