On The Rampage




It's war. It's on. Bring it!
The snails have stepped--slimed over the line and I'm not going to take it anymore!
I spent all those years in the Northwest dealing with slugs. Some the size of my forearm--I am not exaggerating! I kept up on the latest strategies for battling slugs and had my arsenal well stocked. Some of the recommendations from experienced gardeners were a little odd:
"Put out cans of beer, buried up to the rim--slugs love it!"

(This does not mean I had my 'arsenal' well-stocked with beer, I'm just saying it was a suggestion!)
So the old slug is a lush--and what do I do with it once it's tipsy? Take away its keys?

Or:
"Put out crushed nut shells around your plants--the slugs don't like that."
Actually, they considered it a minor inconvenience--easily overcome with copious amounts of that charming ooze they produce by the gallon.

I had boys who were more than willing to give them the salt treatment. In fact, we went through many salt shakers as they were continually left  forgotten, out in the rain after the combat mission was complete.

So, eventually I turned to the strong stuff: Slug Bait. Simple, straightforward and effective.

Now I am gardening in new territory. I got off easy the first year because I had my garden boxes built out on a desolate, dry ledge. It took the snails awhile to realize there was a new oasis in the desert. Then it took them a year to migrate there
Because, you know, they move at a SNAIL'S PACE...

I had begun to delude myself into thinking that I would be an 'organic' gardener here in sunny California. I stuck with it through the first snail sightings in the corn stalks. I bravely plucked them from their contented perch and gave them the old heave-ho over the ledge.
They were cast off to wander in the desert.

But I had to face the fact that I am outnumbered. They invited all of their friends, neighbors and closest relations to my garden of snail delights.
 It has became the Denny's of the snail world:
All you can eat and open all night.
 (Wait a minute--I think that's an insult to the quality of food available in my garden--but we'll let it go.)

My organic garden fantasy turned into a shredded leaf reality. Apparently organic means:
    "Just the way the snails like it!"

Well, no more sister nice guy! This morning I gave the snails notice and the ejection began.
I was Rambo in the vegetable garden.
My weapon of choice?
Slug Bait
My old stand-by.
When it comes down to it, slime is slime, in or out of the shell.






Comments

c jane said…
This post reminded me about the fact that when I was a crawling babe I ate snail bait and my mother thought I wasn't going to survive.

But I did.

Hopefully your snails won't be so lucky . . .

good luck!
mamagale said…
Thanks for stopping by c jane! And I think I speak for all of us (especially your mother) when I say: Thank goodness you did survive! The world just wouldn't be the same without you.

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