mice – At Home in France

It’s March. March is always up and down, in terms of weather. Warm, cold, rain, wind, sun, something else, as long as it’s different. But this year we have had a warm winter, so it looks like genuine spring could pop out at any time.

This time of year I usually post a photo of daffodils. They’re doing fine, as are the crocuses and snowdrops. but the new interesting things are the magnolia stellata trees that I planted last spring. See above. They are out there flowering like crazy. No leaves have popped out, there or anywhere I planted something deciduous. The ground cover hasn’t yet filled in. So they are out there doing their best to give me hope for the future of my otherwise drab garden. For this I am most grateful.

I found them in a Dorling Kindersley book, “What Plant Where.” So I put them on a list and headed off to Ripaud, my favorite garden center, where the guy in charge totally knows his stuff. He loves them and they were in stock so, why not. And they are great, so far much more rewarding than anything other new thing.

Apart from being pleased that something actually works, I’m planning a couple of next phases. I’ve been feeding birds. I like the birds, though I’m not yet sure how to square that with their insatiable appetite for my cherries. When it starts to pull together I’ll show you what I have in mind for a little bird sanctuary, a sheltered area not now used at all. It will have nests and a shallow fountain, insect hotels, whatever I can think of that will feed the little guys and generally make them happy.

Also my owl buffet, the wild area you may have seen behind my kitchen garden, is getting an upgrade. It will still be pretty wild, but I’m continuing my war with the more noxious weeds and adding easy/no care perennials that should attract butterflies and all. With any luck the birds will pig out on bugs and leave my fruit alone.

The two fountains I have planned will, I hope, save the owls. Last year, during the heat waves, I think a lot of them died. I’m only now starting to hear them again, and only once in a while.

Last year my chimneys were rebuilt, partly because crows had knocked out a few bricks and had this multi-layered nesting system going, like a crow apartment building. This year the crows came back. No apartments yet, but I do think there is a nest in at least one of the chimney pots. This means bird shit on the skylight just above my bed but on balance, I like having them there. And at night when the stars are out, I can look around the poo. The stars are still there.

Last year my cherries were invaded by worms. It was nasty. This year I’ll spray. I got a few organic things — bacillus thuringensis, neem oil, that kind of thing — that I hope will kill the little buggers. I have a promise of fruit out there — apples, pears, almonds, maybe a couple of other things. This year I’d like to share less, keep more for myself.

The same is true of the kitchen garden, where I plan to plant peas with everything, to fix nitrogen in the soil. After a few years of layers of cardboard, compost, imported soil and all, we have possibly buried the rocks that are everywhere out there. The rocks will still find their way to the surface, but I hope they won’t give us too much trouble. Plus, don’t hate me, I’m going to go off the organic piste a bit, just in the kitchen garden. I got some Miracle Gro. With that and the seaweed fertilizer that should be delivered tomorrow, I’m hoping for a bumper crop. Last year’s San Marzanos are simmering on my stove right now. They smell terrific. I want more as do, I’m sure, Julien and his family.

That’s my story. I’ll update you and even include a photo or two of Jacques when things leaf out.

Yes, Jacques has been digging. It’s okay: the mice have found the kitchen garden. This is war!

In general the garden is doing pretty well. We are eating all the tomatoes we can stand and reducing the rest to sauce, which we are freezing for winter.

Sometimes things grow where I wish they wouldn’t. You see morning glories burying my nonblooming jasmine. I hope when it clears out I will find the anemones I planted this spring.

To get back to my little wild man, I was prowling the potager, wishing Julien had taken maybe twice as many tomatoes home with him when, underneath the plastic sheeting, I could hear the pitter patter of little feet. I had noticed that something was actually eating a tomato — not a bird or a worm or snail, no, actually eating it. And now here, on the opposite side of the garden, was an actual culprit. No no no: I’ll share, but this was getting out of control. I had no choice but to say the magic words: “Jacques, come here!”

Now, Jacques comes when he figures there is something in it for him. The rest of the time, forget it. Maybe he heard the scratching too. He was there in a flash, pouncing on the little moving bump. Yes!, though I think the bump got away. Since then Jacques has been on permanent mouse patrol. He actually goes through the plants, nudging leaves aside so he can sniff and peer through the foliage.

Sometimes he digs. Yesterday I decided to harvest some potatoes. The tomatoes and squash are fighting for space and the potatoes were looking a little peaked anyway, so why not pull them out. It turns out those little shit rodents were eating the potatoes, too, but only from one plant. Go figure. So of the half dozen plants I pulled out, with a little canine assistance, only that one hole held any real interest for him. I’d pull up a plant, he’d sniff, then look at me. “So why are we here?” Then he’d return to this spot, where he spent a good hour, pretty much the way you see him.

I think he wore himself out. He’s been pretty sedentary for the last 12 hours or so. But I’ll head back out there this afternoon, it being tomato time. I’m sure he’ll be right there with me.