I've Got a Girl Crush

Yep, I stole the name for this post from a popular song. I first heard it on the Grammy Awards show and was smitten. If you don't already know it, I think you'll like it.

Hear it in Little Big Town's video here. 

Interesting that many country radio stations won't play this hypnotic waltz, because some listeners accuse stations that do give it airtime of "promoting the 'gay agenda'." Good grief. It's a song about longing and disappointment, tinged with jealousy; it's a song about yearning and grappling with rejection. It's a song with multiple edges, co-written by the brilliant Lori McKenna, Liz Rose and Hillary Lee Lindsey.

But I digress. When we last left Ms. Zickefoose she was gasping at the beauty of a certain doe, hoping hard she'd see her again, and be able to photograph her in decent light.

Sometimes dreams come true.  The very next morning after I took those photos of the doe on alert, I raised my east blind in the bedroom, to give me and the orchids some light. I made the bed and came back to the dresser for clothes, looked out the window and saw THIS. Oh oh oh oh oh!! Four deer with black briskets!! Could it be...?

I took off like a scalded ape for the studio where my Canon lives. I have this special run that I do, very rapid small steps, turning corners on two wheels, coming back with a death grip on the big rig, skidding to a halt and shooting out the window. It probably sounds like there's a gigantic squirrel on the roof. 

One of the Blackbrisket fawns was a buck. See his furry button bumps? An older doe is standing behind him, her coat grayer than Mama's. His grandmother? My mind was racing.

One of the fawns was a doe. Both were built like their mama, tall, long-legged and clean-lined. 

They moseyed about the sideyard, heading in a leisurely way toward the main meadow. Heaven. 

The doe fawn and her mama, ears canted exactly the same way, in step with each other. Me and Phoebe, noticing all the same things, alert to it all.  The resemblance between the two, uncanny. 

And the little buck, with the same beautiful lines, great big intelligent eyes and perfect proportions. 

And along came Mama.  When I looked at her face, I heard the angels sing.

Y'all know I love Buffy and Lord knows I loved Ellen. Neither of them perfect by any means. Perfection is not a prerequisite for my love. But I am, in the end, a slave to beauty. It's what I chase down most of every day. It's what I get out of bed for. This animal makes every cell in my body sing Hallelujah. 

You'd think that all deer are pretty, and they are. But there's pretty (Buffy)

and then there's this doe. This doe is Sophia Lauren,  she's Jessica Lange, she's (desperately updating myself) Blake Lively. Her eyes, the bones in her face, her proportions, all perfect beyond perfect.  I thought about her for a couple of days before I came up with her name. 

It had to be Jolene. 

If you'd like to hear Dolly Parton's gorgeous ballad, there's a version from January, 1988 here.  And dig that amazing dress, and her theatrical delivery!  I really prefer the 1973 version from the Porter Waggoner show, though. There's a sweet, pleading sadness in that one, a purity, and pain undimmed by theatricality and swagger. Ain't the Net a wonderful place?

I was talking about deer. Music is always wanting in.

 I found one tiny notch in her right ear, halfway down the curve. Not that I'd need it to recognize this exquisite creature, but at some point I may need to distinguish her from her beautiful daughter.

Here they are lined up, and I want you to look at the topline on this statuesque doe. Straight as a Kansas highway, no tuck-under at the rump.  Her coat is luxuriant and dark. If whitetails were bred for excellence, Jolene would be a founding doe. She's as good as they get.

 

Let's take a look at the older doe, appearing here in the lower left of this photo. She's hanging closely with the group. Her coat is grayer, lighter, but there's something familiar about her lines and her face. 

She can only be Jolene's mother. All the beauty is there, the slightly slanted eyes, the long face, the proud carriage. She's seen a lot more seasons than her beautiful daughter. And now she's helping with her grandfawns. Yes, these are all guesses on my part, but what's the harm in building a story on what I'm seeing in their faces, in the line of their backs and the length of their legs?

For now, I’m drinking them in. I never know when I’ll see these animals again. I never expected the Blackbriskets to walk right under my bedroom window, the day after I’d finally gotten photos of them!

Look at the difference in coat color between dark Jolene  (grazing at left) and paler Grandma (in the middle). Fawns are behind. Right there, she sticks out for you.

There’s such intelligence in Jolene’s face. She smells a rat, feels someone’s watching her.  She starts down the path and gives the signal to depart.

Jolene leads the charge down the lower path. All flags up!

I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave.

Having put a sufficient distance between themselves and the imagined threat, they stop to reconnoiter. Jolene’s tail is still flared. What a long-distance signal flag that tail can be.

I’m grateful for this rare and perhaps never to be repeated chance to document Jolene and her family at close range. 

 I can only hope we meet again.