What the armadillo left me

Since armadillos not only like to dig holes in pretty lawns while they search for grubs, but also destroy flower beds in the hunt for bulbs and my flower beds were a mess before I caught up with my own personal armadillo last fall, I overcompensated when it came time to buy daffodils, tulips, and hyacinths.

This morning, with the sun shining and the temps in the 50s, I got to rue that decision.

Normally, I wouldn't have bought daffies or hyacinths since they come back year to year. But I didn't trust that to happen, so armed with 45 hyacinths, 100 tulips, and 40 daffodils, I started digging my own holes.

I've never held to the theory that they have to be planted WAY deep. Two or three inches has served me well and digging any deeper in our black clay soil requires more strength than I have or have had. I made my plan and put foot to shovel and found...

... bulbs. Several inches high in fact, nestled under piles of large sycamore leaves from our neighbors' down the street. I shall save my ire and think of them as a protective layer against the cold. I had to hunt around my previous hyacinths and indeed find a few new places, to plant the 45.

I ran into similar circumstances with the daffodils because I always go back to the same holes to dig. Go figure. However, there weren't any signs of budding tulips and really, not that many daffies.

My armadillo had a thing for tulips, would take a daffodil if hungry, and snubbed the hyacinths. Lucky me?

Going on a grub worm hunt

Grub worms are the bane of any lawn. Around my lawn--and in my flowerbeds--they're ubiquitous. All I usually have to do to find one is dig a hole for a new plant.

Since this isn't the season for sprucing up my high-temperature-devasted flowerbeds, why would I be hunting for grub worms?

The answer is simple: we have an armadillo and it is time he went away. I'm going trapping and I need bait.

I first noticed a disturbance in my front flowerbeds about two-three weeks ago. There were holes and they weren't cat-potty holes. An armadillo was after my tulip and daffodil bulbs and if the number of holes are any indication, I will not have any bulbs left from last spring to enhance my next spring. I usually replant the tulips anyway, but I have (had?) so many daffodils. Hundreds. Really.

Obviously, I needed to do something about Mr. Armadillo, so I used my late neighbor's old wives' tale cure-all: blood meal. I sprinkled it liberally around the area and all seemed to be well until it wore off and there were holes again. More blood meal and this time it wasn't a week before there were more holes. Someone must have developed an immunity to it. Except now, instead of merely being in the flowerbeds, he'd branched out to the front lawn. It looked like a divot-pocked golf green. (Except the 60+ days of over 100 degrees have pretty well taken care of most green in our lawn, no matter the sprinkler system.)

I concluded that he'd eaten all my bulbs and was now after the grubs. Not that we mind him getting the grubs. It would have been nice for him to start there instead of the easy pickings of the flowerbeds. It would have been nicer had he covered up his holes. Good golfers repair their divots.

Despite my spouse's sympathy ("He's hungry and thirsty."), something has to be done. Perhaps he thinks all this grub-hunting is aeration?

So I went to dig grubs in the back yard where the armadillo, I think, cannot get in.

There weren't any that I could find. Instead I stumbled upon some bulbs and I hate to admit it, but that's what I've baited the trap with. My good bulbs.

He'd better be hungry and he'd better be there tonight!

I mint well

One does not pass up 70 degree January days in North Texas. So yesterday, when we had one, I pulled the tulip, crocus, daffie, and hyacinth bulbs out of the refrigerator, grabbed the shovel, and proceeded to push them into the flower beds. Last year's crop of the newly-planted had been beyond disappointing, as none of the 100 tulip bulbs appeared. As I am a creature of habit (all my veggie garden rows curved the same way year after year much to my husband's chagrin), I found myself pushing the shovel into the same areas of ground as last year. How do I know that? I found sprouting bulbs.

Maybe they were taking a year off last season. Whatever, they now have considerable company.

I ended up in the backyard yesterday afternoon, planting a few bulbs and then taking the pruners to the lantana bushes. I love lantana and lantana loves me. Too much love, as I bought the wrong thing several years ago and instead of spreading on the ground and behaving, the varieties grew about 6 feet tall and threatened to take over. I started getting my revenge, however, by cutting them off at the ground. They will be back; I'm sure of it.

This morning, although the weather was not at all as nice as it had been, I determined to finish hacking, uh, pruning the lantana, and I ventured forth once more. I was going great until I reached the herb bed. There's a huge rosemary plant and some plucky sage. Until the 13 degree nights two weeks ago, there was oregano.

And then there's the mint. Everywhere. In the grass. Under the brick edging. Some, but not nearly enough of it, frozen and brown. I started pulling and found luxuriant green growth. Mint must be a weed. It has become a very unwelcome guest and ground cover.

So, I had a thought as I was pulling and pulling and getting no where. By the patio is a patch of ground cover which should have taken over 6 or 7 years ago when it was planted. It is still anemic and lethargic. What if I transplanted some mint? Would it show itself to be its usual hardy and stubborn self, or would it, like all the ground covers I've tried, promptly turn up its little flora nose and refuse to propagate?

It's something to think about.