Last Sunday morning I saw six deer on the fairway behind our house. They were silhouetted against the snow, and when I glanced out the window—there they were! It was a foggy morning (the reason I have no pictures), so perhaps they felt safer coming out into the open.
I hadn’t seen any deer in the neighborhood in about a month, but I was confident they still inhabited the bushes and creek bed near our house. Still, it was affirming to see them for myself. I like knowing that wild critters can live so close to our suburban home.
A deer I surprised on my walk 
A deer hides near the trees as the moon rises. It may take faith to see it. 
A young deer braving the grasses near our lawn
In contrast to the deer, the cows in the field across the street from our neighborhood are almost always visible. At least during the winter months, when the trees between our house and the field are bare. They graze the field, sometime on the hill, sometime down low next to the road, depending on the wind and where their owner has deposited their supplemental feed. Occasionally, I see them following his truck until he throws the hay bales off the back.
The cows near the road in October 
Cows in December 
Cows on the far hill
Both deer and cows have something to teach me. The deer teach me faith in things I cannot see. They teach me hope. Every morning I look out the window, wanting to see a deer or two . . . or more. (I’ve seen up to eight at a time.) Most mornings I am disappointed. And yet, I continue to believe the deer are there. I believe they will survive to forage another day.
Occasionally, I see fawns playing while their mothers graze. The little ones dash across the open fairway, chasing each other the way dogs do. But by the time they grow up, the younger deer become as cautious as their elders. They hide from danger, balance risk with want, and keep to themselves as much as possible. Requiring faith in those who hope to see them.
The cows teach me steadfastness. They are present. They are predictable. They are not glamorous, but they do what they are born to do every day. Nothing much bothers them. Their calves play just as the fawns do, but the youngsters become staid and serene as they age until they, too, spend their days grazing peacefully. Out in the open, without fear or angst for what will come.
The bovine tameness of the cows makes their futures less secure than those of the deer. The deer are more likely to live out a natural live span than the cows. But the cows graze on, content for the day.
Most of the time, I think I should strive to follow the cows’ example. To do what I am supposed to do in serenity and calm. To let my worries slide off my back.
And yet, the mystery of the deer intrigues me. After all, I aspire to be a recluse.
Which do you prefer?
