Caterpillar slaughter. Every morning, in the sprouting broccoli and curly kale. My eyes have developed laser vision seeking the perfectly camouflaged hordes that lie doggo right on the central spine of each leaf, a perfectly parallel dash of green on green. A fierce attachment to the young plants having raised them from seed, nursed them as seedlings, planted out, potted on, justifies the hard rain that now falls on the plump baby caterpillars every morning. Pity though that the caterpillars demonstrate an equally fierce attachment to young brassicas. Seek ‘em out, pick ‘em off, and …the season started by gently tipping them over the hedge towards the ditch, and then, rage getting the upper hand, tossing them into the compost and now, merciless, into the jar of dying wasps.
Determined I am that we get to harvest fresh greens come next March-April and these two are not favoured by local veg growers, whose belief in turnips and leeks is unshakeable.
