If I had to hunt and gather all my own food, I guarantee you I'd turn into a full time vegetarian. Hunting instincts don't normally embody my soul.
My huntress weakness was on full display years ago when my grandmother's husband took me fishing the year Elvis died. (I have no idea why I remember that). I had no problem putting the bait on the hook. Nor did I have any issue with casting. Yank, yank... The moment I reeled in the poor little fish, I couldn't bear plucking him off the hook and watching him flop in the bucket to his death. Back in the water he went.
Gentle urban farming is more my thing. You know the drill, treat the soil and plants well, exercise patience, reap the rewards with great appreciation later.
There is nothing finer than enjoying a crisp salad, fresh out of the yard. No squeamish issues while plucking a few lettuce leaves out of the garden should happen, right?
Having cut what was left of the lettuce from the garden and stuffing them into bags, I brought the bounty into the kitchen to begin washing, spinning and storing away. Following Ina Garten's advice of putting the leaves in a tub of water to rehydrate and letting a majority of the dirt float off I was taken aback when an earwig crept off a leaf.
Then an army of them appeared. You should have heard the squeals emanating from my kitchen. Somehow, John was doing a good job ignoring me from the other room. The only good news I could see is they ultimately drown in the water. Maybe I do have a killer instinct.
On my second bag of harvested lettuce leaves, I couldn't take it anymore. The darn critters were bigger, fatter and feistier than the first troops. I had to admit defeat and called in for backup help. John to the rescue.
Being a bit more experienced at bug killing, he swooped in, grabbed the bag and took it outside. He flushed every last one of those suckers out, including the free-rider spider.
I may not be any good with my predator abilities, but I do know when to appreciate those who do so on my behalf.
My huntress weakness was on full display years ago when my grandmother's husband took me fishing the year Elvis died. (I have no idea why I remember that). I had no problem putting the bait on the hook. Nor did I have any issue with casting. Yank, yank... The moment I reeled in the poor little fish, I couldn't bear plucking him off the hook and watching him flop in the bucket to his death. Back in the water he went.
Gentle urban farming is more my thing. You know the drill, treat the soil and plants well, exercise patience, reap the rewards with great appreciation later.
There is nothing finer than enjoying a crisp salad, fresh out of the yard. No squeamish issues while plucking a few lettuce leaves out of the garden should happen, right?
Having cut what was left of the lettuce from the garden and stuffing them into bags, I brought the bounty into the kitchen to begin washing, spinning and storing away. Following Ina Garten's advice of putting the leaves in a tub of water to rehydrate and letting a majority of the dirt float off I was taken aback when an earwig crept off a leaf.
Then an army of them appeared. You should have heard the squeals emanating from my kitchen. Somehow, John was doing a good job ignoring me from the other room. The only good news I could see is they ultimately drown in the water. Maybe I do have a killer instinct.
On my second bag of harvested lettuce leaves, I couldn't take it anymore. The darn critters were bigger, fatter and feistier than the first troops. I had to admit defeat and called in for backup help. John to the rescue.
Being a bit more experienced at bug killing, he swooped in, grabbed the bag and took it outside. He flushed every last one of those suckers out, including the free-rider spider.
I may not be any good with my predator abilities, but I do know when to appreciate those who do so on my behalf.
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