How far will Zoe Cartwright go to protect her garden’s bounty from thieving pests? Photo: Zoe Cartwright.
For the first time in my life, this year’s Operation Veggie Patch was so organised I felt borderline smug.
Not for me the desperate dash for seedlings this year; not for me the suddenly dawning realisation that if I didn’t get something in the ground soon it would be too hot for anything to grow.
This year, on the first weekend in October, I potted, fertilised, seeded and watered to my heart’s content.
I’ve been richly rewarded with a bounty of seedlings for friends, more basil pesto than we can eat, an abundance of fresh, leafy greens and some very promising blossoms on my fruit trees and cucumber vines.
The only dark cloud on my garden’s horizon was the obstinacy of my tomato plants not to progress past the seedling phase – this mystery remains unsolved, and I’ll gratefully accept any and all solutions.
This week, however, unwelcome visitors have arrived.
Hordes of chubby green caterpillars have chomped their way through most of my kale (to be honest, they can have it) and, more unforgivably, my watercress and sorrel.
They’ve started on my beloved basil plants, but luckily this year we have so many I could let it slide.
“I’m a cool, relaxed gardener,” I tell myself.
“I companion plant; I have a flourishing ecosystem and live in partnership with nature.
“I plant extra so the bugs can have some if they like.
“I’m not going to contaminate my beautiful, lush veggie patch with poisons. I am simply going to encourage the birds to take care of this problem for me.”
Despite my unwavering faith in the power of nature, and painstakingly handpicking off little green grubs whenever I spy them, the caterpillars are advancing their march in the battle for the veggie patch.
One morning this week I walked out to discover my poor cucumber vines completely denuded of their leaves.
Luckily the little bastards weren’t interested in their flowers, but I’m not sure how effectively the poor leafless plants can produce cucumbers.
I went on a rampage. I picked off every one of the buggers I could find and tossed them in the compost bin.
The guilt I felt was partly assuaged by my righteous anger and partly by weak reassurances that they could probably find something to eat in there anyway.
But my sense of smug security has been deeply disturbed by this latest incursion.
What’s next on the caterpillar agenda? When will they stop? Can they be held at bay?
I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. I do know my husband is convinced I’m losing my mind.
Every time I proudly present the bounty I’ve wrested from the maws of those rapacious invertebrates he asks the same old question: “How much did you spend at Bunnings for this?”.
