I mentioned a mole barrier. I described
its intricacies and subtleties. So enthused I became that I decided
to include the entire vegetable garden. One hundred and sixty feet
of trench dug two feet into the ground, one hundred and sixty feet of
galvanized fabric, months of winter work to keep a person warm.
There was polite response. That sort of smiling encouragement given
to eccentric enterprise from those who are properly occupied. Also
there was agreement that my efforts might produce a lasting solution, so
long as my assumptions concerning mole behavior were close to accurate.
I allowed my mind to play around the
circumferences of the project in search of problem areas. The apple
trees, the buddleia, the gates. On and on I went in the dour manner of
a man who has in his head a slide-rule. Each new hour produced
increments or problem solving, which of course I shared in every minute
detail. And yes, there is always the chance that moles in dead of
night pack the suitcase, put on their walking boots, then tip-toe over
Yesterday, under strong sun, I
noticed considerable mowing of grass pathways, raking of grass and stamping
down of mole runs. This morning when I came down stairs the kitchen
was empty. A lesson, I thought, for those who choose to exercise at
three in the afternoon during the month of August. But there she was,
amongst the vegetables, victorious and still prowling.
In such moments heroes are