A flower munching elk

Jeff Wozer

Experiencing life at a slower pace is the cornerstone of cabin living. It's a lifestyle that gives license to pause and appreciate the awe of a pastel sunset. Or admire the intricacies of a dew glossed spider web. Or, in my case, monitor the daily progressions of a simple flower garden.

I wanted to follow the lead of two other famous cabin dwellers, Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson, who both championed the artistry of flowers in their writings. Emerson wrote, "Flowers…are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty out values all of the utilities of the world." While Thoreau penned, "A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books."

I learned, however, this respect and admiration for the flower is not shared by wildlife. Especially deer and elk. They view flowers like kids view Little Debbie Snack Cakes.

Last year's wildflower garden, worthy of a Monet painting, overflowed with California poppies, fiddlenecks, tidy tips, Chinese houses, California bluebells, bird's eyes, five-spots and beach evening primroses. But during one fateful July afternoon, a herd of elk descended upon my garden like recently rescued lost-at-sea shipmates in an all-you-can-eat buffet line. By the time I noticed their presence my garden was stripped of wow. Nothing but leaves and stems.

Determined to thwart any such flower raids this season, I consulted the Internet and uncovered a list of suggestions.

One advised scattering human hair around the perimeter of the garden. Apparently deer and even rabbits, cringe at the scent of our hair. But visions of my garden resembling the floor of a Supercuts dissuaded me from this prevention tip.

Another source recommended dangling pie tins from lines. It sounded reasonable. But after trying it, I quickly cringed. It detracted from the garden in a tacky way, resembling a clothes line for the Wizard of Oz's Tin Man.  

Eventually I settled on the suggestion of spritzing my flowers with a homemade garlic spray. Initial reservations that it would frighten off the deer and elk, but create an Italian problem were unfounded. And as of today, the eighth of July, most of my flowers remain colorfully intact. I say most, because I did notice at the northwest end of my garden, closest to the forest, hoof marks around a stripped petunia, leaving me guiltily wondering if for the sake of my flowers I'm now inflicting Colorado's wildlife with heartburn.

Other garden visitors

Jeff Wozer (www.jeffwozer.com) operates from a secluded perch in Colorado's Rocky Mountains.

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