When Life Gives You Earwigs '

Reflections on gardening and small business

I do not possess a green thumb. Growing up in a New York apartment, I didn't learn a thing about planting, growing or harvesting. Fruits and vegetables originated from the market on the corner. When we visited my aunt and uncle in Pennsylvania, I was amazed that the ingredients in their salads were grown in their very own garden ' luscious tomatoes, crunchy lettuce and cucumbers, flavourful dill and basil and more. Being asked to go outside to pick tomatoes was a thrill.

When I moved to a condo in Toronto in the 80s I tried my hand at container gardening on the balcony. After two weeks I had to toss the pretty pink impatiens I'd carefully planted, after they were destroyed by tiny flying creatures. Aphids, I think.

City girl goes green
Moving to a house in Oakville with a spacious backyard (by my standards anyway) gave me the opportunity to finally try gardening for real. The first year was a bust. I didn't know that black walnut trees, which provide deep shade, also kill tomatoes and a host of other types of plants within 50 feet of their canopies. Armed with this knowledge, I found varieties that could resist the trees' toxins. I also learned to live in the constant presence of nut-loving squirrels and chipmunks.

Over the years I was excited to grow lettuce, zucchini, cucumbers, green beans, peppers, mint, basil, oregano, parsley and a few other experiments. Each spring I would prepare for the planting season by weeding the vegetable plot, tilling the soil, putting down some black earth purchased from the garden centre, and then spreading my precious compost. Yes, throughout most of the year, except in the dead of winter, I trudged to the side of the house to deposit apple cores, egg shells, potato peels and wilted greens into a big black plastic box, which magically turned this kitchen waste into rich compost. For a city girl, this was next to miraculous.

Some summers were better than others. One year, for example, an uptick in the local rabbit population transformed my garden into a bunny snack bar. Another summer, a surfeit of travel and deadlines pulled me away from the garden too often, and the weeds got the upper hand.

The march of the earwigs
And then came the earwigs, the heat and the drought of 2012. Early in the season, I noticed that something was munching on my bok choy and Chinese cabbage. By the time I recognized the scourge of the earwigs, it was too late; the plants were decimated. I left them in the ground, hoping that the insects would confine their nocturnal snacking to these plants, and leave the others alone. They did, for the most part. My leaf and Boston lettuce did pretty well. Then Mother Nature turned off the rain and cranked up the sun and the temperature. No amount of hand watering or sprinkling seemed to help. (Perhaps plants don't like Oakville's super-chlorinated tap water?)

During all-too-brief thunderstorms, fat raindrops seemed to bounce off the hard soil. One zucchini plant keeled over. The cilantro withered. The basil grew spindly, the parsley browned.

By this point in the season, early August, I should be tending to knee-high zucchini plants with elephant-ear-sized leaves. I should be baking zucchini bread and begging the neighbours to take some veggies off my hands. Instead, I have one diminutive plant that has yielded two measly zucchinis. And, so far I have eaten one cucumber from the garden. The others were either yellow or rotten. I won't be freezing a batch of fragrant pesto this year either.

Lamenting the state of the back yard to my daughter the other night, I said: 'Forget it. All that work for nothing. Next year I'm just going to put down grass seed and forget about planting herbs and vegetables.'

(And yes, I'm aware that my travails are picayune compared to the plight of farmers trying to make a living off the land.)

Not ready to throw in the trowel
But today I've reconsidered. This city girl isn't quite ready to throw in the trowel. I'm trying to figure out how to ensure that my garden of 2013 has a better chance of success. I'm not sure yet what the answer is. A deeper layer of compost? A rain barrel to capture whatever moisture Mother Nature bestows on us? Hardier plants? An eagle eye to spot the first incursion of earwigs?

I can't help comparing this year's gardening experience with owning a small business. At times, success just seems to happen, and you don't even know how lucky you are when fortune shines. And as much as you can't take credit for luck, you can't take the blame for crap that's beyond your control.

No matter how well we think we have prepared, bad stuff happens. The answer, for me, is not to quit, but to do an even better job next time of laying the groundwork and being sensitive to the environment. Giving up is not an option.

So, how's your garden this year?