miller moth invasion | Bertram's Blog

Digging This Summer

August 27, 2023 — Pat Bertram

The slang term “to dig” means to understand, approve of, or enjoy something, with the connotation that one is really into whatever it is that one is digging.

The title of this piece might make it seem as if I am really into this summer, really enjoying it, but that perception is far from the truth. Although for the most part, this summer has been cooler than the past few summers by about five degrees or so, it is still horrendously hot, with high temperatures hovering around 99 degrees. Despite that, it’s been harder keeping things alive this year — the sunlight seems even more piercing than normal, searing skin and grass and plants and anything else it happens to fall upon, even some normally sun-loving weeds.

The scourge of insects has been as bad as the heat. First there was the miller moth invasion, where hundreds of moths descended on my yard and made their way into house. Luckily, most of those inside moths were imprisoned in the basement, but a few still made their way into my living space. The weirdest moth incursion was into the screen on my microwave. How it got inside there, I don’t know, but it sure spooked me when I realized that’s what had darkened the viewing screen.

Next came clouds of mosquitoes. Despite mosquito repellent clothes and mosquito repellent spray for my skin, I managed to get several bites every day. I was so not digging that!

And then the grasshopper horde showed up, eating things that I planted specifically because these predators have left them alone in the past, like lilacs and zinnias. That’s not so bad because the lilacs will survive and the zinnias are annuals and so would be gone anyway, but those voracious eaters pretty much ate my greengage plum trees. There is still a bit of the skeletons left, so perhaps the trees will come back next year, but I am not counting on it, especially since there are still weeks of summer left for those critters to continue munching.

We also had three devastating hailstorms. Luckily, they didn’t do any damage to the house or garage, but parts of my garden were decimated.

The most disheartening aspect of this summer has been the death of my expensively sodded lawn. They put in a grass that is geared for both sun and shade, and since most of my yard gets absolutely no shade and around fifteen hours of direct sun — searing sun — every day in the summer, the grass didn’t stand a chance. Even worse, the devil grass took over, destroying any possibility for simply overseeding the lawn.

So, no, I did not slangily dig this summer, but I did literally dig this summer, spending two or three hours every morning for the past couple of months digging up the dead grass and the live devil grass.

As hard as it is to do the work, it keeps me focused on what I can do rather than focused on things I can do nothing about. Because of that, until this past week, I wasn’t even that upset about the guys that sold me the wrong grass, but suddenly, the job overwhelmed me, and I was a bit peeved at the whole thing. I think if I believed the extreme heat tolerant grass seed I got would work out okay, it might not have bothered me, but I am to the point I’m not sure that anything I am doing is making a difference. Or that it’s worth it.

Still, I have to do something. I do like the look of the bare ground (and the gardening dream it brings of what could be), but unfortunately, I can’t leave the ground as is. Grasshoppers love bare ground to lay their nests, and next year their population would be incredibly dense if I don’t disturb the ground and plant something. Besides, weeds and the devil grass would take over, and I have no intention of ever doing this sort of digging again. Frankly, I’m astounded I could do it at all. Three years ago, my knees were so bad I could barely walk, and this year so far I’ve dug up about 1,000 square feet of weeds and grass. Makes me sore just thinking about it.

This isn’t the end, of course. After the digging comes the raking and then comes the seeding. And after all that comes daily (or even twice daily) watering until the grass comes up. (Despite my discouraging words a couple of paragraphs ago, I have to believe the grass will sprout and grow.) And then, whatever happens, happens.

Luckily, in just about four weeks, autumn will be here and put an end to this summer, whether I dig it or not.

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Posted in gardening, life. Tags: digging up dead grass, end of summer, hailstorms, heat tolerant grass, hordes of grasshoppers, miller moth invasion, putting in new lawn. 6 Comments »

Spring of Excess

May 31, 2023 — Pat Bertram

This spring seems a season of excess. There are way too many bad air days due to wildfire smoke migrating down from Canada, and there is an invasion of miller months because they aren’t migrating. (They are being slowed down by the smoke.) There are hundreds of the moths in my yard, dozens in my garage and basement, but luckily only a few in the house itself. I try to tolerate them because they are pollinators (and because they are pollinators, they are a protected species in Colorado), but I can’t find it in myself to like them, especially not in such vast numbers. Not only do they spook me when they come flying at me out of nowhere, but they are such messy critters, leaving their effluvia on windows, curtains, and anywhere else they happen to land.

There is also an excess of mosquitoes. To me, even a single mosquito is too much, but this year there are clouds of them. Normally, I am fairly safe in the heat of the early afternoon, since they are most active in the early morning and evening, but a short foray outside a couple of days ago netted me over a dozen bites. Luckily, my gardening clothes are mosquito-repellent, so as long as I am careful to wear those clothes when I am outside, I am fine.

I’m not sure why this year is different, but there is an excess of stuff (for lack of a better word) falling from trees. I do know the neighbor’s locust trees are raining flowers (miniscule greenish things that don’t resemble flowers at all), but I don’t know what the slim green things from my other neighbor’s tree are. Perhaps seeds. I don’t remember seeing them before, but this morning they are everywhere. Where’s a good wind when you need it? Oops. I shouldn’t say that — we’ve had way too much wind this spring (my hanging plants spend more time on the ground, safe from the winds, than they do hanging), so a calm morning is welcome.

We’ve had a lot of rain this spring, not an excess, exactly, but enough to make flowers and weeds grow profusely. I would have thought that I’d be appreciative of the floral largess, but to be honest, I find it a bit overwhelming. The larkspur, which is usually about knee-high, is almost as tall as I am. It’s growing thickly, especially where the grass died, making it impossible for me to access the garden bed and the plants that are buried in the larkspur forest.

I am the only one who is less than impressed with the growth. Butterflies love it.

Bees love it.

And visitors are awed. But not me. Oh, I do appreciate the beauty, but I find it unsettling. It’s . . . too much.

It’s not just the larkspur that grew more than expected. The lilac bushes doubled in size, and seeds are wildly sprouting. Normally, I have little luck with seeds, so I tend to plant more than is called for in the hope that some will take hold. Well, the zinnia seeds I planted must have had an extraordinary germination rate or they like the weather or something, because almost all of them managed to sprout. So I’ve been thinning the zinnia bed and transplanting the seedlings elsewhere in my yard; although I’ve moved half the seedlings, the bed is still too thickly planted. I have never had such a problem before, but then, I’ve never lived through a season such as this one, either.

On an amusing note, this fecundity has created an almost magical soil. I wanted to see if my neighbor wanted any of my ice plant.

I pinched off a flower to show her. Afterward, instead of tossing the sample away, I stuck in in the ground, and it’s growing. For all I know, if things continue the way they are, the plant could take over the yard.

It won’t be long before summer is here, forcing all my plants and flowers — and me! — to struggle with heat and aridity, but for now, I’m continuing to be overwhelmed by this spring of excess.

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