Thanksgiving Garden

This year I gave up replanting and extending drifts of tulips. The sight of newly emerging tulip buds nipped off at ground level has taken its toll. The deer have won another round. They have beaten me out of my tomatoes and have even shown a taste for Hibiscus. I used to be able to keep them at bay with Irish Spring soap, but only for one season. I have also tried covering tomatoes with a mixture of crushed garlic and Cayenne pepper. That worked but was labor intensive and had to be periodically repeated. I did plant a dozen tulips in a half whiskey barrel alongside our mailbox. They were carefully inserted among the Ostrich ferns already in place. Time will tell if the squirrels find them before the deer or if they manage to survive to bloom.

This past fall I widened a long border. Shortly afterward a trail of deer hoof prints carefully followed every curve of the soft earth. As an added insult, they like to deposit their spoor around least I forget they are the masters of my garden. The nearby State park holds many pleasures. Deer, however, are not one of them. There are a multitude of supposed deer repellent techniques. True, I have not tried them all. Some work for some people. Some work part of the time. This year I gave up. Last month, in mid morning, I saw a flock of the beasts right behind the house. They had come to finish off the few Hosta leaves they had previously missed. They are cowards. When I dashed outside to confront them, they retreated. But not far enough. Why don't they eat the Brugs or the Aconite, Foxgloves and Datura? That might slow them down a bit.

Our growing season went out in a blaze of glory. One of the great pleasures in living in the Northeast of the U.S.A. is the fall display of nature's color palette. We even had the opportunity of treating some visiting friends to a tour of the nearby Adirondack Park and its beautiful fall exhibit, every shade of red, orange and yellow. A few weeks later the hill behind our house showed its full color. The ubiquitous roadside Sumac added its own shades of red as the herald of our long winter to come. Our Brugmansia put on a last burst of

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