Adaptation

A couple of things occurred to me to wonder... First, is the invasion of vines this year because of the mild winter we had last year? Now I have found poison oak by the driveway, another new presence in the yard.

Second, is it possible that some plants held themselves in check during the long drought of spring? I have had several flowering trees that bloomed again after the rainy season finally began, long after their usual blooming season.

Third, how resilient will I be in the face of similar adverse conditions?

Eerie calm

Two nights without an incident in the garden. Three nights ago the creature dug up several daylilies and the strawberries next to the passionflower, but the passionflower made it through another night, as did the bay tree. I will continue to use a variety of strategies so the animal doesn't become complacent.

We have reached an equilibrium with the crows. With the suet arranged just so, they can get a little but not the whole thing. The songbirds can get the suet easily.

The caterpillars are going full force. The days are beginning to grow shorter, almost imperceptibly. Change is in the air, but only if one is looking for it, and I am.

The first thyme ever I saw your face...

Something loves the oregano a little too much. I planted oregano for the first time a couple of weeks ago. It is getting smaller instead of larger. The same thing happened to several impatiens I planted under the redbud. Leaves nibbled back to the stalk at night. I suspect snails or slugs. In extreme situations, I take a small empty can, place it in the ground near the plant, and fill it with beer. It worked with the little hibiscus that was being nibbled, but not with the impatiens. I am reluctant to use diatomatious earth around the oregano because it is very near the fennel and parsley, which are currently being eaten by the second installment of swallowtail caterpillars. I don't want to risk hurting them. However, if I want oregano, I have to outwit the night nibbler as well as-- this is entertaining on a whole new level-- the night tosser, which got interested in what was under the can (earthworms) and dug it up a couple of nights in a row. Didn't hurt the oregano, just tossed the can.

It's mayhem out there!

Years ago after our tomcat, Jeoffrey, died, we consulted a cat behavior specialist because our little cat Lily had gone into a deep decline and couldn't pull herself out of it. Jeoffrey was like a big brother to her, and to all of us, as it turned out. Jeff would often stay out at night on purpose, not coming when I called, so that he could patrol the yard at night as well as during the day. He got into fights and had to be stitched up and take antibiotics regularly. Sometimes it was other cats, but until Jeff was gone I didn't realize how much he was doing to keep wild animals away from his territory as well. They moved in when Jeff was no longer patrolling. So when the cat behaviorist asked us about animals in the yard, I described for her the predators and opportunists we have seen-- raccoon, deer, armadillo, possum, fox, bobcat, coyote, owl, hawk, rabbit, and so on, as well as neighborhood cats and the terrifying Jack Russell terrier next door. Taking the cat's point of view, she said, "So it's mayhem out there!" I always think of her comment when I see new evidence of what goes on at night in the garden.

Turning enemies into friends

Expensive biological deterrents were applied to the creature's favorite digging spots (in other words, the earthwormy places where I regularly dig in organic fertilizer), but not around the faux planting hole I created especially for the creature. The aluminum pie pan I use to put out stale bread and other tidbits was filled at sunset with two cups of dried cat food of a type that we no longer use. The results this morning were encouraging. The bay tree is still in place, unmolested, as are the eggplants and passionflower vines. The faux hole was lightly tossed, the cat food was gone, of course, and that was the extent of the damage.

I'm glad these products are available. Many people say the only solution is to trap and relocate. That's a lot of trouble, and critter controllers are happy to take your money to do it for you. It only creates an opening for a new animal to move into the vacated territory. I prefer to find a way to communicate to the animals that there are certain parts of the garden they can dig and toss and certain parts that are off limits.

For that reason, I continue to try various deterrents in the garden. The organic deterrents I have put out for years are fairly mild, they diminish in strength when it rains, and the night visitors eventually become more bold. But this new approach I started last night should be more effective. While we do have foxes, bobcats, and coyotes move through the woods and the garden, they are not so obliging as to pee where I want them to-- on the rose bushes, new plantings, and other earthwormy places. 

