From whence we came

Growing up in Montana (the picture at the top of the blog is what I got to see every morning out the back door) kind of makes it easy to love being outside.  But, as in most areas of my life, I did it my way. 

Excercise to me was in the form of yard work or riding the horses.  I couldn’t and can’t stand to hike – what’s the point?  You go up, you come down – or, here in Michigan, you go in, you come out.

Fishing, I enjoy.  So long as someone (hi honey!) baits the hook, takes the fish off, and cleans it.  See what I mean?  My way.

Gardening really is no different.  Creepy things and me just cannot coexist.  Worms?  Don’t even get within 50 feet of me.  Ants?  Anyone hear of Orkin?  I’ve tried, Lord I’ve tried, to emerge a bigger, better person by bringing in “tools” of the trade that may help – but, no – Rubber Gloves cannot get me to love the critters any more.  I’m sure there is some benefit to having ants in the garden, but I cannot sit by and watch my hills, mounds and rows become a home to these things.  Worms, I can accept in the garden because even I know they need to be there, but I have to get rid of the ants. 

I will be going to the store to get some (gasp) pesticide.  I prefer to think of it as a going away cocktail for the ants, grubs, fleas, and whatever else in the garden.



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