Kicking It in the garden

Moving to this area for the birth of my husband’s first grandson was the first of our many adjustments between Central and Southern California.

The second was the difference in landscaping. Lodi has a lush growing season with deep fertile soil, allowing one to stick anything in the ground and wait for it to sprout.

Preparing to redesign our half-acre yard, we spent several years exploring the Fallbrook Garden Club’s annual Home Garden Tour. The beautiful homes surrounding town are indeed worthy of praise and inspired us to develop a desert landscape coupled with years of drought.

Accused by my husband of going for “form over function,” my biggest inspiration came from seeing this sign posted in one of the yards “Certified Wildlife Habitat.” By the way, you too can get one. They are online at the National Wildlife Federation for a donation. Apparently, animals can read since they all show up for dinner, even the neighborhood coyote.

Some of you may guffaw that we now embrace wild bunnies. It wasn’t always that way. Originally believing they would destroy his plantings, Vincent spent hours deciding on a course of action to eradicate them.

No. 1, we agreed firearms were out. Two, that included an air rifle. Three, a pellet gun or any sort of weaponry that might propel beyond our property line and endanger our neighbor’s well-being. Forget it.

That’s when I was inspired. I bought him a sling shot. You know, the old-fashioned kind carved out of wood with a leather pouch strapped between two rubber bands to hold the warhead. It seemed harmless enough.

He used it once. Spotting a rascally rabbit near one of his prized plantings, he stepped out from the back slider, aimed and released the pebble.

As if in slow motion, he said, the pebble left the leather pouch, ricocheted off a rock and squarely hit a dove sitting at the bird fountain.

Meanwhile, the cottontail continued to nibble beneath unaware of any impending danger. As with all happy endings, Vincent retired his slingshot. And as crazy as it seems, perhaps as penance, he now clips off orange leaves for them.

Our yard is constantly changing because we feed local and migrating birds. This year we had a pair of bluebirds trying to make a home in one of our birdhouses.

To our continued glee, with the coming of each spring, we are the home to two pairs of orioles. Their annual return to nest in our oak trees makes them the dominate species at the hummingbird feeder staving off the wee birds.

Watching hummingbird aerial maneuverings is a continued joy. Unless, their feeder is dry. That’s when I sympathize with Snoopy. These tiny birds possess the aerodynamic precision of the Red Baron, dive bombing over my head until their feeder is replenished.

While hummingbirds delight the eye, gophers continue to torment my husband and his wallet. Feasting on thousands of dollars in plantings he has become like Bill Murray in “Caddy Shack.” He has waged war on them. Yet, they are still at a standoff. Therefore, if any gardener out there has a clue on how to make our hillsides gopher-free, your words of wisdom will be appreciated.

Elizabeth Youngman-Westphal can be reached at [email protected].