The location where I dug the faux hole yesterday is right next to one of the places in the paisley bed I have been using to distract the night visitors from my new plantings. I have been putting something out in the pie pan an average of once a week, on an irregular schedule. My goal is not to create a feeding station. That would be a disaster. It is part of my effort to work things out amicably with the animals that come to the garden. I can't fill up the birdfeeders and the birdbaths and expect only birds to be interested.

Some of the pests I was railing about weeks ago have become a source of entertainment. My husband has just finished reading "Gifts of the Crows." About an hour before sunset yesterday, earlier than the usual time, I put out chunks of stale bread just for the pleasure of seeing how the crows would deal with it. I have seen them putting bread in the birdbath before, to soften it up, and that's what one of them did yesterday. One of the others, a fledgeling, sat on top of the birdfeeder poll and tried to figure out how to eat her chunk whole. Within a few minutes, they had carried off all the bread.

So many other worries occupy my mind right now, especially about family. Dealing with the animals who are tossing the garden is one area where I can act decisively.

The tosser

Yesterday evening, while we were at the weekly Monday night dance, it rained well on the garden. When we arrived home, it was dark, but this morning there was much to see.

The creature liked his faux planting hole. He liked it so much he worked it over thoroughly, dug up the bay tree again, and visited every place he had been over the past three weeks, made a little hole, and tossed the mulch and dirt around. I have repaired all of his handiwork and added clumps of Spanish moss around his faux hole, something I know he finds irresistible.

This afternoon I will pursue further types of organic and physical barriers. Meanwhile I am finally willing to entertain the possibility that this is, indeed, a sasquatch who has been visiting my garden at night. Both times the bay tree was laid neatly on the side of the site of destruction, as if to say, "See, I really appreciate the care with which you planted this, and I've kept it intact so you can do it again." Could a four-legged creature be so altruistic, or so devious?

No, really, everything's vine.

The vine that has been flourishing in my front flowerbed is blooming. It is skunkvine, also called stinkvine. The flowers are pretty and trumpet shaped, but I can't find any evidence that the hummingbirds like it. It is food for hummingbird moth caterpillars, somewhere, maybe Singapore. I don't see anything eating it in my garden. I am pulling it off the plants and pulling up the roots wherever I can find them. It will take months, but if I keep a steady pace of working once a week through the winter I think I can ultimately get ahead of it.

I'm afraid the street view of our yard, as realtors call it, is not inspiring. But come up the driveway and the prospect changes. 

The years when I couldn't get around to the whole garden are really showing. Wild grape vine, smilax, Virginia creeper, trumpet vine, Carolina jessamine, and now skunkvine are rampant in the front beds. What little time I have had for landscaping and garden maintenance has been selfishly spent on the areas around the house-- the garden rooms I see when I look out the windows, or walk out the front door, especially the newest bed (about three years old) at the side where I grow vegetables and flowers. From the back porch, I see the second newest bed, the paisley bed, named because it is shaped like the Iranian/Indian/Pakistani mango design that was adopted and renamed by Scots.

The paisley bed gets almost as much attention as the new vegetable bed. As a result, the earthworms are plentiful there and the ground is easy to work. Nighttime raids by the animals that like worms and grubs are a constant problem. I suspect the possum, because I have seen him, and he's ugly, and this is ugly behavior; it could just as easily be the armadillo. In the spring there was a little troup of armadillo babies accompanying their mother to the rotting stump near the front door every night. We surprised each other in the driveway several times.

The creature moves around and I move around trying to foil it. The eggplants were a favorite for a few nights. This past week, I have been focusing defensive actions on the two new passionflower vines I planted in the vegetable bed. One passionflower was rooted around by the creature so vigorously that its main root was destroyed and it withered and died. I replaced it a week ago and so far its organic and physical barrier has held the creature off. It went after the other passionflower root, but that one was tougher and withstood several assaults. It is now covered with fritillary caterpillars.

Thwarted in the vegetable bed, the creature moved on to the paisley bed. I replanted a bay tree this morning that I had planted a week ago. It was completely uprooted last night. I added more mulch and an organic barrier instead of a physical barrier, which actually presented no barrier at all as it turned out. And so it goes, making the rounds every night looking for worms and grubs in the parts of the garden with the softest soil, with me trying to anticipate what attracts and discourages it.

