Bambi's on the run, maybe

The deer around here were patient. They waited until plants put out blossoms and reached a certain critical state of readiness—that time in a garden when there's a lot of hope that this is going to be a REALLY good year. They've eaten the purple blossoms off a phlox, sheared off some tomato stalks, and even munched on pumpkin vines. Twice this week Tom has been up around 5:00 and surprised a doe as she ambled into the corn patch. Maybe she'll spread the word—avoid cranky white-haired man in the end unit townhouse. Either that or she'll bring reinforcements and they'll do brunch at midnight.

But that's not the reason for the strings. We had so much rain that the soil became waterlogged. Add a little wind and the corn couldn't hold itself up. I don't know of any farmers in Iowa who would individually tie up and stabilize every fallen stalk of corn, but so far it's working.

Henry on drugs. We have a healthy catnip bed in the garden, and every once in a while I pick some and rub it on the mice that Sarah knit for the cats 6 years ago. This is Henry in a state of bliss. Yes, licking the mouse.

The bargain of the week? All mine. It's about knee high and has 40 drawers. At $4.50, I figured I could indulge myself: paper clips, push pins, rubberbands, stitch markers, cable needles, exacto blades, glue sticks... Think of it as the dining room cupboards at 413, in miniature.