Kiss the Earth

I don't have deer in my city garden, though they've occasionally been sighted nearby, obviously on the way over. I don't have groundhogs or aphids or Japanese beetles - yet.

I do, however, have squirrels, and not to complain 'cause I know a lot of gardeners out there have horrendous problems with pests, but squirrels can be trying, to put it mildly. This time of year, especially, they're out of control ... not crazed by hormones, but by the will to live through the winter.

They're digging up bulbs planted last spring! They've made so many holes in the garden it looks like a golf course for amateurs. They're grabbing whatever they can, hiding it anywhere and ... sampling my tomatoes like there's no tomorrow.

I guess in their little brains, there IS no tomorrow. But do you have to rub it in, leaving me your half-eaten messes?

This has been a terrible year for tomatoes in my garden, and more than a few of you have told me the same about yours. We've concluded that after a perfect spring, the horrendously hot weather pretty much sealed the deal for tomatoes, which really don't like temperatures over about 90 degrees. They just didn't ripen for the longest time, and by the time one or two started turning, we were headed for fall.

Over the weekend, I began the process of putting my garden to bed for the winter, which meant yanking the slo-mo tomato plants that have tormented me all summer. There were dozens of greenies on the stalks, which I know will never ripen before frost, so out they went, fodder for my never-ending learning curve.

This time last year, I was still harvesting beautiful tomatoes. I don't mind feeding the squirrels, but they've managed to seize on this year's vulnerability, ignoring all else in the garden. In fact, as the weeks have gone by, more than a few neighbors, coworkers and friends - whom I happily supplied with tomatoes last summer - have asked, "How're the tomatoes this year?"

Don't ask me. Ask the *&&*^%&^*&!@) squirrels.