Carnage

We've got a "Next Year's Garden" lesson in the making, folks. I think that's a clear sign that this topic should get bumped to the top of the posting queue.

[Note: what a cool word that is, "queue." I mean, really, how often do you get to use the "ueue" combination? "Banana" is notable for a similar repeated-letters reason, but the vowels really add that extra somethin' if you ask me.]

Ok. Where was I? Right, I was about to tell you what I found when I watered the vegetable garden today. I noticed the beet greens first. Most of them are still ok, but there's a smattering of red stalks blatantly missing their green leaves. Then I saw the kohlrabi, which had been lush and healthy to the point of shading its neighbors; about half of them are decimated. And the lettuce. Oh, the lettuce. The last head of looseleaf yet to use for salad had measured maybe 15" across yesterday. Today, well, I don't really want to talk about it (*sniff*).

I'm not -- and I shouldn't be -- surprised that some form of small, adorable, somewhat evil, furry creature has been using the garden as a buffet. We live next to the woods, basically (not really, but enough that it looks like The Woods are right next to the yard, and enough that I'm sure we're got plenty of furry creatures as neighbors). And I'm sure the garden is delicious for them. But they'd completely ignored it up until now (pea plants notwithstanding). Why now? Does a mid-July chow-down start date shed any light on why particular type of furry creature we're dealing with? Next year, we'll have to use some sort of strategy to keep this from happening at any point during the growing season and avoid the complacency that apparently was this year's downfall. Any suggestions?

As I insinuated, though, there are other lessons I've already gathered this year for use next spring. I've incorporated Thou Shall Use Tomato Cages Instead of Stakes from 2008 with great success, so if I can add some of the following into the mix as well, I'm hoping continued progress will abound.

1. When the maple tree drops its hordes and hordes of seed "helicopters," clear them right away. They are not just nature's confetti. Each and every one will germinate, on a staggered schedule, resulting in the plucking of miniature maple trees every single day.

2. Certain plants don't play well with others. They hog the sun and refuse to share. Namely, we're talking here about kohlrabi and beets, and we're really talking about string beans. They need lots more space. Surprisingly, cucumbers and melon do not. Their vines might trail out a ways, but that can be controlled and the actual dirt space needed is more modest than expected.

3. When the books tell you to plant leeks in trenches so you can cover their stalks with dirt as they grow, they mean trenches deeper than a few inches. Whoops.

4. Peas won't climb a post-style fence as they would a trellis. Seed packets insisting that a particular variety doesn't need to climb any sort of structure are lying. Buy some netting.


Any awesome strategies you've learned over the years through trial and error? (Bonus points for ideas pertaining to furry creatures with healthy appetites. :))