Gifting to Wild Neighbors

That blueberry-loving squirrel, who so respectfully asked permission to taste of the fruit on my deck, is not the only wild neighbor interested to partake of what’s growing in my garden.  

Since moving to the Bay Area in the late 1970s, I have admired the periwinkle blue color of Agapanthus, or Lily of the Nile, an African flower I had not known before.  An Internet query reveals that the plant’s name means “love flower,”  from the Greek agapē and anthos.

The year after I bought my home, I removed the Bermuda grass in the parkway, planted three evenly-spaced Agapanthus specimens and banked them at each end with a Malus “Robinson” tree under El Cerrito’s tree planting program.

I anticipated umbels of violet-blue flowers floating over the spear-like evergreen leaves of the Agapanthus and framed from above by deep rose blossoms of the Malus “Robinson” trees.  

The latter has rewarded me with an annual display of lush spectacular flowers that begin blooming in early spring. Birds delight me when they light upon the branches.

But what of the eagerly awaited Agapanthus blooms?

It did not take long for me to realize that each year, every one of the young violet "love flowers" was delicately bitten off and savoured by deer living in the nature area two blocks above my home.  This particular year—2011—with its lusciously wet winter not only nurtured an explosion of deer tidbits growing in the nearby wild area, but also encouraged my Agapanthus to produce more blooms than usual.

So this year, for the very first time, I can cherish those few blooms that remain on their stems even while I smile as I picture a doe and her baby grazing before dawn on a city street only feet from where I lay dreaming.