The Slugs are back...
But are balanced with a positive Life Lesson
Do you know? I was beginning to generate thoughts along the lines of …’I killed so many last year, perhaps they won’t return this year’.
And …‘surely our past winter will have killed off any which survived my attentions…’
I have watched with growing excitement as tiny tendrils of germinating seeds poke through the (high quality) mulch, their light green purity as yet unblemished. They reach for the sun, which has been unusually generous so far this year, and I urge them onwards with positive thoughts and light sprinklings of water from the hose.
Over the past winter, I have been consuming significant quantities of natural yoghourt. This is in part because I like yoghourt, so that’s as good an excuse as any. But another valid justification is that the empty containers make very good slug traps. You drill holes around the sides and put the tops back on to keep off the rain. These have been baited variously with sourdough starter, a mixture of water, sugar and yeast powder and even a splash of beer (don’t worry – it was just lager – not proper beer). Then I’ve buried them up to the holes, close to the plants I want to protect.
I chose this configuration of slug trap because the consensus on YouTube suggested it was the most reliable and effective non-poisonous method. Sure, there are nasty blue pellets available in Garden centres, but I do worry about their chemicals leaching into the veggies I’m growing.
The traps have indeed been effective in capturing tiny slugs – ‘sluglets’, if you will. Morning inspections show the various baits retaining anything from six to ten of the little blighters. But I went out after dark two nights ago and prowled around with my headtorch. I spotted several sizeable slugs (2 inch monsters) cruising along the base of the fence. One was nosing around a trap, so I let it proceed, hoping it would drop in and be unable to escape.
I did a second round thirty minutes later and went back to the trap. It was evident that the slug had gone in one side, scarfed up its fill of sourdough and was just heading out of the other side.
The uncharitable thoughts which filled my head are best not reproduced here.
Clearly, I need a new plan.
In the meantime, while I work on that, let me relate a tiny Life Lesson which I experienced during last week.
I am on generally good terms with all my neighbours. I know names of those who are nearest and am on nodding terms with the others. The truth is that I know them by their motor cars, and wouldn’t know them from Adam (or Eve) if I met them elsewhere.
My Happy Tale easily balances out that Slug Frustration.
Returning from a short lead walk with my faithful hound, who makes friends with everybody, I recognised a neighbour’s car stopped further down the hill from their house. As I drew nearer, a woman emerged and told me the battery was flat and her attempt to bump-start the car had failed. In my experience, most people haven’t a clue how to do this, anyway. But she went on to say they had sold the car and needed to drive it to the nearby industrial estate right away – the buyer had given them a time slot which was closing rapidly.
Being really close to my own house, I fetched my car, used jumper leads to boost her battery and the engine burst into life immediately.
I only noticed her husband sitting in the passenger seat as I removed the second jumper cable.
The woman waved her thanks, leaped into the driver’s seat and sped away.
I retired indoors, feeling very good about myself. This is the Life Lesson – if you can help somebody else, then it not only restores their equanimity and gets them back on track, but it floods one’s own system with all sorts of feel-good hormones.
There was an even better sequel to this happiness.
Much later that day, I was still basking in the remaining glow of accomplishment. It propelled me while pounding rocks to even out the side path of the house. The woman (whose name I now know is Deborah) found me bashing away with a lump hammer and held out a large box of high-quality chocolates.
“You saved my marriage,” she said. I simpered, awkwardly, thinking this to be a typically English dramatic and over-the-top claim to ensure I understood how grateful she was for my small assistance. But I noted her eyes had reddened rims and she scrubbed at them with the back of her hand.
“I mean it; thank you so much.”
As an Englishman, I’m uncomfortable with displays of emotion, of course. But I couldn’t remain unmoved by such honesty.
Happy Hormones gushed forth again when I bit into the chocolates with a cup of very strong coffee, later on.
I was so full of joy, I gave the slugs a pass for that evening. Knock yourselves out, Guys… Just go easy on that lager.
