Please put your hands together for…the raccoon family circus!

These four masked marauders visited us last night, gorging themselves on bird seed, suet and oriole jelly, and then washing it all down with nice sweet hummingbird water. I should have chased ‘em off. They ravaged my sweet corn last year. I got exactly no ears of corn from the whole patch. But they were soooo cute. Critters 1, Robyn 0.

Remember those very uncute Colarado potato beetles I was battling earlier this season? I valiantly picked them off my nice heirloom potato leaves by hand. Once, twice, thrice. They were so oogy and I was so proud to be so organic.

Well, it’s all over now. They won. I couldn’t chase them off. They’ve decimated my potatoes. Today I watched a wasp doing something evil (I’m not sure exactly what, but I’m pretty sure it involved death) to a potato beetle larvae. It rolled it this way and that. Then bug juice squirted out. Really, I’m not making this up. I felt like the lion was getting the zebra in one of those Wild Kingdom episodes from when I was a kid. I couldn’t look away, though I really wanted to. I didn’t know whether to cheer for the ugly larvae or the hideous wasp.

I can’t spray the beetles because my honeybees forage in the garden. I’m thinking seriously about zapping the whole lot of ‘em (the potatoes) with one of those propane torches to get rid of the bugs. But I’m afraid that if I burn up or rip out the potatoes, then all those nasty bugs will just head over to Robyn’s tomato buffet and keep on eating. Critters 2, Robyn 0.

What to do, what to do? Have you ever given up on a crop entirely? How much shame is there in that?

Nothing sends shivers up my spine like spiders and aphids. Ferocious hunters and garden friends, I’ve learned to respect the eight-legged monsters I find in the garden as long as they keep their distance. (Eat your fill, boys. No crawling in my hair or hiding under my pant legs.) But aphids, also known as plant lice, are just plain ga-ross.

Their soft, bloated and lethargic bodies remind me of the horrors of 4th grade.
I had super long hair that my mother would lovingly roll into Princess Leia buns, but like all pre-pubescent Madonna fans, I wanted a bad 80’s perm and a big bow in my hair. A month after a got my way and got my frizzy locks, I also got head lice.

I remember them on my pillow. I remember them on my Flashdance sweatshirt. I remember my mother dousing me in lice shampoo and the strong insecticide burning my nostrils. I cried, horrified and ashamed as she combed their soft, bloated and lethargic bodies out of my perm.

I know, ga-ross.

Brown aphids, not brown seeds.

After my weekend adventures in the Windy City, my garden was in full bloom. Big purple blossoms of bee balm and coneflower greeted me as a pulled up the driveway. My tomatoes, peppers and cucumber plants had doubled in size and were covered in yellow flowers. And my broccoli raab had not only bolted, but was heavy with seedpods. Some were even covered in little brown bumps as if the seedpods had exploded.

I reached out to examine the seeds more closely. Instead I got a handful of mashed brown aphids. They were all over the broccoli raab and now, all over me.

What the… Aaarrrgh!

Aphids, or plant lice, live to suck the sap right out of your plants and can mutate or stunt growth in new leaves, stems and buds. There are about 4,000 species of aphids. They can be red, brown, green or black in color and they generally appear in clusters.

As these little buggers feed, they can’t metabolize all the sugar they steal from your plants and secrete a sticky honeydew substance. Black fungus called “sooty mould” can grow on these honeydew secretions and cause further damage to tender plant parts. (Ants like the sweet honeydew and some species of ants actually raise and farm aphids.)

In most cases, a healthy plant will survive an aphid attack. They are at the bottom of a complex garden food chain and are the perfect snack for ladybugs, lacewings and hoverflies.

For those with lice-free childhoods, these soft-bodied suckers are still an unsavory sight. There are many ways to remove them (I would not recommend mashing them with between your fingers… ). In this case, I got lucky. I was going to dig up my broccoli raab this weekend, anyway. Ha-ha! Let see how long you suckers survive in the compost bin!

So, how do you rid your plants of these overpopulated parasites? What are the most eco-friendly steps to take?

We’ve got the cutest little baby bunnies in our backyard — about two dozen of them, at last count. (OK, I made up that number. They’re kind of hard to count, since they move so fast and look so much alike. But I’ve got a ton of them.) So far, they’ve eaten an entire dwarf goatsbeard, a good chuck of my ghost ferns and are just now tucking into the hosta. Num-num.

So what am I gonna do about them? Not much. Even tho it’s legal in most cities to kill nuisance animals, I couldn’t do it. Though they’re decimating my garden, they’re too cute to kill. (BTW, it’s not legal to live trap them an move them to public property. In most cities, you need a special license to do that.)

For more Zone 4 gardening tips, check out Connie’s weekly podcast Dirt on Gardening

The most effective way to keep bunnies out of your garden is to build a fence (at least 3 feet high), but I’m not gonna do that either. You can also cover your most edible beds with netting. (Ugly.) Or stretch Mylar tape around your garden or a plunk a plastic owl in the middle of your bed. (Get out.) Or plant marigolds around the edge. (Been there, failed at that.)

Instead, I think I’ll try one of the not-proven-but-popular homemade repellents: human hair clippings, mothballs or one of those nasty concoctions that involve water and some sort of pepper. (They supposedly don’t like the taste).

Is your garden being over run by bun-buns? Are you mad as heck and not gonna take it anymore? What are you gonna do about it?

I transplanted my cukes less than two weeks ago. They happily sprouted yellow flowers — and now, a teeny tiny cucumber! Whee!

About two weeks ago, I also transplanted my parsley. At first, it was a little leggy but after a few days in the sunshine, it grew tall and tasty, but I wasn’t the only one making a meal of this herb. A swallowtail caterpillar was happily munching on the nutrient rich leaves. I’m a sucker for butterflies, so I was rather excited for my uninvited guest.

“Help yourself, good buddy.”

Unfortunately, this green guy became a party of three. The hungry hungry caterpillars quickly devoured both plants. Now, all I have are parsley stems. And there’s not a cocoon insight.

Happily, the monarch catepillars are eating the butterfly weed. It was a volunteer from last year (Ooops, I should’ve included it in last week’s post about volunteer plants…). I fell in love the pink flowers and silky seed pods and let it reseed itself on the side of the house.

So what’s coming up in your garden? When planning your beds, do you include plants to attract butterflies and other beneficial insets to your garden? Have your good intentions ever gone awry like my parsley pal?

My succulent garden is slowly filling in. Just about everything survived transplanting. There are still a few open patches, but my bank account can no longer support impulse purchases — Especially when I still have seeds to plant.

A week ago, I noticed that a few hens-and-chicks were looking kinda ratty around the edges. I chalked it up to an unseasonably cold night and quickly forgot about it.

A few days later, there were two giant holes and dirt everywhere. Several plants were missing and rocks were out of place.

Naughty neighbors? Evil squirrels?

I bent down for a closer look. I put my hand in the dirt. It slipped on something warm and squishy — something that was definitly not sedum and definitely not dirt. My brain moved slowly. I stared at the ground, then at my hand, then at my succulent surprise — FRESH CAT POOP!!!!

My sedum garden is now the neighborhood cat box.

So gross.