Stupid Grasshopper

So, I love to grow stuff. I hesitate to call myself a gardener, because if you saw my yard you would laugh. It's not so much a garden as, well, a tomato patch. But more on that later.


The fun thing this year has been the various pests that have decided to move in with me. I can deal with just about anything creepy crawly as long as it's reasonably small and stays outside, but a couple of little creatures have not followed my rules this year, and it has resulted in some screeching on my part.


I'll start with the most mortifying (and, let's face it, humiliating) part. I had a little compost pile out in the far corner of my yard. I feel good about composting. It's good for the garden, and creates an opportunity for all that yard waste and kitchen scraps to do some good in the world. Philosophically, I'm inclined to compost. But in the real world, I'm not inclined to effectively compost. You have to have the right mix of stuff, and it has to be the right temperature, and be wet, but not too wet. And I'm kind of a lazy bum with all that kind of stuff. So I just piled up my sod and tossed all the vegetable peels and apple cores and eggshells on, and only occasionally took the pitchfork out to stir it all up. That was where I ran into problems. Around the 2nd week of June, I decided I better get out there and give it a good stir since I hadn't really attended to the compost all spring. I started turning it over, and then, as I got into the deeper recesses of the pile, suddenly about five or six mice came scrambling out. EEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKK! I screamed and ran into the house and locked the door, because apparently, I am lame like that.


Then I called Gina because a. she's the only person I know who would not judge me by the mice in my compost, and b. surely she would know what to do. Her first response was, "Hey, at least if you have mice you can be reasonably sure you don't have rats." Gee, that's comforting. Then she did a little internet search, found out that mice in the compost pile was not exactly an uncommon problem, and gave me several options for what to do next while I stayed locked inside my house, looking at the window for signs of movement in the compost pile. *shudder*


I decided to take my usual approach to problem solving--Ignore it and hope it goes away. Ha ha. Not really. I decided pretty quickly to get rid of the compost pile, but the thought of stirring it up again as I shoveled it into lawn bags, which may require closer contact with the rodents than I am comfortable with, made me want to vomit. So it took a couple of weeks to get my courage up. Meanwhile, I just avoided the compost pile. But the problem with talking to Gina about my many issues is the ten little ears that inevitably overhear everything from the latest ridiculous development in my personal life to the mice in the compost pile, and cute Leslie was fascinated by the mice. (They're fascinated by my personal life, too. Recently, they've started asking me if I love someone, and when I tell them "of course, I do, I love you!" they respond with exasperation, "no, Aunt Mar, are you in love with a boy? Do you want to kiss him?" And they don't believe me when I tell them the truth. I tell them no, I'm not in love with a boy I want to kiss, and they ask "does he have curly hair?" Seriously?)


When the girls came over for the long awaited "Sleepover at Auntie Mar's" last week, the first thing Les wanted to do was see the mice. She begged and begged until I relented and grabbed the pitchfork to see if I could awaken the nesting little beasties. Ew. So I plunged the pitchfork into the center of the pile, and was sure I heard I high-pitched squeal. Susie swore she heard it, too.


Yep, I think I gored a mouse with a pitchfork.


That was just far more than I could take, and I refused to further disturb the compost pile. But in the week that followed, I had an epiphany. Part of the reason nothing else has done well in my garden is that the tomatoes are in the only really consistently sunny bed. The trees shade everywhere else, except the compost pile! So, why not turn the compost pile into a new bed for planting next spring? Brilliant! With sufficient motivation, I found the courage to face the compost. I swallowed my fear and started shoveling.


But strangely, even as I got into the lower layers of the pile, no rodents emerged. The mice had vacated! Woo-hoo! Maybe they were afraid of the pitchfork of mortal doom, I thought. I was so deep into my "where have the mice gone?" reverie that I failed to notice the wasps until one stung me.


I don't think it was the pitchfork of death that drove away the critters. It was the wasps. As I spread out the rest of the compost yesterday to make the new bed, more and more wasps began buzzing around. (For the record-I didn't cuss. Okay, maybe one "damn wasps", but damn doesn't count) That's when I discovered their nest. Aaaargh. They got the poison spray can of death, and I got stung. But I also got a new vegetable bed, so I'll put that in the win column for me.


Anyway, you're probably wondering what this has to do with grasshoppers. Honestly, it's a stretch, but grasshoppers are another of those little things that creep me out, but only when they find their way in. They don't belong inside. And they're creepy. So this grasshopper was sitting on my bathroom sink, staring at me as I was putting on my makeup the other day. There was a little cup next to the sink, so I trapped the grasshopper with it. I didn't want to have to catch it and release it in case it escaped and jumped at me, so I just left it. But the next day I started feeling guilty about the slow, torturously painful death I must be putting it through, so my choices were down to smoosh it to kill it or catch and release. I decided to go with the humane answer. But the feisty little creep somehow escaped. When I got the cup outside and opened the lid, the dang thing was gone! Aaaaargh again. The next morning I found it on my shower curtain, and the little beast hopped off and onto my chest. EEEEEEEEEEKKKK again. And you know how sometimes they land on something and sort of won't let go? Yes, this was one pesky sucker. I hate grasshoppers.


Anyway, I also think I have a cricket living in my closet. I commend you for actually reading to the end of this post. Maybe someday I'll have something inherently interesting to write about, like universal health care or the nature of the soul, but not today obviously. Coming soon-photographic evidence of my sad, sad garden, but super fly tomatoes. I'm proud of them maters.