Damaging Small Critters Given Notice
Normally I enjoy sharing my garden with little furry creatures, but today I am serving an eviction notice on a den of pocket gophers. I’ve had it. They are terrorizing the plant life in my garden.
How do I know this damage is being caused by pocket gophers? I wouldn’t want to meet the insect that could pull off this type of catastrophe. Besides, pocket gophers have a habit of leaving the remnants of their diggings behind in tiny, soft mounds of earth - a dead giveaway somebody’s been up to no good.
This tale of woe began long ago when we moved into the country.
Chapter I - The Encroachment: Granted, our new home was on their land, but they had so much land. All we asked for was a small quadrant, a place to grow a few fruits and vegetables … and a few trees, flowers, shrubs and lawn. Was that so much to ask? For a few years we even tried living in harmony with them. This we found easier said than done. These little galloping gourmets had a ferocious appetite for the finer plants of life. We resorted to protecting our young trees by caging their roots in chicken wire and broken bottles. (To this day, the earth is still coughing up pieces of glass.) After a number of years of trying to cohabitate, the little creatures got underfoot - so to speak.
Chapter II - The Cherry Tree Incident: I’d pretty much had my fill of the varmints and their ravaging of the yard, but I’d never fully recognized their destructive capabilities until the cherry tree. One bright summer day, our neighbor asked if I might check out his ailing cherry tree. Upon finding no signs of disease or insect damage, we changed the subject to other thoughtful conversation. As we visited, Don relaxed against the tree. Suddenly there was a crack and the 5-year-old cherry tree toppled to the ground, its root system whittled to a sharp point. Gophers!
Chapter III - My Way or The Highway: After seeing the devastation these little critters can cause, without so much as a bit of chatter … and realizing I was paying more for their food bill than my own, it was time to persuade the little darlings to relocate. By shoving the garden hose into one of their main runs and turning it on full blast, I flooded the tunnels with water. Though we never did see fur flying, the yard was unbelievable. After a few hours of water traveling at full throttle, the yard was alive with hundreds of little bubbling artesian wells.
This method seemed to put an end to our problem right up to the point it recurred in the spring of 1995.
Chapter IV - Where Have All The Veggies Gone? Each June, husband Jim and I plant a bushel of corn. Only last year, it didn’t germinate not one single corn. We checked for possible rotting seed. Nope. Ah! It must be pheasant. We planted a second time, but this time we fooled the birds. We covered the bed with a row cover. Still, no corn - and no seed.
A few days later, we stood lamenting the corn caper, when we noticed one of the tomato plants. It was in the corner of the bed quivering. There was no breeze and no other plants were moving. As we approached to investigate, the plant folded up like an inverted umbrella and was sucked into the ground. Nothing remained except a hole about the size of a softball. Gophers! But there were no mounds? Where were the mounds?
Across the yard from the vegetable garden (about 70 feet) is the perennial garden. It stretches from the back yard to the street. Normally it’s a profusion of spring flowering bulbs and summer lilies. But not so in the spring of ‘95. There seemed to be few tulips, if any, and the lilies were nowhere to be found. To my chagrin, huge, soft mounds of soil rambled all up and down the bed. Furious, I dragged the biggest hose I could find across the yard. With the shovel, I opened one of the larger mounds and thrust the hose into the hole. “Take that, you varmint,” I screeched. Within an hour, the corn patch and tomato bed were being washed down the hill onto the lawn, which was already becoming a quagmire.
The moral to this story, if there is such a thing, gardens and gophers don’t mix.
Next week we will look at our 1996 gopher onslaught, appropriately named The Last Straw - followed by a serious look at gopher control.
, DataTimes The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Phyllis Stephens The Spokesman-Review