These last several months, I’ve stayed busy with writing, but any time I attempted a blog, I set it aside, unable to complete it. This time I’m going to post!
I love growing winter squash, but living in the southwest, I’ve had very few successful seasons since we’re plagued with squash bugs, and they seem to prefer the winter squash varieties over summer squashes and cukes. Only a prolongued freeze wipes them out—not something the southwest sees very often.
Last year I grew a prolific zucchini in a container, but my in-the-ground tomatoes produced little due to weather and soil. Rather than give up, we had raised beds built. I anticipated harvesting winter squash and tomatoes. With no trips planned, the time seemed ripe to spend the entire summer tending the garden.
Signs of trouble
First, I set out a row of sunflowers along the side of our shed, imagining their big flower heads overlooking the raised beds. But no sooner were they planted than those tender green leaves disappeared. I covered the remaining ones with plastic; the plants lasted only as long as the protection. As soon as the plastic came off, the leaves disappeared. Meanwhile, wild, volunteer sunflowers went untouched.
Ground squirrels
We knew we had a squirrel under our shed, drawn there, we thought, by the acorns from the oaks out front.
That squirrel had to be the culprit—but why eat green leaves? Was it thirsty? I put out two water containers and filled them every day. The birds were delighted.
More and more leaves disappeared: From volunteer amaranths in a flower container. From Armenian cucumber vines. From scarlet runner bean vines. Plus my very first green tomatoes disappeared. And finally, the winter squash that were delightfully shading other plants in their container started turning up with bare stalks.
Only the chard and the nightshade leaves—peppers and tomatoes—remained whole. I was a very unhappy gardener.
Sophie
Sophie is attentive to sounds. She hears the cries of birds in distress and immediately starts barking, knowing one of those cats is out there needing to be chased away! But if the cat stands still, Sophie can’t even see it.
Sophie only reacts to a squirrel if she actually spots its motion, though sometimes she’ll sniff around the shed.
I finally ordered one of those ultra-sonic pest deterrent machines, but once installed, couldn’t see any difference. The squirrels were still chewing on the squash.
Traps
At long last, I called my pest control guy. He came and set a trap for what he called rock squirrels. In two days, he hauled away five of them—catch and release.
Then nothing. The food bait disappeared, but the trap remained untenanted.
And two bold squirrels showed themselves—one checking out the
garden while the other sat on the wall between our house and the next: Was it on guard duty? looking for missing family members? considering a venture out into the world?
They’re awfully cute with their big eyes and fluffy tails, almost inspiring me to make up stories for a picture book. But for the first time, I’m not on the side of Peter Rabbit.
This tale of tails remains unfinished—just like the COVID.
Kate Harrington 