Mountain out of a molehill

Well it's been an busy week in The Amateur Naturalist household, and no mistake.



It started with much excitment from my five year old daughter as the pupae she had been looking after had turned miraculously into a moth!


It was the first time she had seen the entire magical process from caterpillar to finished article and for once she was lost for words. It truly is one of nature's wonders, and I realised that as an adult I had forgotten about the beauty and awe it inspires. I'll be paying more attention in the future.


Next up was Gary the snail. The unfortunate mollusc had been held in captivity for a couple of days at the insistence of my youngest daughter, aged just two. So after his enforced confinement in a plastic tub cut with airholes, we finally released him into the long grass at the back of the house. He looked pleased with his escape, but daughter number two wasn't sure about our parole policy.


The very next day launched the great fish mystery. Upon coming downstairs yawning and scratching I stared befuddled for a moment at a puddle on the kitchen floor. And then I noticed there was a small silver flapping going on in its midst.


We are fish sitting, and for some unexplained reason, the tank's inmates have taken it upon themselves to leap for freedom. Three times that day I rescued the great escapers until a lid was the only solution.


And just yesterday we awoke to another situation; this time mammalian and not piscine. The lawn had two new additions, and they weren't of my making.



A mole had invaded the sanctity of an Englishman's lawn. It could not be tolerated.

I knew that if left, the precious parcel of green I so lovingly tendered would soon be decimated by the underground marauder in his ever-growing series of tunnels from which he claims his nighly bounty of earthworms.


So I consulted old Les from up the road. A proper country gent is Les, of the old school. He was a farm labourer and gardener all his working life. He now tends the most magnificent vegetable garden it has been my privilege to see. In exchange for a couple of pigeons now and then, we sometimes find a sample of his produce waiting by the back door; perhaps a bag of thick ropey runner beans, or a couple of onions the size of small footballs.


As I thought he would, Les knew the solution. A couple of rusty old mole traps were fetched from his shed - strange looking contraptions too. Les then dug out the newest tunnel, set the traps and covered them all over with a thick sheaf of grass.


"Keeps it dark, see," was all he would say.


Then he reburied the traps in the soil and went on his way. The girls checked the traps 15 times that afternoon, with no tell-tale sign of the two arms being spread, indicating the trap has been sprung.


But when we got up early the next day, one of them had been. A quick dig and the poor miscreant was unearthed, crushed by the powerful arms of the trap.


A shame to kill such a lovely creature for going about his business, but I won't have greenfly destroying my honeysuckle and the same goes for moles and lawns. A good chance to show the girls one of these amazing creatures up close though and explain their strange, twilight world.