Feed the hungry, saith the Lord. What? All of them?

Looking out one of our bedroom windows, I have a good view of the tomato patch in the raised bed where the old elm tree used to stand. Since the tree's demise during a wind storm, sunlight now reaches patches of our yard that used to be perpetually shaded.

The idea of a raised bed seemed like a good idea at the time. Yes, we knew if we planted tomatoes the deer would come. But my scheme this year was to plant so many tomato plants that there would be enough for everyone: the deer, us and friends who crave home-grown, vine-ripened tomatoes as much as we do.

So I'm looking at the 16 tomato plants in the raised bed -- or what's left of them, anyway.

The plants are vigorous. There are blossoms here and there. There are, for the time being, even a few small green tomatoes on the vines.

The vines are stubby leftovers from a wild-animal feast. A couple of weeks ago a friend drove by before dawn and spotted five deer enjoying the tomato patch. The deer ate the leafy parts of the vines. And they ate every -- and I do mean all -- green tomato, which were picked as neatly as a surgeon's life-saving operation.

Looking out the other bedroom window, I have a good view of the backyard flower beds, which have matured since they were first laid out with a bit of professional help a few years ago.

One thing that is so interesting about our flower beds is the surprise we get each year. I suppose birds are mostly responsible for some of the flowering plants that have shown up in the beds. It's amazing to us that most of these unexplained additions (1) are exactly the sort of flowers we want and (2) do so much better than the flowers we plant. Go figure.

Not all the "additions" to our flower beds are wanted. There are a few weeds too. Aggressive weeds.

We've learned from experience that you can't always judge a plant by its foliage. I've pulled out plants that would have turned into something spectacular, I'm sure. And I've left other plants -- plain old weeds -- much too long.

This year, two new plants invaded one of the beds. They looked, from the start, as if they might burst into glorious bloom at any time. And they provided a nice bit of greenery as a backdrop against the wood privacy fence.

But as our deliciously cool summer rolled along, the unplanned foliage began to take over. At times it appeared not to be satisfied with flower beds. Perhaps it would attack the garden shed as an appetizer and then head for the house.

So, taking advantage of cool mornings this week, I fought back. It began at one end of the weed-filled bed and started pulling out the plants, roots and all. By the time I finished, there was an enormous pile in the backyard that had to be carried to the pile of dead limbs and other plant has-beens, the pile that gets hauled off two or three times a year.

As I was shifting the piles around, I noticed that quite a bit of acreage -- well, not really -- had opened up in the flower bed. I mentally calculated that the empty space would accommodate five or six more tomato plants.

Just think. I could have been feeding two or three more deer all summer. What was I thinking?

Here's what I was thinking. I was thinking that there ought to be a way to send tomato-eating bandits to white-tail heaven. And if I could figure out how to do it -- legally, of course -- I would do it in a flash.

(Do not assume that's a flash from a rifle shot. Other things flash too.)

Now that I've had some time to reflect, I have come to the conclusion that we get what we have coming to us. With my malicious thoughts of doing in the entire deer population of Cape Girardeau, I am rewarded with luxuriant and bountiful weeds.

Thanks, God. But You want to know what I think? I think that's carrying that whole feeding-the-hungry business a bit too far.

In case You are interested at all.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.