GreenPrints Sampler: Animals in the Garden

You can’t keep animals (or bugs) out of the garden, but you can turn animals in the garden into hilarious stories.

Editor’s Letter

Dear Gardener,

Beetles. Rabbits. Cats. There will always be bugs and animals in the garden. Some, like owls or cats, can help keep away mice or other critters that might try to eat your dill and daisies. Others, like beetles and rabbits? Well, you can try to keep them out of the garden, but first you have to keep them away from the gardener.

That’s what Beth Surdut discovered, at least. When Beth moved from Hawaii to Massachusetts, she volunteered with a local gardening club to be on the plant collecting committee. Part of her duties included digging up neighbors’ unwanted plants to sell at the garden club’s fundraiser.

That seems simple enough, but hilarity ensues when she enters one garden with an adorable white pet bunny who joined her as the home’s owner, “cocktail in hand, toured us around her yard.” Read “Gardening Critters Gone Wild” to find out just how friendly this rabbit was.

Then Emily Edwards shares her own story of animals in the garden, only in her case, it’s not animals, but Japanese beetles. And they are greedily feasting on the “newly opened leaves” of her grapes when she decides she has the perfect solution to get rid of them.

I’ll leave it to Emily to tell the story, but I will tell you this: If you’ve never been chased by “a Japanese beetle swarm of biblical proportions,” take a look at “How (Not) to Get Rid of Beetles in the Garden.” You’ll learn a thing or two about ridding your garden of beetles and you’ll get a good laugh through Emily’s lively and animated storytelling.

There’s more, like the story of Tinkerbell the cat, who offers a lighthearted look at an afternoon in the garden. So, keep reading the free Animals in the Garden sampler below and enjoy a few stories we can all appreciate and relate to.

Amanda MacArthur
Daily Editor
GreenPrints

P.S. GreenPrints is your personal garden magazine. GreenPrints’s mission is to share the joys, humor, headaches, and heart of gardening through wonderful stories and beautiful art. Please be sure to check out the latest issue and your personal subscription offer today.

Is that a Rabbit on Your Head?

At first it seemed so sweet . . . By Beth Surdut

When I moved from Hawaii to a small Massachusetts town west of Boston, bonding with nature took on new meaning for me. Springtime in New England arrives right after mud season. Gardeners, desperate for a hot date with color after the frigid Winter, are filled with longings that must be satisfied. Knowing my own predisposition for filling my car with plants every time I visited a nursery, I needed a support group. A friend urged me to join the town garden club.

“You’ll fit right in. These are very creative people who know their flowers and get their hands dirty,” he told me.

I volunteered to be on the plant collecting committee. Our task was digging up our neighbors’ unwanted plants to be sold at the garden club’s sale. I looked forward to seeing gardens and learning more about local customs.

Shedding my long underwear like a snake sheds its skin, I awaited my digging partner, Liz, whose family had lived there for generations. She arrived with an arsenal of shovels, clippers, gloves, and buckets laid out neatly on a tarp in the back of her posh station wagon.

At the first garden, an adorable white bunny hopped along with us, as the owner, cocktail in hand, toured us around her yard. Pointing to a choked mass of irises, she said, “Those roses need thinning.” Liz glanced at me—and shook her head. We were there to dig up free plants, not give botanical lessons. The owner toddled off to refresh her drink, and we set to our task. We finished, grimy and sweaty, and Liz went to find the owner. I lay back on the grass, eyes closed, listening to birdsong. The bunny, pink-nosed and fluffy as a character from a children’s story, had stayed within sight, so when I felt it behind me snuffling my hair, I stayed still, keeping my eyes closed and thinking, “How sweet, how Alice in Wonderland.” But then paws gripped my hair and—Eeeuwww!—Mister Bunny put himself against my ear and started doing, well . . . it.

I leapt up in shock and cried, “Liz!”

“Right here,” she called, beaming. Liz’s goofy grin told me she’d seen the X-rated show.

“Is that his usual behavior?” I asked the owner. She waved her glass, sloshing her drink over the edge, and chirped, “It’s Spring!”

Liz and I retreated to her car. Once out of sight of the queen and her white rabbit, we howled—then drove towards our next garden.

Got any pets?” Liz cheerily asked the couple greeting us. “They just love Beth,” she said, dragging out the word loooove.

Then she snorted. I swear she did. ❖

By Beth Surdut, published originally in 2020, in GreenPrints Issue #121. Illustrations by Hannah England.

Tinkerbell’s Tale

A cat’s-eye view of gardening. By Eva Kosinski

Tinkerbell first started visiting last year, when her owner (if cats could be said to have such things) moved in two houses down. She’s become the darling of the neighborhood, our little wanderer. Her fan club includes families four blocks away. She makes sure to check in on everyone at least a couple of times a week. We may elect her mayor. When I told her about your magazine, she was delighted to write a bit about her experiences.

The first thing you need to know is that all the stories about me have been exaggerated. Yes, I did bring half-dead mice onto the porch, throw them up in the air, and then chase them around the house. I did jump into the car when it was time to bring the kid next door home from school. And I did almost get on the school bus once—because it seemed like they were going somewhere interesting.

But I don’t do these things all the time. I just can’t stand to be bored, and I love to visit people. One of my favorite places, however, is Eva’s garden.

