Swath of Destruction

For Wondering Wednesday, instead of answering questions, I’m going to ask one. This is something no one seems to know. Here’s the situation:

Late last summer, I moved into my first house, and this spring, I decided I was going to try my hand at growing some flowers. I’ve never been much for gardening–my parents traumatized me by having three huge vegetable gardens when I was a kid and expecting me to (gasp!) help weed every week–and I’m a certified plant assassin. But a few perennials seemed easy enough. Besides, I chose lilies that were said to be hard to kill.

Of course, buying flowers meant I needed somewhere to put them and I ended up having a tree ring built. I had daydreams of summer and beautiful flowers to enjoy as I sat out on my deck. My dad came over to help me plant and we carefully measured out the eight inches between bulbs that the directions recommended. I watered these things every single evening throughout Minnesota’s drought, and plucked weeds.

Shoots of green pushed up through the dirt. I was actually going to have flowers this summer!

One evening, I went out to water my lilies and noticed that some of the stems had been sheared off. At the day job the next day, I consulted with a woman who I know gardens. Cutworms, she informed me and she told me what to do to protect my remaining flowers. I bought the stuff right away and safeguarded my garden.

I continued to water and baby my lilies every evening and the survivors of the cutworm massacre grew leafs. They looked green and healthy and happy. All was well.

My parents had extra tiger lilies growing all over their yard and they transplanted about a dozen of them and my dad and I added them to my tree ring. My lilies didn’t take up much room and the area looked pretty bare, but now I had more pretty green plants. I watered them as well, and when I spotted buds for the blooms, I became all excited. I really was going to have flowers!

Then it happened. I went outside to water again and there was carnage! My beautiful lilies had been decimated!

I saw the culprit. He was next door, watching me with evil glee. A big fat bunny rabbit! He was responsible for this devastation. It was war. I called my mom and dad. My mom had heard that mothballs kept rabbits away. I sprinkled nearly the entire box around the flowers in my tree ring. He hadn’t touched the free lilies I’d gotten from my parents, but I protected them as well.

It worked. For a while.

But the mothballs must have stopped smelling strong enough, and I found more destruction a couple of weeks later. And this time, the rabbit had bitten off some of my flower buds! Again, the free flowers were left unscathed, only my expensive lilies were eaten. Nobody told me how dangerous suburbia was for flora! I called the war council into session again. My dad concocted a plan. We circled the tree ring with chicken wire.

The flowers look like they’re in prison, but it’s protective custody and it was the only way to keep them safe from Jaws. This was the final solution, the one that worked, but it’s an ugly fix.

Now here’s the burning question I have. How the heck did the rabbit know which flowers came from expensive bulbs? He only munched on those, leaving the free tiger lilies completely alone. It’s downright diabolical how he zeroed right in on the flowers that I didn’t want him to touch.

And I guess I have a bigger question; I’m putting in a new flower garden this fall to enjoy next year–how do I protect both gardens from the merciless killer rabbit without chicken wire?

Patti O’Shea

In the Midnight Hour
www.pattioshea.com
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