Maybe I should dig a hole, fill it with fertilizer and compost, cover it with mulch, and plant nothing. A hole just for the creature. I'm going to go do that right now and I know just where to put it. There's a big blank spot in the paisley bed next to a clay dish I fill with water for the birds. Will it keep the creature out of my plantings? Even one less hole a night will be a welcome respite.

Mowing epiphanies

As I reflect that it has been about a year since I started this blog, I admit to feeling that it is a pretty small deal. I read blogs that are stupendous and riveting, some with photos of hawks, some with  lucid observations on quotations from the full range of contemporary to classical writers, some incisive commentaries on current events, some with photos of children at magical moments, and some with penetrating spiritual and philosophical meditations. I think to myself as I read these blogs, "This is important stuff. This is stimulating."

Then I look at mine. Mostly I write about the garden. It's not recognizably intimate to most readers, I expect, but this is what I have to offer. What could be more intimate than the understanding I carry away from my time in the garden? Do my readers really need to know the specific ups and downs of my days? Time out there is precious to me-- dirty, sweaty, smelly, and sometimes noisy though it is. Sometimes, having finished in the garden for the day or pausing while work on something indoors, I walk out there again to look at something, like a caterpillar, or a new leaf, that I have already looked at less than an hour before. Even with all the mosquitoes right now, I want to see how much the caterpillar has grown since this morning.

Mowing, for example, I have come to realize, is something I find really satisfying. When I am mowing, I get some of my best negative thinking done. I'm walking behind an obnoxiously loud machine and it takes hours. Worry, gnawing resentment, aggravation, and grief are among the feelings with which I have astonished myself while mowing. There used to be one specific place in the garden where, for several years, when I reached it, my thoughts would turn to any of a number of colleagues who really irked me at work. That place is now a flower bed, situations have changed, and I haven't had such specific repeating effects for long time. Now the thoughts come more randomly, and it is rare that an entire mowing session is dominated by negative thinking. Today's thoughts were evenly split between worrying and feeling grateful for several friendships.

This afternoon my mowing was interrupted by an afternoon thundershower. I couldn't be happier about the rain. So many afternoons the clouds go over us and around us without leaving rain. The same geographical factors that have sometimes protected us from the worst of the big storms also keep us drier than other parts of the county. When it is dry, I do emergency watering with a galvanized watering can, taking a drink right to the roots of the most vulnerable plants until the next rain. All that said, my yard is half mowed now. I set out to mow this afternoon feeling unsettled in my mind about the direction the summer is going, and I suppose the half-mowed state of the yard is indicative of the lack of resolution in other areas of life.

Now the rain has stopped and there will be no more mowing today. I will move on to other chores, projects, and diversions. Tomorrow I may have another opportunity to finish what I have started.

Gardening in the clouds

Some days I am in the mood and some days I am not. Having a choice is the beauty of unscheduled days.

This morning was one of the "in the mood" days as I put on heavy clothes and mosquito repellent and went out into the garden for a few early cooler hours. I was pruning a little but mostly clearing vines and weeds. Every time I moved to a different part of the garden, a whole new cloud of mosquitoes came to investigate and figure out that a bad taste was in between them and a snack. The clouds in the shaded corners were most persistent, like one around the compost heap in the back, in the woods, sheltered from the breeze.

I learned that although the vines cover plants, block sunlight and air, and compete for water, they also shade the roots of delicate plants and help the mulch conserve moisture. In the long run, however, I would prefer they stay in the woods and out of the flower beds, so I will continue my clearing efforts on the days that I can muster the energy to armor myself against the bugs.

Mosquitoes

The mosquitoes that are hatching from the flood waters left by Hurricane Debby along the Sante Fe and Suwannee and in every retention pond. We arrived back at the house in the late afternoon of July 4, and before we had turned off the engine the mosquitoes were knocking on the windows waiting for us to get out. This generation is faster and harder to outrun. They sit on the azalea bushes waiting for us to open the front door, and then they rise and move forward in a purposeful cloud. They don't exactly eat DEET for breakfast, but they are determined to do their job.