Battling The Bird-Brains

July 5, 2023July 5, 2023 / Diane Henders / 22 Comments

A few years ago, I wrote about my battle with marauding robins in our strawberry patch. At the time I was feeling smug because I’d just finished locking the robins out with plastic netting.

Fast-forward a couple of years, and the plastic netting had decayed in the sun to the point where the robins could simply push through it. Fine. We were ready for a permanent enclosure anyway.

We got the wire mesh and steel poles, and then I hurt my back and couldn’t pick strawberries anyway. The strawberry patch turned into a weedy mess, and the robins had their merry way with the remaining berries.

But then, inspiration struck: If I couldn’t pick strawberries from the beds on the ground, why not raise them? Strawberry gutters to the rescue! The berry-enclosure project was revived.

Fast-forward to this spring:

The berry enclosure now protects our strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries! The walls are chicken-wire and the roof is flexible netting. (We can’t leave a permanent roof in place over winter because of snow load.)

We installed the netting roof just as the strawberries were ripening, and I eyed the enclosure with satisfaction. Conveniently pickable berries; birds excluded. Perfect.

Not two hours later, I glanced out the window and spotted a bird in there.

After a moment’s chagrin, I decided we must have left a gap in the roof netting; or maybe on one of the side walls where the wire mesh overlapped. That should be easily remedied. I went out and battened down the hatches, then headed back to the house secure in the knowledge that my berries were now safe.

Two hours later: Another bird in the enclosure. What?

Out I went again. This time I spent a bunch of time kicking up a ridge of dirt all around the bottom of the walls, surmising that the birds must be ducking (or in this case, Spotted Towhee-ing) under the bottom of the chicken-wire.

Just as I finished that sweat-popping chore, the towhee came back and landed outside the enclosure.

“Ha! You’re outta luck, buddy,” I told him. “No more berries for you.”

As I turned away, a flash of movement caught my eye. In the instant it took me to turn back, the towhee was already perched inside on a berry trough. Taunting me with his reedy whistling laugh, the little bastard.

What the actual f***?!?

I’m embarrassed to admit how many more trips to and from the enclosure (now dubbed The Birdcage) were necessary before I figured out that the nylon roof mesh has larger holes than the chicken-wire. It still excludes fat robins, but the slimmer towhees can slip right through. The towhee figured that out in seconds. It took me several days. Who’s the bird-brain here?

The strawberries are just about finished for the season anyway, and the towhee isn’t as greedy and destructive as the robins; so we’ve decided to deal with the roof problem later. But now the towhee comes over and cusses me out every time I go into his berry patch.

Bird-brains. Sigh.

Book 18 update: Progress at last, woohoo! I’m on Chapter 7, and Aydan has just discovered something unsettling about one of her fellow agents.

Critters vs. Me

June 9, 2021June 8, 2021 / Diane Henders / 31 Comments

So, it finally happened: The local critters have ganged up on me.

Last week I had rolled our garbage carts out to the curb and retreated to the house to wash my hands and grab my morning cup of tea to enjoy on our front porch. About fifteen minutes later, I heard the distinctive sound of a garbage cart being rolled over asphalt. And we don’t have neighbours who live close enough to interfere with our garbage carts.

I craned my neck. Sure enough, a big black bear was batting our kitchen waste cart around, about a hundred yards away.

I jumped up and yelled, “HEY BEAR! GET LOST!”

The bear glanced up and a thought-bubble appeared above its head: “Why is that annoying little creature disturbing my breakfast-to-be?”

Since my primary goal is to not die of my own stupidity, I didn’t press the point in person. Instead I got into my car and drove to the front gate, where I bravely honked the horn from behind our 8-foot deer fence. The bear ambled off into the forest, and after a respectful pause I scooted out to retrieve our garbage cart (fortunately bear-proof) and replace it at the curb. But I’m pretty sure the bear was the master of that situation.

The next marauding critters were robins. The cheap plastic mesh we used to protect our strawberries two years ago has rotted away, so we’re constructing a new permanent enclosure with chicken wire. But we’re behind schedule, so the ripening berries are unprotected. I’ll say no more; and simply refer you to my post from two years ago: https://blog.dianehenders.com/2019/06/12/flipped-off-by-the-bird/. It’s an exact repeat.

I wasn’t surprised by the behaviour of the bear and the birds, but the crowning insult of my week was being bested by a bunny.

After discovering that some of our newly-emerged beans and sunflowers had been nipped off by bunny teeth, I deployed a rabbit fence around the garden. I was short on time so I shoved the posts into the ground by hand and strung a two-foot-high barrier of chicken wire between them. It was wimpy, but I figured it was strong enough to stop a not-too-determined rabbit.

And it was. No more rabbit problems.

But the bunnies got the last laugh: A couple of days ago I was striding across the garden with my attention elsewhere and my gaze fixed on the horizon. Moments later I was doing a graceful slow-motion faceplant when the damn-near-invisible rabbit fence tackled me around the knees.

