An Iowa Garden

Lifelong, I have been afflicted with Bambi Syndrome; I turn to marshmallow mush at the sight of kittens, bunnies, and other small, helpless creatures. My solicitousness for the wildling members of God's flock has not always been repaid in kind. Last week I forgot to shut one of the garden gates, and on walking around a bend in one of the garden paths, came face to face with a yearling deer placidly munching on my oakleaf hydrangea. I put my hands on my hips, and said "What DO you think you're doing?" The deer got all google-eyed and shuffled off down the trail, waving her white tail like a handkerchief. I had to open up all the gates and shoo her out, then go around counting my hostas. Yet, I enjoy saying good morning to the deer when I walk up to get the paper, and they are eating mulberries off the driveway. As I related a few days ago, some of the most persistent uninvited garden visitors are the moles, which love to churn up my primrose beds, popping the little plants out of the ground, like so many corks out of bottles. However, I also still have a soft spot for moles... perhaps it resonates back to my childhood, when I loved Wind In The Willows, with kindly Mole being unjustly evicted from his home by the weasels. Last year, I saw one of the neighborhood moles busily burrowing along one of the garden paths (heading, I think, to a newly planted primrose bed). I stomped down the tunnel on either side of him, and scooped him out of the ground with the shovel I was carrying. He was quite nonplussed, but I picked him up with my gloved hands, where he initially struggled, then burrowed down between my hands and trembled. I took him out to the big woods and set him down gently and watched. He sat there for a few seconds, then started furiously digging in the soft duff, and in an instant was gone. I was quite amazed; it was like St. Nick, placing his finger by his nose, and suddenly disappearing... poof! Well, that was so wonderous, and I felt so privileged having seen it, that I decided to adopt mole exclusion rather than extermination. I showed before, the trench I've been digging to lay down the mole barrier around the garden; below is how it looks with the plastic sheeting in place, before I've started filling it back in with dirt. I realize that my affection for moles is not shared by others. I do much of the grocery shopping since I retired (which explains why we have three different kinds of potato chips in the kitchen cupboard). Anyway, the other day I was looking in the Mexican food section for some canned green chiles for my football tailgating cheese dip, and saw a display of jars of chocolate mole. I guess if you put enough chocolate on it, you can eat just about anything.