Day 148: I joke that my crocuses all croaked. In fact, there are a few which Bambi and his larger friends the elk missed when they browsed the garden snack bar during a midnight raid, but they still surprise me when they pop up each spring. The cervid problem is a major issue with any type of gardening here. My raspberries stretch up past six-foot walls of chicken-wire, and the Berry Pen likewise except on the side where the gooseberries' myriad thorns form a strong defense of the perimeter. Bambi and buddies stand on their hind legs to pull plums and apples from the neighbours' trees, but the chicken-wire won't support their weight, a detail they learned by trial and error. However, any vine which dares send a stem through the wire is guaranteed to find the pruners waiting. I've taken to keeping my slingshot and a bowl of appropriately-sized rocks on a shelf by the back door, although obviously, I cannot maintain a 24-hour vigil. Getting pinged on the rump a few times teaches most (but not all) that I mean business when it comes to guardin' my garden.
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