Pests

Possibly because I don’t have the time or energy to tend to my own garden very regularly, I like to tell myself that I am simply fostering some sort of natural ecosystem out there.  The tulip bulbs and thyme, the blueberries losing their leaves now in November, the rosemary plant that is growing like an enormous earthen octopus—  they are all some how synced together with the dandelions that I don’t have time to pull, the striped snails who I cannot bare to poison, the squirrels who I should be chasing with a broom, but instead let my daughters wave to out the window and name Jumpy…

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the concept of a pest in relation to a garden.  If all of these plants and creatures are living in semi-harmony, who or what then is a pest?  I think with a gasp “is it me”?  When I do get around to pulling at the grasses, moving the snails from the strawberries to the overgrown quince, putting the bulbs for spring in the ground and covering them with leaves and buckets to out smart the digging squirrels (often a failed attempt)… am I somewhat of a pest in my own garden?   

I decide that I am not.  Mostly because nobody wants to think of themselves as a pest.   Possibly I am more like child playing with a dollhouse.   Stuff is moved around, stories are played out between the earthworms and the fading dahlias from summer.

I pick up the trowel and move a stepping stone just slightly so that the sage can breathe a little.   Next summer, a sunflower right in the corner by the steps.  I want to buy a garden gnome and let the morning glory wrap around his boots.

We plant some seeds and the furniture of the garden is rearranged.   A new sweet haven for my land of pests.