There is this. A slug. I’ve been chasing around after slugs for the better part of my life. And even though they’re pretty slow, they seem to always be one step ahead of me.
and they love hostas and strawberries–the little slugs especially, and every morning i pick them off of my beans and indigo–and right now it’s a race to see who the winner will be. After a certain point, the plants will be strong enough to survive, but right now it’s just oh ever so touch and go.
So I’ve once again spent the first moments of morning handling these slippery gross creatures. I just grab them and toss. And the little ones, well, they don’t survive much handling. Have tried every thing but the rain washes away the diatomaceous earth and well, that’s as much as I’ll do to get them out of here. The problem is the mulch. And the fact that I mulch because I hate to weed. And so–a problem I’ve created but seem unwilling to change.
This is how wet it’s been. Bumblebee drown while visiting hosta.
But the strawberries. Ate a partially green one yesterday, warm. In the garden. And the sweetness was astounding.
As for cloth. I’m in a holding pattern right now. Waiting. And when I wait, I usually end up tearing and ripping and just doing some thing. Some thing to at least keep my hand in. To feel the fiber. Smell the cloth. Watch the threads fray and gently blow, now that it’s warm and I need a fan in my work space. So this will be the summer solstice cloth. Started here with a center too dark:
It’s been this kind of week. Ripping. Sudden changes. My brother-in-law not well, at all. We may be leaving for a while.