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Posts Tagged ‘gophers’

 

Last year at this time, we were watching in shock and horror as our lovingly planted and tended first vegetable garden was eaten away, root by precious root, by a devilish little animal known as the gopher. And by devilish I don’t mean impish or naughty in that mischievous yet still somehow adorable way.

No, no, no.

Gophers are truly the devil (picture rodents with pitchforks) of any backyard garden in our neck of the woods.

Be warned: no raised beds, no hardware cloth, NO veggies! Set traps, get a gun, blast sonic waves. Do something or those subterranean bandits will steal the fruits of your labor and make you cry. Seriously.

But this year is different. Thank goodness. I am very happy to say that as I look up now from the kitchen table and glance out the screen door and across the horse pasture and into the far corner of our field I can still see the tomato plants green as the oak leaves on the hill.

Whew! Breath with me. One big sigh of relief.

Every night we visit the garden to make sure everything’s still standing and in good working order. Mainly, though, we go down there just to delight in the growth spurts of our Sun Golds and Cherokee purples and Odorikos (The Odoriko, a Japanese tomato, has actually grown to E-normous proportions. That is one mother of a tomato plant!)

There is something magical about watching tiny plants shoot up toward the sun, grow new leaves, flower, and produce fruit. So basic and yet so rewarding.

The deep color and smooth, glistening skin of our eggplants:

The sweet, licorice aroma arising from a crushed leaf of Thai basil:

The irony of a delicate cucumber tendril, stronger and more persistent than anything else in the garden:

 

Good stuff, right? And in just a few weeks, it’ll all be ripe, and we’ll be eating ratatouille and pesto and tzaziki and gazpacho and lemon basil sorbet and and and…

Are you getting excited yet?

I am.

Three cheers for gardens! (And one big cheer for hardware cloth!)

 

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post-gopher garden

Sniff. Sniff. Above is the sorry state of our garden, which I explained yesterday has been demolished by some gleeful gophers who wreaked havoc on the lush green of our tomato plants. There are a few tenacious golden cherry tomatoes that are still hanging on for dear life, but as you can see, everything else has shriveled up.

But really, the gophers are just one in a long line of critters that has been plaguing us for the past few weeks. I talked about the ants way back in May. They’re still around despite numerous attempts to flood the nest, repel them with a homemade organic peppermint essential oil and alcohol spray, and block their entry with trails of Borax. We’ve learned to live with them. Unless we’re willing to spray with chemicals (which we’re not), I think it’s best we just accept they’re here to stay. And since they’ve stuck to the kitchen and aren’t doing any damage or increasing in number, I can deal.

But recently we’ve moved into a new class of animals: rodents.

I returned home one night from my writing class in Sacramento, tired after a long drive in the dark, and as I stepped wearily onto the porch I heard rustling in the bushes in the yard behind me. Must be Marley, the neighbor’s cat, I thought, looking casually over my shoulder to discover a rotund skunk rapidly bounding in my direction. Yikes! I was now wide awake as I fumbled with the door and nearly dove into the house just as Pepé le Pew hung a left into the side yard. A near miss. And he’s still lurking with the missus somewhere out there.

But I’ve saved the best for last. Well, in this case, the worst (Mom, you might want to stop reading here). Two weeks ago, I walked out onto the porch mid-afternoon to do a load of laundry and heard rustling in the wisteria. I looked up from the towels, assuming I’d see a bird (don’t you love how I always assume the best when I hear rustling in the bushes?) and set eyes upon three static creatures perched on the ledge just under the porch’s ceiling. No birds in sight. Am I looking at a rat?, was the first question that popped into my mind, but I quickly shook off that unpleasant thought. No, couldn’t be. I lowered my sunglasses (prescription–I’m nearsighted) onto my face and squinted a little harder in the direction of the wisteria. Six beady eyes were staring back at me, and I realized that yes, indeed, I was staring at a bunch of rats. At which point I turned on my heel, towels still in hand, and closed the door firmly behind me. I then proceeded to close all the windows leading onto the porch, call my landlord, and assess the scene of the crime.

I wish I could tell you there were only three rats out on our idyllic wrap-around, farmhouse porch, but truth be told, there was a giant rats’ nest out there, full of hungry babies and scavenging adults. Mind you, these were country rats, not New York City metro ones, but that only made them slightly more tolerable. Ultimately, rats are rats, and I wasn’t too happy about their congregating in the shrubbery nor was I thrilled about the prospect of their becoming house guests. I wish I could say we were able to deal with them humanely, organically, but there was no time for that. They reproduce too quickly, and short of turning the house into a laboratory, there was nothing to be done but, well, send them packing.

There will always be gophers and skunks and rats out there, but I’d like to think we don’t have to share our porch or tomatoes with them. And if I look on the bright side, I can say that I have not come across a rattlesnake yet (though Bastien cannot claim the same).

Oh the joys of country living. Despite it all, we’re still loving it here.

But it does look like we need a cat.

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