The Hortisexual

Pardon me for using a four-letter word on The Inquirer’s web page:

V-O-L-E

And another:

M-O-L-E

Let me tell you, every time I walk around my yard and sink ankle-deep into a tunnel, I let loose with a few other expletives I definitely can’t type here!

An insurgency of renegade rodents has seized my landscape.

Moles and voles are recreating the New York City subway system beneath my lawn and flower beds.

Before I continue my tale, a zoological primer on our subject.

The basic difference between voles and moles is their cuisine.

Voles are vegetarians. They feed on roots, bulbs, and the crowns and trunks of small woody plants like roses, shrubs and young trees.

Moles are meat-eaters. That is, if you consider grubs and worms on par with filet mignon.

Here’s a little alliteration to help you keep your subterranean scamps straight:

V = Vegan = Vole
M = Meat = Mole

Got that?

A telltale sign of mole activity is a cone of soil pushed up by the critter tunneling into the ground. The exit holes of voles are much neater. No piles.

While moles are loners, voles are voracious sex fiends, making rabbits seem chaste by comparison.

There are two species of vole common to our area (like one’s not enough!!!).

Meadow voles are above-ground foragers. Pine voles do their dirty work out of sight, below the soil.

I’ve got pine voles.

Okay. Enough science. Back to my misery . . .

I’ve had moles and voles over the years. But nothing compared to the explosive scale of this latest assault.

It’s not an exaggeration that every square foot of my property is affected by the varmints. Euonymus bushes keeled over. Roses with roots whittled to pencil points. A host of hostas laid to waste from down under. Bulbs and tubers gnawed then tossed out the holes like corn cobs after a cook out.

And all this death and destruction over the course of two weeks!

I really lost it one afternoon when I came upon the casualties in my daughters’ heirloom tomato patch. The severed stalk of one poor Brandywine was actually pulled into the tunnel of its attacker.

In my anguish I emailed Meredith, our county Master Gardener Coordinator. I was throwing in the trowel and swearing off gardening for good, was all I wrote.

The next day, as I sat inside my house with curtains drawn, unshaven, wearing the same clothes I slept in, and feeding my grief with brownies and Pepsi, a knock came at the door.

There on the step stood Meredith, along with our county president Judy, and Susan, another Master Gardener officer. They brought with them a tub filled with mouse traps, jars of peanut butter, and clay flower pots.

A Helpline intervention to bring me back off the ledge.

I’m ready to reclaim my garden.

In addition to the arsenal supplied by my Master Gardener friends, I called in a professional pest control expert, and consulted Rutgers Cooperative Research and Extension.

A minefield of mousetraps, slathered in peanut butter (intelligence reports indicate “chunky” style is the preferred bait) are strategically placed about the perennial beds and lawn areas. The traps are set near the exit holes and covered with clay pots to create the illusion the hungry buggers are still in their tunnels as they (hopefully) take their last meal.

My certified pesticide applicator guy dropped anticoagulant rodenticide into the tunnels and holes. For the moles he brought a box of poison gummy worms (Talpirid).

I’ll provide dispatches from the battlefield in the days to come.

Meanwhile, send me your stories, along with more ways to whack the moles!

Hello.

Have you looked at the calendar hanging on your fridge?

Father’s Day comes this weekend. Hint hint.

I’m taking a gift idea for my Dad from a piece I wrote for The Inquirer Home & Design section in February about historic trees you can buy for your home landscape.

My Dad, Jack, is one of those naturally gifted gardeners, with an evergreen touch. Plants flourish under his care.

His one-acre in Monmouth County, NJ is a mini-arboretum: Dawn Redwood (Metasequoia glyptostroboides), Corkscrew Willow (Salix matsudana ‘Tortuosa’), Weeping Norway Spruce (Picea abies ‘Reflexa’), Eastern White Pine (Pinus strobes), Japanese Laceleaf Maple (Acer palmatum dissectum ‘Ever Red’), cherry, plum, lilacs, rhodos, roses, and too many perennials to list.

As a gardener, he puts me to shame. This guy is two decades my senior (and I’m no spring chicken), works long hours in construction, and still finds time and energy to keep his landscape meticulous.

