Octavia Liku/ Junior Staffwriter
Every summer, my mother’s midlife crisis manifests itself as an absurdly expansive garden — her pride and burden. It grows rife and unruly with fruits, vegetables, herbs, flowers, and nearly every plant that can possibly survive in suburban New York (and then some that probably shouldn’t). She tends to it laboriously — picking and pruning, weeding and watering. Her hands will never be able to catch up with the constant bloom, rot, and resurgence of weeds. Still, she indulges in the futility of it. Birds stake their claim on the strawberries, squirrels ravish the tomatoes, and yet, she simply shrugs. “Let them have it,” she says, with the sort of easy tenderness that only a mother could mean in earnest.
When I came to Pittsburgh, I immediately recognized that same generous landscape. My nightly 3 a.m. trudge from Doherty to Donner always promises raccoons rummaging, rabbits slipping through the grass, and of course, white-tailed deer that stand motionless, staring past you with eyes like dull glass. They are undeniably beautiful — and, according to the City of Pittsburgh, undeniably a problem.
With no natural predators left, the white-tailed deer population has expanded far beyond what Pittsburgh’s ecosystems can support. According to the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture, urban parks can generally support nine deer per square mile. In 2010, an estimated 50 deer per square mile were living in Frick Park. A 2024 study from the University of Pittsburgh found that this figure nearly tripled from 2010 to 2023. At such densities, the forest floors lack the ecological diversity necessary to sustain healthy regeneration. Invasive species such as Japanese stiltgrass and mugwort begin to fill in the gaps, forming dense monocultures that prevent native plants from taking root. Beyond ecological implications, the overpopulation has created safety concerns for the city and its residents. In 2023 alone, deer-vehicle accidents caused an estimated $3.6 million in vehicle damage across Allegheny County.
In response to mounting pressure from residents and conservation groups, the city pioneered a series of deer-management initiatives aimed at reducing the population. The first phase, introduced in 2023, established controlled archery hunts across Frick, Schenley, Highland, Riverview, and Emerald View parks. When data showed that the archery efforts merely stabilized the population as opposed to reducing it, the city introduced a pilot sharpshooting initiative and broadened the archery zones to include Hays Woods, McKinley Park, Hazelwood Greenway, Southside Park and Seldom Seen Greenway.
It is important to recognize that these are all fair, well-documented concerns that, in many ways, should have been addressed quite some time ago. I have no intention to lament some sentimental, moralistic crusade against culling. However, one justification continues to grate; the garden.
For many residents, the frustration with the deer extends beyond mere safety and ecological concerns; it’s about the flower beds and manicured lawns. I understand, intuitively, how many residents regard their gardens as a source of pride which adds to the beauty and aesthetic value of their neighborhoods.
But what unsettles me, reading the constant references to the horrors of eaten tulips and trampled flower beds, is how quickly inconvenience is mistaken for injustice. And maybe I’m wrong. Likely, it’s those years of watching my mother lovingly tend to fruits she would never have a chance to taste that makes it hard for me to recognize why gardens being ravaged, of all things, provokes such outrage. But I can’t imagine viewing the entrance of any creature into my backyard — to eat, no less — as an act worthy of resentment. Isn’t gardening an act of participating in the natural world? It only seems to unsettle us when the roles reverse — when we are no longer the ones clearing the land, when we are on the other side of the cull.
And, maybe, the real problem is our proclivity for keeping score. Let kids pick flowers from your front yard. Allow fruit to ripen and rot and return to the earth. Watch, in awe, as the deer eat your lettuce. And, for a moment, refrain from indulging in the numbers and statistics — the hours you spent and time you think you wasted. Let them have it. Instead, consider all that you have reaped from gardens you did not till. You’ll be disgusted by the enormity of all that you have taken.
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