On the bright side, I was lucky my makeshift posts weren’t solidly rooted. I easily broke my fall with my hands in the soft earth, and the only injury was to my dignity. Plus, I made an important discovery at the same time.

Science tells us that rabbits don’t vocalize, except for a truly horrifying scream when they’re attacked. Well, science is wrong.

’Cause I distinctly heard a rabbit laughing.

Anybody else have run-ins with rabbits? Or do things like that only happen to me?

Book News: Book 16 is available in paperback now! If you’re interested, purchasing links are available on my Books page. And Book 17 is swirling around in my brain. No formal plotting yet, but it’s slowly taking shape. Stay tuned…

Off In The Weeds

July 22, 2020July 22, 2020 / Diane Henders / 48 Comments

Maybe I’ve been self-isolating for just a little too long. I’m talking to weeds now, and it almost cost me a friendship.

But it wasn’t my fault that I apparently phoned my very nice neighbour and told her she wasn’t welcome at our place. No; the blame lies with our strawberry patch, and rampant weeds. (It’s good to be a fiction writer — we can manufacture bullshit to rationalize even the most egregious behaviour.)

Here’s what happened:

Our garden is in full swing, which is my oblique way of admitting that we planted far too much as usual. I’ve picked 150 pounds of strawberries so far, and everything else is doing its best to compete with that over-the-top-abundance. And when I say, ‘everything else’, that includes the weeds.

But the strawberries didn’t quit after yielding 150 pounds. They were still pumping out ten pounds of berries every second day when I cried ‘Uncle’ and started inviting friends and neighbours over to pick. (Thank goodness we have lots of room so social distancing was easy.)

One of our neighbours planned to drop by sometime in the late morning, and she said she’d call before she came. I was outside weeding and enjoying the beautiful weather, so I stuck the phone in my pocket.

Spotting one of those long vine-like weeds wrapped around a potato plant like a malevolent steel cable, I hunkered down to unravel it.

“You’re… not… welcome here!” I growled, just as the phone handset beeped.

When I took it out and checked the display, my heart plummeted: “Missed call”, along with my neighbour’s number.

Oh, SHIT.

I dialled her back, and she picked up immediately.

“Um…” I began sheepishly. “Did I just, um… hang up on you?”

“No,” she replied, sounding puzzled. “I didn’t call you yet.”

Whew! I had pocket-dialled the call list; not my neighbour.

I sagged with relief and explained the situation, and laughter ensued. It was a little embarrassing, but I figured it was better to be that weirdo who talks to weeds than that rabid bitch who invites people over and then rudely rescinds the invitation.

And as soon as I got off the phone, I yanked out that weed with extreme prejudice.

I’d love to report that I’ve learned my lesson and I don’t talk to weeds anymore; but that would be a lie. The only thing I’ve actually learned is not to carry the phone to the garden.

Please tell me I’m not the only one who talks to weeds…

Book 16 update: Initial plotting is almost complete, and I’m hoping to start putting words on the page this week. Woohoo!

Flipped Off By The Bird

June 12, 2019August 19, 2020 / Diane Henders / 44 Comments

It’s that time of year again, when even the mildest-mannered gardener turns into a homicidal lunatic. I wasn’t mild-mannered in the first place, so I’m in full Rambo-mode.

Why, you ask? (Or maybe you don’t; but tough noogies. I’m going to tell you anyway.) Yep, once again I’m locked in a life-or-death struggle with garden-raiding critters.

In March, Hubby took down last year’s bird netting so he could double the size of our strawberry patch. We now have 22 raised beds, an area 60 feet long and 20 feet wide. After much anticipation (and much weeding), the first few berries began to blush a couple of weeks ago.

The robins swooped in immediately.

“That’s okay,” I thought. “It’s a giant patch. There’ll be enough for all of us.”

Ha.

Robins do not share well. Nor are they considerate berry-pickers. When I went out to pick ‘my share’, I discovered that long sharp beaks had plunged into almost every berry that had even a touch of red, and about half the harvest was gone entirely.

Then the robins got possessive. No longer did they fly away when I approached. I had to chase them off, waving my arms and shouting obscenities. (The obscenities probably weren’t strictly necessary, but they made me feel better.)

Then it got to the point where they’d only move about ten feet despite my bellowing and arm-waving; and as soon as I hunkered down to pick the pathetic leftovers, they’d settle in a couple of rows behind me and chow down all over again.

The worst part was their derisive clucking and chirping. I just knew those little feathered bastards were laughing at me.

So, up went the netting again. As I secured the last gap, I shot a triumphant look at the robin perched outside the perimeter. “This is your own fault,” I lectured. “If you hadn’t been so greedy, you could have still been eating nice fresh berries.”

He let out a loud chirp, flicked his tail at me, and flocked off. He didn’t have a middle finger to jab skyward, but I got the message loud and clear. Now I know why they call it ‘flipping the bird’.

At least my berries are ripening unmolested now. But… last night I spotted a rabbit checking out the veggie garden.

AAARGH!!! GRAB THE CHICKENWIRE; I’M GOIN’ IN!

Do you ‘enjoy the relaxing hobby of gardening’?