By John Hadidian
About eight years ago, my wife and I bought property in suburban Maryland that was mostly lawn. Behind it there were almost 12 acres of woods that bordered another large open area being cultivated as a cornfield. It was obvious from the beginning that we would face some gardening challenges, and that many of these would involve relations with our wild neighbors.
Indeed, once the adjacent field was taken out of cultivation, it quickly transitioned into what ecologists term an "old field," meaning that it became prime wildlife habitat—acreage that sustains deer, woodchucks, red and gray foxes, opossums, gray squirrels, chipmunks, mice, shrews, wood frogs, spring peepers, box turtles, and about 30 or more species of birds—not to mention the many species that pass through during spring and fall migration.
For most of our time here, we have lived in relative harmony with our wild neighbors. The rules of the game have been very simple: Know who our neighbors are, learn their habitats and their tastes, and recognize any potential problems or conflicts early enough to head them off before unacceptable damage has been done.
Oh, Deer
The biggest potential conflict makers are the deer. Between the woods on our northern boundary and the street to the south is a natural travel corridor from one wooded region to another. Deer, foxes, and raccoons all recognize that this is the shortest distance between two points. Our former homeowner had planted a nice ornamental lily along this pathway in one of the tiny flower beds that was soon to be enlarged. For three years, the plant grew but never bloomed, because every year it was neatly decapitated by a passing deer.
Lilies are just one of those delightful morsels that deer cannot refuse, and this plant never had a chance growing right on "Main Street." Once I had established other flower beds next to the house's foundation, I could grow lilies that were never molested by the deer, because they simply would not venture beyond these nonedibles, which included some ornamental grasses, lilacs, evergreens, and daffodils flowering in the spring.
Throughout the yard, I have planted daylily beds, and I've found the deer more than happy to dine on these in early spring. Apparently the yard "greens up" more quickly than the neighboring woods and fields, so that the yard holds the attention of the deer until their other—and probably preferred—foods become available. A little deer browsing had minimal impact on the daylilies; a far more serious threat occurred when our household's two teenaged drivers practiced their parking skills by venturing into the plant beds. (The daylilies survived even that onslaught, though the forsythia is still making a comeback.)
Sharing the Wealth
Our peach tree seems to keep the squirrels happy throughout most of August, although I have yet to catch them in the act of plundering it. About every other year they leave us enough fruit to harvest, so the arrangement so far seems both reasonable and practical. If our taste for peaches should increase, I might net the tree with the same product used to keep birds away from cherries. The squirrels could easily climb under or nip through the net, of course, but it would take an effort to do so. Besides, they are only likely to turn to the peaches when other food sources are scarce. Chances are, neither the squirrels nor I will be energetic enough to do much of anything under the current conditions.
My vegetable garden has been, for the most part, unmolested in the years we have lived here, although I have not invited trouble by planting crops like corn, which is an irresistible draw to a host of wildlife species. One year, a mysterious sort of damage affected only the row of tomatoes closest to the ground. Chunks had been removed from the fruits, though they remained attached to the vine. My vigil finally paid off when the perpetrators were revealed to be a resident gang of crows. Having identified the damage and determined who was causing it, I took the next step—dealing with it. In this case, the solution was easy: Share the bottom row and enjoy the fruits that were too high for the crows.
When Enough Is Enough
Sharing was not an option last year, when, after a week on the road, I returned to find no fruit left on the ten plants in my tomato row, as well as a lot of unordered pruning of branches. The culprits? Deer. The tell-tale prints, as well as the extent and speed with which damage occurred, gave them away. Nothing to do but erect a fence around the plants and hope to salvage something out of the harvest. This year, if the deer's taste for tomatoes continues (and it will in all likelihood, now that it has been acquired), a more permanent fence, repellents, or greater vigilance may do the trick. If the visits persist, an electric fence may be in order.
Just to show that there is always a new twist in store, last year saw my first run-in with a woodchuck. While many gardeners will swear chucks are incorrigible natural enemies of the vegetable garden, I have never found them to be particularly problematic. The same absence during which the tomatoes were sacrificed, however, also provided an opportunity for one particularly ambitious chuck to take out every single cantaloupe and honeydew melon in my patch, then set up shop right at the wood's edge, where a freshly excavated burrow indicated that this animal had designs on moving in.
Quite likely this woodchuck was a youngster moving into new territory from the family nexus in the adjacent field. In fact, I soon encountered the innocent working over the melons (taking a few bites from one and moving on to the next, a particularly wasteful approach in my opinion), and I was even able to walk right up to the character before he startled and took flight. With a relatively shallow burrow to deal with and an interest in encouraging this chuck to move on to other pastures, I resorted to the old kitty-litter trick and had soon shoveled a copious amount of used product into the burrow before lightly closing the entrance with leaves and loose sticks. Between two applications of litter (after the first had been dug out in some disgust, I assume) and removal of the greenbrier that partially covered and sheltered the opening, the chuck soon gave up and was seen no more.
Our yard has been in development a good seven to eight years, and we have had remarkably few conflicts with our wild neighbors. What issues there have been were hardly serious, and by being attentive, catching damage early, and reacting to it, we have headed off the vast majority of conflicts. I sincerely hope there will always be deer in the area, squirrels in the trees, and woodchucks passing through. If they were not here, the loss would be far greater than any fruit or flower they might want to harvest in what is, after all, part of their home, too.
John Hadidian, Ph.D., is Director of The HSUS Urban Wildlife Program.
