“She came back!” she said. “Come here!”
Standing in our backyard was a brave and curious doe,
bearing the same distinctive white patches above each of her cloven hooves and a
dark triangle on her face, the markings of a previous year’s visitor.
Autumn had tossed tomatoes, carrots, apples and celery to
her last year to gain her trust. Now, this gentle whitetail had returned.
“Well, hey there, Loretta,” I said.
“Loretta?” Autumn asked. She didn’t care for the name I had
chosen, inspired by the pride of Butcher Holler.
For the rest of that summer, Loretta would come to our
backyard and stare intently toward the door as if to say, “Where’s the girl who
feeds me?”
By summer’s end, the beautiful russet doe was coming to the
patio for treats, a welcome diversion in 2020. Her deep brown eyes brought a sense
of calm and civility to a tumultuous year of racial strife, divisive politics
and the first waves of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Loretta returned this spring, this time accompanied by two
spotted fawns, two yearlings–her offspring from the previous year, and, new to
the mix, three bucks, antlers still covered in velvet.
We purchased a mineral block, oats and split peas to go
along with the celery and carrots we knew Loretta favored.
By the first day of summer, she was eating from Autumn’s
hand, and she had learned to come to the windowsill where my determined
daughter had placed celery sticks dipped in peanut butter.
We were careful not to feed her too often or too much, until
mid-summer when our neighbor came to the door.
Loretta has a broken leg, he told Autumn. It turns out that
everyone in our neighborhood has taken to calling her Loretta. Her leg was in
bad shape, putting her off balance, especially when her fawns came for milk. In
a world where only the fittest survive, Loretta and her fawns now needed us.
And, truth be told, we needed her.
Loretta’s return brought joy and wonder to world filled with
hate and cynicism. Those things dissipate when Loretta comes to the backdoor.
Her sudden, comical appearance never fails to bring a smile, even when we
discover she’s eaten all the blooms off the Black Eyed Susans.
When work frustrations became too much to bear Loretta was
there, her oats-covered nose making us laugh. When the delta-variant of COVID
overfilled our hospitals, we watched and listened as she crunched carrots and
celery sticks. And, when the stress of returning to college for her senior year
was too much for Autumn, Loretta stopped by, decimating the sunflower seeds in
a nearby birdfeeder.
Now, Autumn has graduated college and preparing for her
first year of teaching. I’m still working from home, this time due to a
shoulder surgery that has sidelined me briefly. And, sure enough, on my first
day back, when I needed a reminder that I didn’t have to solve every problem in
a day, Loretta returned. It’s her sixth year coming to our back yard, and I
recognize that she is much more than a deer.
Yes, she ate our black-eyed Susans. No, we can’t have a vegetable
garden or hydrangeas or hostas (deer love them, by the way). But, none of that
matters in those moments when life gets to be too much. Somehow, Loretta knows.
I walk through the kitchen, and there she is, standing on the patio, looking in
the back door, waiting patiently for a little one-sided conversation and a
stalk of celery dipped in peanut butter.
She’s a godsend, His gentle reminder to stay calm, be patient
and trust Him.
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