…and slugs do slither under the bare feet of the wicked. I’m serious. Somehow, more than once, orange (yet again!) slugs have appeared–or been found underfoot–on the hardwood floor of the greatroom.
This is not an experience that leaves one’s psyche untrodden. It’s bad enough that they compete (with a host of other potential invertebrate herbivores) for the garden produce. But mucoid muscular mollusks do not belong between one’s toes.
Forgive me, but I am whining the buggy blues this morning, driven in from the increasingly-verdant garden (as you can see in the picture–click to enlarge) by pests previously unknown to Goose Creek.
Once, the first summer we were here (2000) I looked down to see a trickle of blood weeping down my calf while I picked suckers off the tomatoes. This year, it happens every time I go out to work within the gulag garden-fence. We have black flies.
And we have no-see-ums. Occasionally in past summers when the winds bring them from the coast, we’ve had a few. We have more than a few. They make me break out in welts. They love to graze my scalp, breaching the boundary of my widebrimmed hat, kicking while bitting like a cat with their spikey little feet, especially when I am helpless to swat, what with wet grass and mulch on my fingers.
The plain old ordinary gnats I used to complain about are still doing their part, to be sure–diving for ear drums and conjunctiva, with the occasional kamikaze strike to nasal or oral targets. PatttoooWeee!
Even so, the tomatoes are setting fruit, none ripe quite yet. The beans are almost all to the top of the cattle panels (8 feet) and flowering. We may, after all, replenish the canning we have depleted, and come September, be done with the Climate Chaos Critters that may be the new regulars of summer.
And oh, BTW, for you heathens, the title is from the Bible.
Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal. Matthew 6:19