Garden Problems: &$%#ing Squirrel Edition

This year has seen a record influx in the squirrel population in New Hampshire. As I write this, I am soothed only by the knowledge that the rest of the state (and much of New England) is experiencing the same thing we did; and that predator population ought to be rising in the next few years to even out the squirrel population as a result.

PILFERING PEACHES

This year, all six of our peach trees were mature enough to produce a – how do I say this politely? – holy ton of fruit. Last year, we were swimming in peaches — in fact, we started the summer with three full gallon bags of frozen peaches left over from last summer. We reveled in our 2017 harvest; 2016 saw a huge crop loss of peaches across the Northeast, and we’d had a measly 3 peaches. Watching the trees bloom and the baby fruit come in, we were poised for another bumper crop of peaches.

And then the squirrels came.

Red and grey and brown, they nearly cleared my early-setting tree, leaving half-eaten hard peaches strewn across the lawn: silent little taunts. I rescued ten peaches from the first tree and let them ripen indoors, half the size they should have been. I let the dogs out into the orchard more frequently. I screamed at the squirrels when I saw them. I thought it was kind of funny, and that they’d grow bored and go somewhere else.

And then they cleared two trees overnight.

I didn’t think it was possible. They’re squirrels. There were hundreds of peaches on those trees. I called my husband, and told him I thought the bear was back (although the birdfeeder, oddly, hadn’t been touched this time). And then I found the piles of peaches with tiny tooth marks; I found them thrown into the driveway; I found them scattered by the compost heap and in guilty, half-eaten trails leading to the woods. This wasn’t the bear.

COULDN’T THEY AT LEAST EAT THE WHOLE PEACH? 

I went to Blue Seal and talked myself out of squirrel traps (not the humane kind) because I didn’t want the dogs or kids to get injured. Instead, I was lulled by the relative harmlessness of hot pepper spray, which seemed – from what I’d read online – to be the generally accepted way to repel pesky rodents. I sprayed our three remaining peach trees (one large, our oldest tree, and our two youngest trees) and the pear trees for good measure. For a few days, everything seemed to calm down.

And then it rained. And then there were no more peaches and only 3 pears one morning, and I hung my head in defeat and thought, “At least they haven’t touched the vegetable garden.”

 

STEALING SUNFLOWERS

Nothing escapes the notice of the resilient red squirrel. After exchanging horror stories about squirrel damage with local friends, I wondered what they’d find to eat next. But a month passed, and my garden was untouched. We harvested peas and Swiss chard, green beans and cucumbers. Birds pecked at my tomatoes and blight eventually took them, but no little critters chewed through the bird netting around the tomato cages. I shrugged, laughed ruefully at the now-ubiquitous news about the bumper crop of acorns and ensuing rise in squirrel population, and tended what plants needed tending. The squirrels devoured sumac as it came in, but continued to leave the garden alone. We went up to Kingdom Trails, and my son yelled one morning, “There’s a squirrel eating a sunflower!” Sure enough, there was a squirrel nibbling through a sunflower he’d chewed off a stalk. I’d never seen a squirrel do that, so we laughed at the silly squirrel and had a great time biking.

When we came home, we marveled at OUR sunflowers. The boys planted them indoors this spring, and they’d grown into a sunflower forest, shading them in the late summer heat and humidity so that they could play comfortably in the garden while I weeded and harvested. They were magnificent 7-ft-tall tangles of torso-sized leaves and serving-platter flowers. We cut a few to bring the cheer inside.

Three days later, my son said, “Mommy, why are the sunflowers all dead?” From the back porch, it looked like all the happy heads were drooping. We’d been through a few days with no rain; I had my husband set the sprinkler up and watered the garden, although nothing else seemed to be suffering. “They’re really bent over on the stalks,” he reported; “You’d better cut them tomorrow.”

Dutifully, I went down to the garden the next day to cut sunflowers. Sure enough, they were bent over on their stalks. But leaves were stripped. The thick stalks were marked. And worse, flowers were strewn through the garden. And they’d eaten the first watermelon I’d ever been able to grow. Murderous thieves! I harvested what I could and tried to trim off damaged stalks, flowers, and leaves. Charles suggested that we spray the ENTIRE GARDEN with pepper spray, and then plant hot peppers, and then build a jail for squirrels.

With a heavy heart, I remembered a friend telling me that gardening is an exercise in letting go. I sighed, and said a prayer of thanks for the bounty we have had this year in other vegetable crops, and another that we are not dependent on our garden or orchard for our income.

 

But I still dream of a pellet gun and squirrel traps, and I’m excited for the growth of small predator populations….