7 of 99

by Ron Legro

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Here in Milwaukee we've got plenty of beer, so when I first began my vegetable garden years ago I had a ready supply of weaponry to use against my raised bed's number one enemy: The massive, slimy, hungry slugs that would slither into action in the early dawn, turning cabbage leaves, tomatoes and other plants into swiss cheese.

I was voracious in my own right: A voracious reader. Several organic gardening magazines told me the solution to slugfests was to put out saucers of beer. The slugs would be attracted to the scent, climb aboard, and drown. And it worked.

But something happened to me as I first defeated the slugs, then rabbits, then other creatures that assumed my garden was their salad bar: I became more attuned to the natural state of the world.

Over the seasons, as I weeded or otherwise tended my little patch of joy, I increasingly encountered the fauna that lived in and around my garden: Little bugs and worms and other creatures all the way up to chipmunks. Birds, of course, dropped by as well and along with the squirrels really enjoyed my peach tree. decimating the crop in mere days.

And gradually, my attitude changed, to my very great surprise. Because, you see, I was a natural voyeur. I watched the creatures. And I became interested in their habits.

Now you'll surely think me crazy, but after awhile I found a certain natural beauty in the lowly slug. These little guys are almost majestic in their own way. They leave glittering trails of slime to mark their travels and are seemingly quite brave, marching exposed across decks and lawns, stretching their mottled but smooth bodies in a little rhythm. And poking up their eye stalks every so often to look around from time to time. I would watch them emerge from between the deck planks, unfurl their tightly compressed bodies into elongated arrows and move in a search pattern toward an eventual rendezvous with their lunch - in my garden.

I began to empathize with them, especially whenever I accidentally squashed one as I wandered out the back door in an early morning fog. They were little souls. "All creatures great and small," don't you know. I zeroed in on them, observing from my all-mighty, skyscraper's viewpoint. I played with them, picking them up and relocating them further away or just testing their reactions.

Came the day when it dawned on me that I couldn't kill another slug. Hey, they were just trying to earn a living. And they were beautiful in their own, limited way. Hardy, focused, efficient and, sure, slow. But even slow began to appeal to me.

I figured out, finally, that the real solution wasn't to drown them but to share my bounty. Oh, I'd reconstruct the garden to make it more difficult to enter, but I would not poison or drown or squash another slug. Yes, they would eat some of my food, but unless you're a mad scientist ready to poison yourself and your neighbors in order to protect every last gram of vegetable matter, writing off a bit of your planting is just another cost of doing business.

Likewise, I stopped netting my peach tree the very day I found a tiny little bird entangled in the plastic webbing I'd thrown over the branches. Not only was the netting ugly and unnatural, but it had just killed one of God's little creatures, who was just being a bird. Yes, I'd lose some peaches to squirrels and birds, but I already lost some of them to the neighborhood kids brave enough to climb my six-foot fence, and I certainly wasn't going to do anything to harm them.

So, yeah, I might be a bit far gone on this, but it is what my garden taught me. I don't "own" the soil or the plants. I just tend them on behalf of the ecosystem, and get paid back with good things to eat for my trouble. Does that give me license to kill anything that licks its chops in anticipation of a raid on my little happyland? Nope. Does it mean I won't kill anything ever again? Nope; mosquitoes and black flies and rats must continue to beware the hairy ape who governs my backyard.

But here's the thing: Gardens are all about life. The more I kill something in order to protect that garden, the more I destroy the very idea I set out to embrace. So I plant marigolds to ward off insects, and flower attractants elsewhere in the yard as decoys. And I put up little barriers and scarecrows and other passive defenses. And I might consider trapping gophers or rabbits. But no longer will I kill for my food, when killing is simply way out of proportion to the problem.

Now, besides my garden, I've got an entire zoology of wonderment around me. It's alive, and I share my bounty and we both make out. And that makes me feel good.

Learn more about this author, Ron Legro.

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