You know how it goes: The sun is up, the sky is blue, and the lady of the house (who fancies herself my owner) is off to work, so out the cat door I go. I love this neighborhood — especially the leash laws for dogs (smirk-chuckle).

First, let’s jump up to the window near the steps and see if Eva’s home. Yep, she’s got her cup of coffee and cereal, and she’s watching the news. Won’t be long before she’s ready to hit the garden. Look! She sees me and is waving, as though to say, “OK, hold on, I’ll be there in a bit.” So I go to the side of the house, jump the fence, and go around to her patio door to wait (these humans can be quite slow). Oh, look, there’s my reflection in the patio door.

Gorgeous! Eva says I have “Cleopatra eyes” because my eyes are green-gold and I look like someone went nuts with the eyeliner. I’m pretty darn cute, with my little pink heart that says “I go home” on one side and a phone number on the other. (I won’t talk about the stinking bell around my neck that scares the birds before I can get them.) Eva calls me a “mush bug” because I’ll even roll over on my back and let her pet my tummy. But only if I’m in the mood.

Here she comes! She’s got the hat. She’s got the gloves. Yippee! She’s going to the garden. Oops, she almost fell. I’m not trying to trip her, but she walks so slowly and seems surprised when I brush by in my hurry to get there.

She’s opening that little building where all the intriguing smells are: fertilizer, bags of dirt, old pots from last year, rakes, and hoes, and all that. I slip easily under the wheelbarrow and look for spiders to chase. Now she’s bringing out little pots, I see. She’s not going to the garden yet. She’s going to the patio.

She’s got baby plants on the back patio, and she’s going to put them in bigger pots. Yuck—she’s got the hose out! I move way over here while she rinses the pots: I’m not a fan of unexpected showers.

Ah, now she’s sitting down to work. I leap onto the table to have a closer look. This flat is empty. Yup, I just fit. I can lie here and watch her put the baby seedlings into trays and bigger pots.

She waters them—not with a hose—but using the watering can with the big long snout. That puts the water where she— and I—want it. Now she’s taking some bigger plants and putting them into the wagon. She’s going to go to the garden! If I run really fast, I can beat her there—see? Now she’s digging holes! Let’s get my head in there to see what’s what. Hey, watch where you put that trowel—I’m looking here!

Nothing interesting in this hole. Maybe the next one . . . nope.

I think I’ll go over to the curbstones, they are so nice and warm in the sun. I can just sit here and watch as she takes the plants from their trays, one after the other, and puts them in the holes she dug. I love garden work. I could watch her do it all day. Every once in a while, she looks up, so I go over and get a few pats. I deserve them.

Oh—sorry! I have to leave now. I just saw something move in the day lily patch. Scrunch down and sneak, slowly, very, very slowly, so that bell doesn’t give me away. Yep, it’s a mouse. I am Tinkerbell, the mighty hunter. This is going to be fun! ❖

By Eva Kosinski, published originally in 2016, in GreenPrints Issue #105. Illustrations by Nicole Tamarin.

Dances with Beetles

Swarmed! By Emily Edwards

I am not a fan of bugs, specifically, Japanese beetles. I attribute my strong feelings to one particular incident I refer to as “Dances with Beetles.”

It was a beautiful late-May day, the first Spring at our “new” (read: old starter) home, and I couldn’t wait to start planting. I had planted the first of my roses and just finished mowing the lawn when I spied the first of the invaders.

Japanese beetles.

Their tell-tale, iridescent green, hard shells blanketed my lush grape arbor as they greedily feasted on newly opened leaves. How dare they treat my arbor as if it were an all-you-can-eat buffet?!

My poor baby grapes didn’t stand a chance! And my roses! How could they survive? My maternal instincts kicked into overdrive.

But I had just the solution waiting in my barn: two Japanese beetle traps. I slipped the potent lures into their slots, knowing it was only a matter of time before the invaders would be trapped in these hanging coffins. But hold on. Would one lure really be enough

to pull in all the beetles? Just to be safe, I added an extra lure to each trap. I marched toward the grape arbor to give the pests a whiff of their upcoming doom. Then I would stake the bags way back behind our small orchard, where two shepherd’s hooks stood waiting.

My plan was coming together perfectly.

Almost.

When I glanced behind me, my heart dropped to my feet. I was being chased by a Japanese beetle swarm of biblical proportions! I let out an inhuman shriek and took off through the orchard, arms outstretched, beetle bags whipping in the wind! I ran full-speed, trying to make it to the shepherd’s hooks before the swarm overtook me and I felt their tiny, sticky legs on my skin and in my hair.

I reached the hooks, but now I had to struggle to hang the bags with the Earth’s lure-drunk Japanese beetle population buzzing around me. Blindly I swatted the beetles away from my face, fighting the urge to scream lest one fly into my mouth. After what must have been an eternity, I felt the loops slide over the hooks and, still swatting frantically, retreated a safe distance to catch a beetle-free breath. I watched in amazement as the swarm hovered and dove around the traps. The bags were full in an hour! I was going to have to grab them, dispose of the beetles, and reset the traps.

Heavens. I gritted my teeth and began.

Suffice it to say, I no longer use beetle traps. These days, I swat them off of plants into a bucket of soapy water. I can tell you, after my Dance with Beetles, it took more than a bucket of soapy water to make me clean again. It took a long shower.

Several long showers. ❖

By Emily Edwards, published originally in 2018, in GreenPrints Issue #118. Illustrations by Tim Foley.