My two-year-old Izah has two categories of bugs: “ewww” and “helper.” She likes worms, ladybugs, and bees, because she knows they have jobs that make the garden better. Pretty much everything else is an “ewww.” I hate to admit it, but mostly I agree. I know they each have a role to play, I just wish they would do it somewhere else. Preferably out of my sight.
Gardens have bugs. This is an inescapable truth, in the same category as death and taxes. Some we appreciate, others we tolerate. Then there`s the cringe-inducing annoyances: aphids, grubs, cabbage moth larvae, beetles of various stripes–we all have our personal nemesis.
I`ve had the odd problem with insects over the years. I`ve poured boiling water on inconvenient anthills, hung those fake wasp nests (which I endorse, by the way), and been infested with earwigs. But for the most part, their activity has been akin to punk teenagers egging the neighbour`s house on a Saturday night, and I`ve shrugged it off accordingly and carried on. This year, for whatever reason, the bugs have gotten organized. We`re talking Mafia tactics worthy of Al Capone.
There are hornets finding their way into my enclosed porch, at least one a day. There are suddenly ant hills all over the yard, with scouts all over the house. There are spiders everywhere in and out, big nasty ones too. I`ve got aphids on my broccoli and kale, and I`ve noticed more than one six-legged critter I`ve never even seen before. And don`t get me started on the mosquitos.
I`m chalking it up to the overly wet spring we`ve had. We move every ladybug we find to help with the aphids. Borax and peanut butter seems to have gotten the ants to behave, and we plugged some holes in the porch. All told, we`ll get by. But these mobsters aren`t scoring any points with me and Izah. –April Demes
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