But now spring is here now, and my garden is planted and starting to grow. So the war has been renewed, and I need to be on constant alert against all the flying, hopping, leaping, crawling and burrowing creatures—basically, every frigging thing in nature—that wants to freeload on my harvest. To paraphrase a famous adage, eternal vigilance is the price of vegetables.
I am happy to report that the YGDF (Yacavone Garden Defense Forces) have scored an early and significant victory over the garden terrorists. The other night Meredith was standing at the kitchen window, and she spotted a groundhog crawling slowly and stealthily toward the garden. She called Jake, and he dispatched it with a well-aimed .22 round from the kitchen porch.
I know it’s not as exciting and dramatic as Seal Team Six killing Osama bin Laden during a nighttime raid on a fortified compound in Abbottabad. This was much more causal. Jake was wearing flip-flops and shorts, and I was standing in my bare feet whispering encouragement through a screened window while sipping a pre-dinner vodka as it all want down. The only casualty was when I stubbed my toe trying to find my sandals so I could go down and observe the dead groundhog. Even so, killing Osama bin Groundhog this early in the season before he had a chance to fuck with my cabbages is a big deal.
There was much rejoicing and congratulating over the kill. Meredith got kudos for spotting the furry little bastard, Jake got accolades for hitting it from the kitchen porch at about 30 yards, and I got credit for sighting the rifle in so accurately.
The next day Jake skinned the groundhog and reports that it had a lot of meat on the flanks and across the shoulders and chest. I can see us trying to make groundhog stew if we ever shoot another one. Put enough onions, peppers, garlic and hot sauce on anything, and it’s probably edible after a few beers. I’m not sure what his plan is for the groundhog skin. It’s too big to make a furry koozie.
I realize that to some of you this may seem barbaric. But you probably live in a nice deed restricted community surround by thousands of people, and your garden consists of a couple of pots with tomato plants. You may see a raccoon or possum every now and then, but nature mostly stays out of your business.
Things are different here. We have to contend with garden pests that can decimate a crop of cabbages overnight, flying squirrels that chew through wood and nest in your attic, deer that destroy your shrubs and flowers, borer bees that tunnel into your wood siding, wasps and hornets that nest under your steps and bears that dig through your trash and wreck your bird feeders. Around here nature is not something you observe on weekend outings but something that’s in your face every day.
The goal is always peaceful coexistence but it takes two to tango, and if the wildlife is not going to cooperate then more strenuous measures are needed. Just the other evening I spoke with a guy who says he’s shot 81 squirrels over the past few years to protect his bird feeder. That may seem excessive to you but to me it shows that squirrels are abundant, breed easily and favor human wave tactics to get at your stuff. I assure you, there is no threat of squirrel extinction. Two years ago we were overrun with squirrels. Shooting a squirrel in these parts is not like killing the last Dodo or Tasmanian Tiger. It’s more like swatting a fly.
I may complain about wildlife attacking my garden but I hope it stays that way around here.
The population of Fannin County is under 25,000—slightly less than the population of Tarpon Springs, Florida. In the last year or so there been increasing signs that more people are starting to move here. There is new commercial development along the highway, and both the county and the City of Blue Ridge report that applications for building permits have increased. I have plenty of anecdotal evidence that there is a wave of people getting ready to retire to our area.
My great fear is that Fannin County will lose its rural character in the coming years. I remember reading that one of the early American pioneers knew that an area was becoming too settled when he could see the smoke of his neighbor’s chimney. I understand the sentiment completely. In my book the best neighbors are those that are separated from you by a couple of acres, a stand of trees and a barbed wire fence.
And if preserving the rural character of Fannin County means that I have to contend with beasties and pests, so be it.
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