Years ago our family tent-camped at Slough Creek Camp Ground, a primitive site at the north end of Yellowstone National Park where wildlife is abundant and close. That particular summer, the regions’ fawn population exploded. Does led babies to the stream bank directly across from our tent. While my husband fished, transfixed little girls and I watched delicate, speckled creatures scamper and nurse while their mommas browsed and occasionally cleaned a baby. This is my fondest memory of camping with small children.
Our daughters are grown now, but sometimes an event sparks old recollections that make it seem like only yesterday that we were three squealing females trying to stifle our glee at seeing a dozen spotted babes so close we could almost touch them. What triggered this reminiscence was an abundance of fawns in our rural backyard one summer.
I mentioned in another essay that we lost our long time guard dog who took his duty to scare deer away very seriously. After Tucker died, bucks, does, and fawns passed safely within feet of the house, browsing shrubs, trees, and flowers and drinking out of the creek running at the base of our yard. Awakening each morning, I anticipated viewing multiple examples of wild America that visited daily.
Keep in mind, these animals have delicate noses, as well as sharp ears and eyes. As a result, they don’t hang out when we garden or sit on the back porch. That’s too much human contact for their comfort—as it should be.
Interactions with them required camouflaged viewing from the dining room window that overlooked Big Creek and doubled as a photographer’s blind. Wild beasts are so cautious that any movement or noise from inside the house spurs a dash to safety. To prevent scaring the focus of my observations, I moved slowly, making sure my camera didn’t beep and frighten these tawny beauties.
That morning, I began the day spying on a little one nursing while his mom browsed the creek banks. She ate while baby fed, and then she licked him thoroughly before they meandered to a nearby alfalfa patch. Later, I walked by the window while I dusted and noted a young buck standing half hidden in tall grass. I got a good look, but he heard the beep of my camera so I missed my photo op.
Later, another momma brought her singleton to water where it frolicked while she drank. A fawnless doe accompanied her, and I photographed them as they nibbled greens for twenty minutes.
I was grateful to see so many deer that day, and then life got better. Looking out the bathroom window, I noticed a mom with more mature twins wading the creek. Her babies leapt and charged one another in the slow-moving stream. When they braved approaching the house, mom shooed them back into the water.
My own girls may be grown and the memory of that day at Slough Creek Campground distant, but those moments watching fawns out my own window compressed time, making it seem like it was not so long ago. A hiding place and a ready camera helped me capture memories to share when our daughters visited and we recalled a long distant magical day.
Native Kansan Karen Madorin is a local writer and retired teacher who loves sharing stories about places, people, critters, plants, food, and history of the High Plains.