Strawberry Wars and Earwigs

I’ve been a casual gardener for the last twenty years, sticking some petunias in a pot, zinnias in the bed, tomatoes in a cage, anything to keep the place from falling into total overgrown entropy — with some success but mostly due to my wife who has the veritable thumb verte.

I’m learning the hard way that there’s a few things you shouldn’t put in the ground because they will ruin your life. They include:

  • Morning glories. Pretty blue flowers that self-seed and before you know it start to crawl up the gutters and smother everything in their path. Never again.  Robert Stone wrote in Prime Green: Remembering the Sixties:

“Across the highway, on the far bank of La Honda Creek, were more morning glory vines. They were there because Kesey had taken his shotgun and filled the magazines with all the mystically named varieties of that flower’s seeds and fired them into the neighboring hillside.”

  • Bamboo. Haven’t planted it but have been told it is evil.
  • Horseradish: ditto.
  • Asparagus
  • English Ivy — this stuff will take down a tree, ruin your house and split boulders if you don’t go after it with a machete
  • Chinese lantern: I got this disaster plant as a gift and it is taking over. We’re talking Invasion of the Body Snatchers. My mission in life is to eradicate it but I fear it’s too late. Pray for me.

And now, I’m adding to the list: strawberries.

For it is strawberry season and my garden is speckled with  lots and lots of little ripening red balls of sweetness, just begging to be picked and sliced and scattered over my Cheerios. I planted two strawberry plants in the garden two summers ago, figuring, “hey, really fresh strawberries = good.” Then they spread. And spread. And spread. Now they own 25% of the bed. Yet I protected them with netting two weeks ago when the first berries appeared  so the birds wouldn’t peck at them, but lo and behold, whenever I see one that looks ripe for the picking and worm my hand under the net to snare it I discover each and every one has a bite mark. Not the green ones, not the half-ripe ones … no, the vandal responsible for the ruination of my crop waits until each berry is right at its peak of perfection and it gives it a little chomp then leaves the rest for me. The villain doesn’t finish one berry, no, it bites every berry.

Chipmunks are the issue but I can’t bring myself to exterminate them. Which gets me thinking about the psychological advantage squirrels and chipmunks have over their brethren the common rat. People don’t say “eek!” and climb on chairs when they see a chipmunk stuffing its cheeks with sunflower seeds under the bird feeders. But let a big grey, naked tailed rat appear and the exterminators are called in. It’s all about the tails and whether or not your species has been deemed cute by the cartoons. Chip and Dale and Alvin guaranteed the chipmunk would get immunity for life. No one can poison a chipmunk or set up a pellet-gun sniper nest to pick them off. But the rat… the rat gets Willard and that weird cartoon where a “nice” rat cooked French food in Paris. Rats equal the Black Death. Buboes and disease. Chipmunks equal Christmas carols sung in falsetto and good humored Disney mischief.

But my strawberries ….. the insolent little f%*^*^%er stood there the other day, ten feet from me, as if to say: “You looking at something bro? Come at me. Do you even lift?”

After I salvage what I can I’m ripping up the plants. I can’t stand the tragedy of watching 11 months of strawberry plants turn into a chipmunk vandalism project ever again. I know I can cut the bitten parts off and make strawberry jam …. but who has time?

I’m sticking to zinnias from now on.  (which are prone to being raped by earwigs, those delightful creepy insects that freaked me out as a kid because I assumed they were called earwigs because they crawled into one’s ear canal and made their homes in a bed of ear wax ((for more on insects in ears, see the account of African explorer James Hanning Speke who, according to our friends at Wikipedia: “Speke suffered severely when he became temporarily deaf after a beetle crawled into his ear and he tried to remove it with a knife.”)))

“One of these horrid little insects awoke me in his struggles to penetrate my ear, but just too late: for in my endeavour to extract him, I aided his immersion. He went his course, struggling up the narrow channel, until he got arrested by want of passage-room. This impediment evidently enraged him, for he began with exceeding vigour, like a rabbit at a hole, to dig violently away at my tympanum. The queer sensation this amusing measure excited in me is past description.

I felt inclined to act as our donkeys once did, when beset by a swarm of bees, who buzzed about their ears and stung their heads and eyes until they were so irritated and confused that they galloped about in the most distracted order, trying to knock them off by treading on their heads, or by rushing under bushes, into houses, or through any jungle they could find. Indeed, I do not know which was worst off. The bees killed some of them, and this beetle nearly did for me. What to do I knew not.

Neither tobacco, oil, nor salt could be found: I therefore tried melted butter; that failing, I applied the point of a penknife to his back, which did more harm than good; for though a few thrusts quieted him, the point also wounded my ear so badly, that inflammation set in, severe suppuration took place, and all the facial glands extending from that point down to the point of the shoulder became contorted and drawn aside, and a string of boils decorated the whole length of that region.

It was the most painful thing I ever remember to have endured; but, more annoying still, I could not masticate for several days, and had to feed on broth alone. For many months the tumour made me almost deaf, and ate a hole between the ear and the nose, so that when I blew it, my ear whistled so audibly that those who heard it laughed. Six or seven months after this accident happened, bits of the beetle—a leg, a wing, or parts of its body—came away in the wax.”

Author: David Churbuck

Cape Codder with an itch to write

8 thoughts on “Strawberry Wars and Earwigs”

  1. Entertaining as always David!

    I have a nice strawberry patch in my back yard and around here it’s a real rabbit magnet as we have dozens of rabbits that seem to be taking over the neighborhood and pushing out the squirrels.

    I can’t bring myself to trap or shoot the little guys and God knows I’ll do hard time if I get caught shooting them with my Sheridan.

    So, I let my shepherd have some fun and she takes care of the rabbits rather efficiently. Having her act as an exterminator seems more natural to me and allows the Fates to play their hand. The rabbits are free to come or not and my shepherd is not outside in that part of the yard most of the time which then lulls the rabbits into a false sense of security.

    When I do open the gate and let her out, she is like a heat seeking missile running to the patch and looking for whatever invaders she can find.

    If she does find one, it’s usually curtains for them but if the rabbit does manage to get out under the fence, I suspect they’ll not come back very soon.

    Cruel? Perhaps. Good exercise for her? You bet! My only fear is that she tears an ACL in her frenzied pursuit.

    I have never eaten any of the strawberries, nor the raspberries that I grow. I grow them just for fun and because my grandfather did so for as long as I can remember.

    My grandfather would have found many other ways to cure the rabbit problem that might have involved gasoline or some other incendiary device as that was his cure for bees, ants and many other nuisances.

    Anyway, I prefer my fruits and vegetables to be genetically modified and covered in insecticides, so I don’t really mind not eating them.

  2. The Squirrellinator live trap would work on the chipmunks, plus provide the added bonii of letting you transport and release them on a mortal enemy’s plot for grins and giggles.

  3. Dave
    my squirrrels demand sliced chunks of apple, guave or passion fruits, plus whole (unsalted0peanuts. My running total for eight weeks is now up to 92.

  4. Took a lot of pictures years ago while riding my bike between Mashpee Lake and Oregon Beach and eventually made some postcards of Main St. Cotuit. The blue morning glories rambling up the south side of your house , appearing even bluer because of the contrast with the white paint , was one of my favorites . Sorry they won’t be making an encore – I’ll dig one out and send it along . While the flowers may have turned out to be a nuisance to you the mass of color was appreciated in an otherwise very white village. Def my nomination for gardener of the year !

    1. Thanks. I’ll pass that along to the master gardener, my wife. And indeed, morning glories get very invasive, very quickly. Now it’s a constant battle to keep the vines from choking everything in their path.

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