The Daily: 7 August 2023

The break in summer heat continues this week, though there is still not much break in the rain. We have almost had the entire average August precipitation in the first week. We will undoubtedly pass average by the end of this week and probably blaze right on to the average for an entire summer. Given that July already achieved four to five hundred percent of average summer precipitation, I think we have had enough moisture…

But then… it is fall planting season, so greedy gardener that I am, I appreciate that the continued rainfall is reliably moistening my seedbeds, no water can hauling or hose wrangling necessary. And the tomatoes have swollen to enormous proportions with all this water. None of them are ripe because there hasn’t been enough sun, but if we get some sunshine before the frost I’m going to have a bumper crop. That is, if the squirrels leave the tomatoes alone. So far they’ve shown no interest in the tomato cages, but that probably won’t extend to ignoring vibrant plump fruits on the vine.

The groundhog is utterly disgusted by the tomatoes and has stopped tearing at the beans wherever the beans are interplanted with tomato vines. This is perhaps a lesson for the future. Wait to plant beans until after I put the nightshades in the ground, and plant nightshades wherever I want beans. It may not work for chiles because last year the bush beans planted in the chile mound were ravaged, though the destruction did not happen until the plants had already produced a full crop of pod beans that, once frozen, kept me in wax and filet beans until late January. If the groundhog wants to take all the leaves off the plants after the beans have been productive, that’s fine with me. Easier to harvest.

The groundhogs are also growing fat. The one that lives on the other side of the road is now roughly the size and shape of a ten pound sack of flour. The ones that are on this side are slightly less rotund but still flabby enough to make you wonder how they fit into their burrows. And once inside, can they turn around? It is a mystery. This is a reminder that they will soon be entering that burrow and not coming back out until they have thinned considerably. I am looking forward to groundhog hibernation! Maybe, after they go to ground, I can have actually harvest peas…

There are other signs of incipient autumn. The jays that had been silent and largely missing from the bird feeder circus are back. They hunker down in the breeding season, but when the chicks fledge they resume their quarrels and ostentatious preening. I don’t mind the screeching. They leave lovely black and blue feathers on my doorstep, almost like thanks for all the seeds. The only other birds that say thank you regularly are the chickadees, all of whom follow me around with a continual stream of chickadee commentary that I wish I understood. They don’t seem to mind my doltish lack of comprehension. They just carry on like I’m participating in the conversation.

We all are amused by the new feeder I bought this summer. The squirrels utterly destroyed my old wooden seed cake feeder. I hope they got splinters… they did not get much seed cake as I soak all the accessible bird food in chile oil. So really the destruction was just an exercise in pique. I did not replace that feeder but instead bought a metal cage that has metal cages inside it. The cakes — four of them! — are held in the interior cages out of reach of squirrel appendages. The exterior cage is a mesh that allows most birds to shove their heads inside to reach the food — the smaller birds just go all the way in — but the squirrels don’t fit. The mesh is a sturdy steel that they can’t break. Or they haven’t been able to thus far. And they are trying with obviously mounting frustration.

A squirrel will climb down onto the mesh and attempt to reach the food. Then they will gnaw at the cage, clearly confident that their teeth can easily break the barrier, which is true of most things. So when that proves unexpectedly untrue, they are driven into a frenzy of gnawing at the metal and swiping at the food. I’m pretty sure there are swear words. The chickadees seem to enjoy watching the show and sometimes provoking even more squirrel vexation. I’ve seen at least one of the braver birds fly inside the cage and calmly select morsels of seed and suet while the squirrel flails about outside. Then the chickadee will fly to a nearby and probably intentionally visible perch to eat the food that the squirrel can’t reach. I may be anthropomorphizing a bit… but not much else explains this behavior besides taunting an annoying rival.

The insect armageddon continues to terrify me. This is why I have kept feeding the birds in the summer. There are very few bugs to feed a growing family. But the lack of pollinators is truly alarming. There are some irritating biting bugs out there and the bitter plant predators are in residence in the garden. But even these are less numerous than normal. I’ve killed squash bugs and scale bugs and flea beetles and potato beetles, but none of them are overwhelming my plants as is more the norm. There are a few cicadas out there, strumming their love songs, but there don’t seem to be many responses. There are no lightning bugs, few moths, and not even a great number of ants. There is one dragonfly that has been patrolling the parking lot at work. But only one. There are hardly any ladybugs and no mantises. I’ve seen only a couple dozen individual butterflies this year, nearly all of them cabbage whites. I’ve seen no honeybees and few hoverflies and only a few handfuls of wasps and bumblebees. I may be resorting to hand pollination in the squash patch.

I have seen no swallows or bats in residence this year. The swallows arrived in the early summer. They swooped around for a few days, and then they vanished. I hope they found places with food. It’s not just that they’re missing from town. I haven’t seen any dancing over the meadows or farm fields either. And I haven’t seen any bats since leaving Massachusetts, not in town or over farmland or in the woods. Not even dead by the side of the road. I have seen zero bats… this is scary. Few birds besides swallows eat mosquitos and midges, and no animal eats as many blood-sucking bugs as bats do. So we have little natural pest control. And malaria, among other bug-borne pathogens, is moving north.

So I don’t linger outside these days. For one thing, I’m tired of being wet. But I really don’t care to be food for the mini-vampires, especially since their spit contains microbes that can cause serious bodily disruption. Also it’s just not pleasant. A big part of the appeal of gardening is watching the interplay of species, the web of living beings, the dance of bird and bug and soil and plant. When there is no dance, and when you are made aware of the reasons why there is no dance, there is much less joy in the garden and not a little apprehension. My blood pressure goes up not down when noticing the lack of life and livelihood in the garden.

I’ve been planting things that draw and feed the insects. I hope that as my perennial and woody garden matures, the beneficial bugs will return, and with them, the bug predators like swallows and nightjars and maybe bats. I have a quarter acre of ideal bat habitat, though it is an island in a sea of human infrastructure. Still, I’m leaving most of the dead trunks standing, hoping to lure just about anything besides grey squirrels back to this stretch of property. Even the groundhog is better than a fully human-mediated garden. Which is really not a garden…

I used to think water was the scariest thing we faced in the biophysical breakdown. And I guess it still scares the pants off of me. But this lack of life… Points to no good direction. If the bugs are dying, then everything is dying. I still have birds and a few mammals, but I’m feeding both (intentionally and not). I don’t know about you all, but I’m very worried. And I’d really like to hear from people who still have bees and butterflies.

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©Elizabeth Anker 2023