I love spring. I wait for Spring, mostly because it leads to summer, which is my favorite season. But over the next month or so, I will be vexed by almost continuous aggravation by one small, pernicious creature: the gray squirrel.

Once we are into summer, I will like them again. They will do their acrobatics in the back yard, leaping from tree limb-to-tree limb, entertaining us in all kinds of ways. We love them, and enjoy having them around.

But today, the Spring wars began. They have deflowered (and not in the fun way) every single bud from my small Tulip Magnolia, and they are working on the White Star Magnolia as well — luckily, that tree is larger, and so they can’t get out onto the ends of the branches, though they try. I will have some small white flowers left to enjoy.

Then, as the several hundred tulips I have planted pop up, they will systematically behead those as well. I have a few dozen planted in the circle around the base of the white star magnolia, and I have waited for the big, fat tulips to bust open in that spot outside my kitchen window, only to discover headless stems in the morning, the fat buds ravaged on the ground.

It’s the only time, ever, I have considered a shotgun. Only city ordinances keep those little suckers safe. I call them names I can’t repeat here, I set my dogs out after them, and I run outside chasing them out myself several times a day, clapping my hands and hoping they think it’s a shotgun. (I think I heard them laughing about that once.)

I have tried sour spray — which leads to them pulling the head off and then leaving it on the ground, since it tastes bad; it also was expensive and tiring to try to keep spraying tulips after every rain. Hot pepper did nothing, and I don’t want to use it anyway, since we have neighborhood cats, and I have heard that they can get it on their feet, and then if they scratch their eyes, etc it can cause infection. So no hot pepper.

I did have some luck with mothballs — I put them everywhere, and they did work very well — our entire yard also smelled like an old closet. I’m pretty sure these are not healthy for people or animals as well, and I don’t like the idea of those chemicals all leeching into the dirt — but they DID work. Home Depot was sold out.

I will be fighting these little demons for the next month or so, until the tulips are gone (one way or another), and then the summer flowers start, few of which interest the squirrels. Then I start having words with our woodchuck about eating all of the daisies and coneflowers…. it never ends. But I am an environmentalist, and I am firm believer in nurturing nature, especially as we build our houses all over their turf. I just wish I didn’t end up nurturing them with all of my flowers.

How about you? Do you have a garden? Pests? Or other seasonal love/hate relationships you go through each year? And if you have any tips about squirrels, feel free to share.

I planted a kitchen herb garden this year and as of right now, all the plants are still alive. That’s because I bought them that way and haven’t had a chance to kill them yet. But it’s only a matter of thyme. Ahem. Sorry, but I had to work at least one pun in. It was mint to be. Okay, I’m stopping now. Really.

This looks like a little, no-big deal thing, doesn’t it? I spent all Saturday on this project. First, there were ugly bushes beneath the window, so I dug them out. Then I smoothed the dirt and put down landscaping fabric to keep out weeds. (Weeds, I can grow) I filled those giant pots and moved them into place. No, that’s not exactly how it went. What really happened is that I wanted a layer of rocks in the bottom for drainage. I’d been saving broken pottery for this. I wrapped pieces in a towel and banged on it with the shovel. Those plates and cups that broke so easily when I dropped them on the kitchen floor? Not giving up without a fight. I walloped the towel and when I checked, there were maybe a few more cracks, not the chunks I was looking for. There was a lot more walloping–very therapeutic–until I succeeded. Then I dragged the super-sized bag of potting soil from the patio where it had been ever since I got the idea for an herb garden. The thing is, I’ve been thinking about an herb garden for a while. Certainly since before the last rain. The bag wasn’t water-tight, so it was more like potting mud. Even so, there wasn’t enough of it. I needed dirt. Where better to get dirt than from my hubby’s raised vegetable garden?

Okay, there are better places, and the garden isn’t exactly raised any longer because I needed a lot of dirt. I mixed my potting mud with it and filled the giant pots. Giant pots filled with dirt are heavy, too heavy for me to move I now know. So I emptied the pots, moved them, and refilled them, making a mess in the process. I spread the rocks. (Bags of rocks are also heavy. I know, surprised me, too.) But I soaked the plants in their little biodegradable containers, stuck them in the stolen dirt, (“Heather? It looks like some animals got into our back yard.”) and they are still alive!

Except something is eating my mint.

So who’s got the gardening bug this year? What’re you growing?

And apparently squash do it, too. Who knew? My mother, that’s who. I should backtrack and tell you that my husband planted a vegetable garden this spring. His first. All by himself, which is astonishing since he hates yard work. Me, I’m a verified plant killer, so I told him he was on his own with the planting and the tilling and the weeding, but I would be happy to cook and prepare any of the garden’s bounty. To my shock, plants are growing. A couple of weeks ago, I told my mom that the squash had started blossoming.

“Do you have any bees?” she asked.
“What? No.”
“Then you’ll have to help your squash have sex.”

Okay. These are not words I expect to hear from my mother. However, as is usually the case, she is right. By the way, do not Google “squash sex.” The results are not helpful.

After adjusting my search string, I learn that there are male and female blossoms and that if there are no bees, yes, they need help with pollination. Oh, yeah, they only bloom once. That’s right, they get one shot to make a baby squash, and that one shot takes place between 8:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. So they’re incompetent and picky. Since my husband’s at work then, I am the squash’s only hope for romance. I don’t even like squash.

Outside, I stare at the garden and figure out that there are a lot more females than males, which must be some kind of male squash fantasy. I can see the little squash babies all ready to grow, and know that if I can’t get the males to man up, the unfertilized babies will shrivel and die.

I shall not fail you, my squash sisters.

Early the next morning, I go to the garden with my paintbrush and perform intimate acts with strange squash blossoms. I match make. No kinky brother/sister stuff. And I check all the males—are they strong and handsome? Reliable? Employed? Does their pollen deserve to live on? I am emotionally invested in the lives of the squash.

For three days, I run a squash bordello. On the fourth, I interrupted a bee. I was so startled, I actually apologized to it.

Now, the bees have taken over, and a couple of days after that, the first squash, hand-pollinated by me, were born. They tasted great.

So . . . who read this and Googled “squash sex?”