An English In Kentucky


















Friday  September 23rd 2011    Tim Candler

      In the end it's all about compost.  Good soil is alive and one of its inhabitants here where I live is the Mole.  They are giants, like Elephant slippers, slithering underground, and they especially like good soil because that's where the digging is easy and worms are fat as fingers.

    Sometime ago I thought about a Mole fence.  This was shot down as ludicrous by the nearest and dear.  Then with the Grey Cat gone Rabbit have laughed at my pathetic attempts to keep them out of the Vegetable Garden.   And in the field last night, five younger Deer staring in our direction, waiting for the lights to go out because they know that's when The Barking Artist and her loud blue umbrella retire for the night.

     Such creatures I can manage, because the damage they do comes under the title of 'nibbling'.   The odd plant falls to Mole or the Mole Hunter, Rabbits like Chard and Beans, most birds will sample red fruiting bodies, Possums can climb, Mice and their relatives I will insist eat nothing but Stinkbugs, and Deer have not yet been  hungry enough to leap fences for food.

     But this year I accepted advice from the one who lives too far away.  I used a fungicide upon the Tomatoes.  Somewhere I have in excess of forty quarts of tomato in glass cans, and the bloody plants are still producing.

Previous    Next