You know that line from Jaws …just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water… yes? Well, like the good people of ‘wherever-it-was,’ I too thought that I had conquered every known wee beastie that creeps, flies or crawls in my garden. I thought it was pretty safe to go back into the water…or, in my case, back into the garden, and that once there the ‘aliens’ would be well under control. Wrong.
As I stood admiring my broad beans, with the pride and love that only a mother would know, I did a double take. Their lovely, beautifully rounded leaves weren’t lovely and/or beautifully rounded any more. ‘What the frig!’ I muttered – loudly. Yes, OK, I know I shouldn’t talk to them but you have your little idiosyncrasies and I’ll have mine. ’What the frig?’ – again. Louder.
On closer examination I noticed that the leaves had been munched in a very strange fashion. This was not the work of slugs or snails. No, this was the work of something nasty and most unkind and instantly …or even sooner …its slaughter took over my every rational thought.
After thrashing my way through containers of slug pellets, sachets of cool glass, boxes of Epsom salts, bone meal, all-round jolly-good-for-everything-feed I came across the ‘killer spray.’ And yes, it did take some finding because, as I have stated many times, I don’t kill anything unless it really pees me off. Slugs and snails really pee me off – sorry, they have to go …but I will wing them into the neighbour’s garden, alive and whole, if I can.) I digress …
The killer-spray bottle info was extremely helpful and I instantly identified the culprit …The Bean and Pea Weevil! A bloody evil weevil. I read the info again. Yes. That was it. Notched leaves. I definitely had notched leaves.
I must add that I searched high and low for one offending weevil and not as much as a hairy leg was found. Little shits. They obviously came under the cover of darkness. Little fly by nights? No, that’s something totally different, isn’t it?
Pea and bean weevil? Never heard of such a thing but, for now, my shark has been held at bay and another garden pest conquered. However, I fear that although this battle has been won, the war will go on. Soon the black fly, greenfly and every coloured fly under the rainbow will move in and the battle will commence.
Flight (poorly, on the-verge-of-death chuck) has shaken her tail feathers and made a full recovery (crossing fingers) and has charged back into her old ways, attacking with a rapier-like beak anything that slightly resembles food. She will happily leap the leap of a gazelle on stilts and rid me of anything that I happen to walk up the garden munching. Two days ago I carried a piece of leftover cake up the garden, wrapped in cling film, to give to them after I’d pooh-picked. Flight spotted the cake with one upturned eye, flew up my body, snatched the whole thing out of my hand and took off. The cake, unnoticed by the beast, fell out of the cling film and Little snaffled the lot. Flight bolted across the lawn and up the garden.
This was not good. I’d dragged the stupid creature back from the grim reaper and here she was, legging-it, with a sheet of cling film flapping over her face and beak. She vacated the lawn and ran into the shrubbery (fancy word meaning a few odd bushes) with me fast on her heels. This went on for a minute or two, looking like something out of an old Benny Hill sketch …Flight, followed by me, cussing …followed by Little, hoping that there might still be a few crumbs left in the cling film. This whole thing was watched through slit eyes and a furrowed brow by Chea, whom, at the time, was trying to fish-out a beached tadpole from the pond.
Fortunately, or not, blinded and probably half suffocated, Flight ran into a lavender bush and stopped. I caught her and, still cussing, snatched the cling film from her beak. She shook a bit and ran off, chasing Little, who had the misfortune to still have a bit of cake hanging visibly from her beak.
See, a lavender plant ruined as well.
As I write I look into the garden and I can see the trees and shrubs swaying. A windy day. I suppose this means that I had better move my butt and go and tie-up the broad beans before the poor things succumb and end up on the ground?
Sometimes, I think …wouldn’t it be easier to visit Iceland (the shop …not the place) and buy all this veg frozen, grown, picked and ready to tip into a saucepan?
Sometimes I think this…but then, I often think many silly things.
Gone to find the string…and let out the chucks.
Take care my lovelies x