My grand estate is under siege. The enemy? Mother Nature.
Saturday morning, whilst sipping Tim Horton's coffee from my favourite lime green mug and admiring the raindrops sparkling on the burgundy leaves of my smoke bush, a weird quiver on the branches of the neighbouring mugho pines caught my eye. The needles on the branch nearest the window pane seemed to be wriggling. I looked closer. And screamed. Shrieked at the top of my lungs.
The clump of pines in my front garden was blanketed with a thousand gnawing green worms. Overnight, they had stripped one of the pines bare, nibbling the needles down to pathetic yellowed nubs and were feasting voraciously on the other two, just CHOWING DOWN! Sickening clods of wrigglers massing on my shrubs.
Jamming on my flip flops, I scurried outside with a pickle jar to collect hideous specimens and within the hour, I was at the garden centre, trembling with the outrage of it all as the garden guy peered into my jar and casually annouced '"yep, you've gotta problem."
My problem is Army Worms. They are less of a problem now, having been liberally hosed with Trounce. I took great freaky delight in dousing them, watching them writhe and curl like the snakes on Medusa's head. I think if you bent your ear close enough to the disgusting clusters, you would have heard a thousand tiny worm voices all shrieking "I'm melting! I'm Meltttinggg!' just like the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz. Had I been able to hear those agonized cries, I might have felt more remorseful. But as it was, I was practically leaping with glee as I clobbered them with my (all natural) insecticidal stream.
It's critical to get rid of them as quickly as possible, otherwise they'll mow through EVERYTHING in my yard and wee just can't have that. Wee just can't.
Then this morning, I look out into my newly created backyard beds and something looks off. One of my shrubs has disappeared. I scramble for my flip flops again and with the wolf pouncing after me, race out to discover that my purple leaf sand cherry has been neatly and mercilessly pruned, every single branch neatly sheared off. The culprits this time: Brazen Bad-ass Bunnies!!!!
Oh, sure... I thought they were all cute and stuff chasing each other through the maze of backyards, pausing to nibble clover and to blink at me with their shiny round almond eyes. I gave them cute little bunny names: Ginger, Smuckers, Fanny, Fang and Butterbean. I purposely refused to block off their little escape routes under the fence and rapped out warnings on the french door glass before unleashing the hound, fearful that one day , the wolf might actually succeed in her mad attempts to nab one. Little did I know they were hatching evil bunny plans all the while. Now I say, Boil 'em! Boil the Bunnies!!!*
This weekend, with the wolf driven into hiding by a raucous series of thunderstorms, they attacked, mobbing my sandcherry and taking a few good swipes at the japenese willow and silverleaf dogwood as well.
BASTARDS! Evil-doers! ARGHHHHH!
sigh. I guess it is only fitting that I should spend this Victoria Day long weekend with the cranky mask of that bitter old Queen pinching my features. BAH!!!
For your further Victoria Day entertainment, two of my fave quotes from the Grand Old Grrrl:
�An ugly baby is a very nasty object - and the prettiest is frightful.
� I would venture to warn against too great intimacy with artists as it is very seductive and a little dangerous.
* Fear not, much as I hate what they're doing to my shrubs, I just can't kill the fuzzy stuff.
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