I've enjoyed walking around the house lately, watching some of our plants slowly wake themselves from their winter nap. Over the weekend, I coaxed a ladybug onto my fingertip and wondered how it managed to find enough to eat this early.
We harvested some more rocks from the vegetable garden - we're very good at growing the head-sized variety of limestone. In doing so, I encountered some of our resident earthworms.
It's always a good sign to find big, fat earthworms in the veggie plot. If they are thriving, we must be feeding the dirt well - we're trying to limit chemical use and work compost and straw into the lovely Cole County clay to make it easier for the plants to root in and feed.
So when I walked out this rainy morning and found dozens of worms on the driveway, lying stick-straight, it bummed me out. Little dudes had mere minutes before the early bird stopped by for breakfast and his work would be easy.
Save a few, you say? Pick them up and throw them in the grass.
Uh, no.
I love worms. I love what they do to enrich the soil. Finding them when I dig is like finding an Easter egg underground. But there is no way I will pick them up unless I'm wearing gloves. Cannot stand to hold them.
The first worm that tried to burrow through my hand to escape totally freaked out little-girl me. Hand me a garter snake - we're good. Toss a daddy longlegs my way and I'll study him a while. Attempt to hand me a worm and you are on. your. own.
I admire them...but never barehanded.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment