Our neighbor Jim told me the other day that he’d been up early that morning and, through a window, saw a trio of visitors in our backyard, calmly munching on our tomato plants: a deer and two fawns.
Jim’s efforts to protect our harvest by spooking the visitors with noise were met only with indifference. These deer came to eat breakfast, and eat breakfast they did.
Kayne and I don’t begrudge them their dining choice. By placing the plants outside the fenced portion of our yard, we had inadvertently invited them to a deer IHOP, open 24/7. Come hungry!
Besides, our tomato production has been anemic in recent years, owing in large part to my unwillingness to practice sound crop husbandry. Or any crop husbandry, for that matter.
The Rogers horticulture gene, to whatever extent it once existed, essentially played out before getting to me. I know better than to count on garden success stocking our table. If woodland creatures benefit instead, so it goes. More power to them.
But I am concerned about the deer’s welfare. There was no question where they came from; as the crow flies, we live less than a mile from Shelby Park. Deer don’t fly, however, and there’s no way for them to get to our place without navigating city streets. Streets that are home to vehicular traffic. Vehicular traffic that can play havoc with deer safety.
Who among us has not seen the grim result from time to time?
I’m always on the lookout for wildlife on my walks through Shelby Park, and deer top the list of prized specimens. It’s especially gratifying to see a buck sporting its crown of antlers, a sight that in some people inspires a wish for a handy rifle or bow. But in me it evokes fond memories of the Great Prince, Bambi’s dad. I try to stifle the unhappier aspects of that family association.
Despite my strong aversion to killing animals for sport, I recognize that population control is one of the results. And with hunting prohibited in Shelby and other city parks, I’ve wondered what, if anything, keeps the urban deer population within sustainable limits.
So I put the question to John Michael Cassidy, director of the Shelby Bottoms Nature Center at the park. He said natural predation is the only check on deer numbers, and the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency is responsible for the welfare of park wildlife.
He also said there’s no estimate of deer numbers for the park. Nor of predators.
Barry Cross, a spokesperson for the TWRA, provided the view from 30,000 feet, as it were. “It is important to note that as a state wildlife agency we manage for populations on a statewide level, and any estimates will reflect that,” he said in an email.
“Currently it is estimated there are approximately 900,000 to 1 million deer in Tennessee,” he said. “Many parks have high deer densities due to high-quality habitat and the lack of hunting.”
I assume Shelby Park provides some of that quality habit. Between it and the adjacent Shelby Bottoms, more than 1,200 acres are available to roam.
But as LinnAnn Welch, a naturalist with Metro Parks, told me, sometimes that might not be enough, or the available park food supply might be unappealing. And then a deer or two or more might find themselves thinking, “Let’s go get ice cream tonight; it’s been a boring week.”
The ice cream, in this instance, being my tomatoes. Maybe yours, too.
How the deer know about my Rocky Road is another matter. Maybe they just wander about a bit until a tasty smell meets their noses and then they zero in.
And I suspect that mine is not the only dining establishment they have identified. East Nashville is a bit of a hub for human foodies. Why not for fauna, too? I just worry about the potential consequences, if not soon, then somewhere down the line.
Meanwhile, if the deer can’t resist the garden offerings of me or my neighbors, I wish they’d do what I do when I go downtown for eats: Take an Uber.
Joe Rogers is a former writer for The Tennessean and editor for The New York Times. He is retired and living in Nashville. He can be reached at jrogink@gmail.com