(This is a sequel to an earlier post about a deer family, which you can find here.)
By late November 2020, my deer friend Magnolia was gone, now forever absent from our interactions but still ever present in my heart. Momma and Baby continued to visit, despite Baby having reached the two-year mark when young ones venture out on their own. One day in late May, Momma appeared, this time with two precious fawns in tow. My deer family had grown! How had we missed the hints — the rounding belly and now the plump udder nurturing young life. But we were grateful that her comfort and confidence remained steadfast enough to introduce this year’s offspring to her personal trusted route.
Over time, Baby was less part of the family pack, sometimes instead hanging out with other adults. She was never as trusting as Momma or Magnolia, who would eat from my hand, but was trusting enough to let me stand an arm’s length away.
And still there was the rare occasion when Baby was part of the larger family, hanging with Momma and the babies, but these days she looked gaunt, her ribs prominently in view and hips sharply exposed. My heart sunk. A day or two later, Momma and the babies appeared with Baby lagging behind, this time grazing a bit more, but still not enough to sustain her health and strength.
Without hesitation, my husband jaunted off to the feed store to get a fancier blend of food with corn, sunflower seeds, and peanuts in the shell. Surely this mix would inspire Baby’s appetite and help her to regain her strength and physique. Days came and went, as did Momma and the three babies, but sadly now Baby was the one to disappear forever.
Each time Momma and the others would drop in, I felt blessed by the connection, but my heart was still heavy from the void. What was it about the situation that saddened me? Baby and I had not shared the same type of relationship I’d had with Magnolia that nurtured an emotional attachment. And then suddenly it hit me. The life of my deer family friends was in many ways a diorama in the wild, portraying my life’s primary fear — over and over what starts as a promising frolic into the future is unexpectedly altered or halted and stolen overnight by circumstances unknown. And yet Momma, in all her fragile beauty and delicate grace, dedicated each day to the life before her, despite the risk of repeated loss.
And with that revelation, my appreciation for and admiration of the wise, wild female before me grew even more profound as she now nurtured my resolve to birth a new way of looking at and living my own life.
Here’s to the hope there are many generations of new wild still to come.
© 2021 HSE
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