Foxgloves, they are called, for some obscure reason lost in British history. Maybe it’s the glovelike shape of the delicate little petal that looks like it belongs on the head of some woodland nymph. Some flowers just enchant me; lilies of the valley with their other worldly fragrance, lilacs that hearken back to Walt Whitman’s poetry and New England springs, violets scattered across the lawn. Foxgloves are high on my list. From purple to pink to creamy yellow. Nicknames for them? Tailors’ Thimbles, Faeries’ Gloves, Cats’ Fingers, Trumpet Flowers. Or the more sinister Dead Men’s Bells. There is a reason for this.
When we moved to Virginia just over a year ago, I was eager for growing season, and began my random gardening with the first signs of spring. I set out some geraniums, only to see the blossoms disappear overnight, literally. I had not paid much attention to the deer who roamed the neighborhood, but I soon discovered the reason for the absence of flowers in my neighbors’ beautiful yards. The deer have a voracious appetite for many flowers. Deterrents? Hot pepper flakes. Irish Spring soap. Nothing worked. So this year I talked to the Master Gardeners here in town.
Foxgloves are highly poisonous to man and beast alike. But we have no small children, and no pets. So why not? I used to find them growing wild in the oak woods around our NH house, but those times are gone. So I began hunting for them and found my first two at “Dry Goods and Such”, a favorite farm stand in town. The proprietor was most helpful. She pointed me to Home Goods where I found more, then was gifted with even more by a dear friend. So far, my little garden delights me. I check it out first thing every morning.
We shall see. If perchance on some dark night, a frisky and inquisitive deer ventures into our yard and is overwhelmed by temptation, we may find our winter’s supply of meat on our front lawn the next morning.