Bambi Must Die

This weekend was to be chock full of fun, huge amounts of stuff would be accomplished, and the next month would stay firmly on track. Then the deer ate the garden.

Normally the deer wait until July to eat the garden, but they have decided that the salad bar is open early this year, and so the fence, which was to be erected in late June, must be erected now or we lose several months’ worth of seedlings, making the money, time, effort, and greenhouse involved become wasted effort. Not, perhaps, wasted from the viewpoint of the deer, but that view is not one that I share, or regard with anything approaching favor.

So. Othello & I erected a fence, the gate will be installed this evening, and all the work that was to be done over the weekend will be packed into the two remaining weekends. I hope.

As a side benefit to the time & money spent on deer dieting enforcement, my forearms were so swollen Saturday & Sunday that I could not type and could only write with painful slowness and illegibility. So, no words this weekend. No truck fixed. No laying about indolently. No tilling of beds. No — many things.

Grph. My typing is still labored; my hands feel as if they are far denser than is credible, and I keep striking the keyboard with unwarranted force. Naturally, my morning’s work is typing contracts.

Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry