Being inherently lazy, we located our compost pile just off our deck so that we (aka "I", since apparently the task of carrying things out of the house retains the primordial lot of males, just as females seem to do more of carrying things into the house. But I digress) can easily dump our compost bins into it. Though I have fond memories of walking out into the yard of an evening to feed the compost bin in Princeton.
The heard of deer that frequents our yard, most often on its way to the creek down below for a sip and/or spritz, have for a long time helped us to process the very fresh stuff on top of the compost. Of late they have stopped doing so. I had hypothesized that it might be because some new plants that Mary has decided are good ground cover for the yard had grown up and obscured their view of it while transiting down the hill to the creek. The interweb, however, informs me that deer have a very acute sense of smell, and who am I to doubt the interweb?
Perhaps the olfactory acuity of our local deer has been dulled by snorting Tranq or the like. This kind of thing is of course everywhere thanks to Joe Biden. Or perhaps the deer have just tired of the bill of fare offered up by our compost pile, just as most humans, once wowed by the novel multiculturedness of the Whole Foods hot bar, have long since wearied of it.
At any rate, the deer's abdication of responsibility for grazing on the fresh stuff atop our compost has created an opportunity for a murder of crows, who have been sampling its delights recently and therefore have been perching on our deck rail pretty often. It's nice to have new neighbors.
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