Never underestimate the intelligence of a slug!
A new gardening year begins, outdoor tasks take on a new frenzy,
Tidying, pruning, planting, sewing seed…and always the weeds.
Me? I brace myself again for another round of annual warfare…
I begin by re-assessing old tactics, and evaluate new strategies.
Maybe this year I might succeed where previously
I have failed abysmally.
It is always, always the same!
“Here we go again”!
Smelly stale foaming beer in aesthetically not so pleasing jam jars
Leading to slow but inebriated death or…
Slithering across jagged eggshells and experiencing the ouch factor.
Nowadays, the latter, as the intention is not to assist in the loss…
Of any creature, be it bug or beastie.
The garden is my meditation, my connection with Mother Earth,
And when the loamy soil falls through my fingers,
Exuding a pungent smell of decomposing leaf mould,
I am lifted up to the seventh heaven.
However…I am soon brought back down to earth with a jolt!
The Ligularia, lounging and soaking up the early Spring sun,
Comfortable in strategically placed fortified pots
And surrounded by the waters of a frog-filled moat,
Sits nice and smug and lush and content.
It has always been so.
Sabotage, a nightly raid, has struck swiftly and systematically,
And in places deemed safe and impregnable.
Vandalised, desecrated, “doilified”!!
The pre-meditated slug attack is all too evident!
And as much as I am a lover of the Arts and Crafts…
I am not yet ready to donate my prize plants to lace-making classes.
Time to re-assemble troops, rethink and refresh old plans.
Pocket-torch at Midnight!