It rained for an entire week. Well, to be accurate, it wasn’t the continuous Noah-time-to-enter-the-arc type of rain. But a week ago Saturday afternoon we had a rattle-the-windows thunder storm and there’s been at least one like it each of the next six days. Twice I hung out my wash, enticed by a burst of sunshine, only to run out and snatch damp clothes off the line during a sudden downpour.
And forget the garden! The tomatoes refuse to turn red. They are holding out for full sun. Borers have found my zucchini plant. Though it is still trumpeting male flowers, its fruiting days are over. We don’t even have lettuce to pick. The young groundhog took care of that—as well as the broccoli, cabbage and kale plants. He even ate the last promising zucchini.
I knew a groundhog lived at the far end of our yard. Assumed—I can’t say why—it was a male. But one day I opened our back door and my eye caught a rustle of leaves in the vegetable garden. A small groundhog wiggled through a hole he must have gnawed in my plastic fencing. Young groundhog—the large resident is probably his mom. Now I have double trouble.
My neighbor has begun to complain, “The groundhog that lives in your backyard is eating my vegetables.” She has volunteered to trap it. I haven’t told her that it is a THEM. I said, “You can put a trap back there, but do not kill the groundhog. Just take it far away.” I think either option is illegal. Seems the stealing of our produce should also be against the law, but our groundhogs make their living by stealing what others raise. Between those critters and the squirrels it’s been a poor year for harvesting. How did our fore bearers ever live off the land?