In the space of an hour the rising sun coaxed mist from the pond and set fire to the leaves with streams of incredible light. Days like this will make an early riser out of me in spite of myself.
New England Garden Notebook: Hating Bambi
I jinxed it and solved part of the mystery all at once. The deer are eating my hostas, or what’s left of them. I’m pretty sure I wrote a post with this title a few years back when they ate my tulip buds (I actually heard them chewing one spring night). Now I put out dishes with bars of Irish Spring soap to ward them off until the flowers bloom and they aren’t tasty any more. Now that the tulips are finished I guess I will need to move the soap. Deer are picky, though, and have left my favorite variegated varieties alone. Those hostas are particularly beautiful early in the season when the Japanese maple seeds sprinkle over them like tiny hearts.