My Dad has influenced my passion for and knowledge of gardening.

So what do you give a gardening Dad like mine?

How about a tree grown from the Honey Locust Abe Lincoln delivered his Gettysburg address under in 1863? View image Perhaps a Wright Brothers Sweetgum View image, a JFK Crabapple View image, or Charles Lindbergh Red Maple? View image Or give that old hound dog an Elvis Presley Southern Magnolia from Graceland. View image

You can buy these and other trees with pedigrees from the Historic Tree Nursery, 800-320-8733.

The online nursery store sells saplings grown from seed or cuttings of trees that shaded presidents, authors, adventurers and other famous Americans.

Prices for historic trees average about $40 for one to three-foot saplings. Each tree purchase comes with a certificate of authenticity.

Best of all, you’ll be doing something to fight global warming. The sale of historic trees supports tree planting programs of American Forests, a nonprofit conservation organization that’s been around since 1875, says Deborah Gangloff, the group’s executive director.

American Forests plants trees for environmental restoration projects throughout the country. The group claims to have planted more than 23 million trees through 500 projects. American Forests also promotes urban forestry in cities, and serves as a resource for information about the benefits to the environment of trees and forests.

It’s not too late. Send a Historic Tree Nursery e-gift certificate to Dad.

Photos courtesy of American Forests.

Alert the National Academy of Sciences!

I’ve discovered a higher life form of voles. Creatures of such advanced intelligence, they can lick peanut butter off a mouse trap without getting their heads snapped.

Unbelievable. I have several dozen standard mouse traps strategically placed about my landscape. Each trap baited with chunky peanut butter.

The score after two weeks:

50 mousetraps 0 voles

Each day I find traps clean and sprung.

Get this: my neighbor Nancy picked up three of my traps in her yard. The kids on the other side showed me a trap way over in their driveway.

Not only are the voles safely enjoying the peanut butter, they’re taking the traps along as they snack.

I thought I was clever by arraying a half dozen peanut butter-smeared traps in a circle, the trigger end of each pointed toward the center. You’d think at a minimum one of the rodents would have to stumble across a trap to get at the bait.

Nope. Every trap clean and snapped.

I know the mouse traps function properly. I’ve got the sore knuckles to prove it!

On the plus side I have noticed the decimation of my garden plants decreasing. Probably because the critters are too stuffed on peanut butter to eat their veggies. I’ve already gone through two jumbo jars of Jif. (Do you know what peanut butter costs these days?!! Let me tell you, it ain’t peanuts.)

Hey. If I can’t snag voles with traps, maybe I can kill them slowly by raising their cholesterol levels.

Since the previous entry about my rodent nightmare I’ve heard from many folks offering advice. Most of it about eradicating moles.

There is evidence of at least one mole in my yard. I can live with him - - for now. I’m more focused on the voles because:

a. they are killing many precious plant specimens, and
b. they're numerous and possibly multiplying

Once I solve my vole problem, I’ll worry about the mole.

A Master Gardener friend asked me to tell you about “milky spore” as a natural, long-term strategy for controlling lawn grubs, and thereby depriving moles of a favorite delicacy.

Okay, I will.

Milky spore products, typically sold in powder form, contain spores of a disease bacterium that targets Japanese beetle grubs living beneath the turf munching on grass roots. Grubs feeding in a treated area become infected and produce billions of new bacterial spores, which in turn eliminate more of their grub cousins. You’ll need to be patient though. It can take this beetle-killing disease one to three years to become established and spread over an entire lawn. The good news is the protection can last five to ten years under the right conditions.

The milky spore approach is not a cure all. Moles also eat earthworms.

Meanwhile, Rutgers Cooperative Research and Extension advises chasing moles and voles by eliminating favorable habitat. I guess that means replacing my lawn with astoturf and ripping out all my hostas, roses, assorted annuals and perennials.

I don’t think so.

My new approach to setting the traps: now that the clever voles are trained to expect to find peanut butter waiting for them, I plan to place just a smidge on the center of the trigger mechanism. No way they’ll be able to take the bait without paying the price.

Advice is always welcome. Stay tuned for more updates.