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Foxes in the Vineyards, Slugs in the Salad.

When my mother finds a snail in her flowerbed she tosses it over the fence into the road. Snail murder by flight - think landing and cars and hot tarmac. Ow. (So far, she hasn’t landed her missile on one of the children reluctantly journeying towards the school at the bottom of the hill. I suspect the snail would be relieved - no crunch on landing - but the child less so.) 

Some, so I hear, keep scissors or secateurs close and dissect trespassing slugs before consigning their corpses to the compost. (Read that sentence aloud. Alliterative satisfaction.)


My historical perspective on the slimy invaders in my veg patch has been one of turning a blind eye and then scattering a few hopeful slug pellets, while feeling mildly guilty for causing pain, suffering and untimely death to innocent gastropods. They don't seem to have died, though, they have flourished in my garden, and never before has a lettuce survived. Gastropod gastronomy - come one, come all.


This year, it is different. I am fed up with buying leaves in plastic bags at an extortionate price, beautifully bathed in chlorine. This year, I have grown my spicy salad mix from seed, and I scour my raised beds at regular intervals to find and ruthlessly remove any potential invader. I am not yet willing to commit direct violence (no cutting or slicing), but I will happily pick up snails, slugs and woodlice and despatch them to the stomach of the dalek compost bin - no escape from there. I have netted and weeded and guarded and watered. And Eureka! We have salad! More than we can eat!


Today, however I crossed the Rubicon. There were aphids munching on the rose I have grown from a cutting, the rose destined to be given to my friend who is missing her mother. I followed the casually given gardener’s advice and, without a squeamish squeak, ran my fingers gently along each stem, squishing the aphids as I went. Something has changed. Is it that I am now 52 and older and wiser? Or is it simply that I am really a grown up gardener at last? The rose is potted on and ready to go. Not an aphid survived. 


I do find myself pondering, though. Are there any other aspects of life where I turn a blind eye and pretend there is nothing to deal with? Overeating, perhaps? ‘Just one more….’. Or letting biting or harsh comments fly when I get impatient with J? Maybe it’s time for some more growing up.


        Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards,

   our vineyards that are in bloom.         

                                                                Song of Solomon 2:15

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