When we moved to this garden 4 years ago I found one of those cylindrical, push in the ground mole scarers. It was broken with small dents all around the lower half, almost as if it had been well and truly done over with a miniature pick axe.
There were no signs of mole activity in the garden but I knew they couldn’t be far away. Just the other side of our neighbours paddock is a 5 acre hay meadow full of moles and rabbits. Interestingly there has never been any sign of moles in the paddock, perhaps the horses and dogs scare them off. Until last summer we had only had a few fleeting visits from Mr Mole and they were always in the flower beds and usually when we went away for a holiday. I could easily maintain my live and let live gardening philosophy. My neighbour, however, has a less philosophical approach. When a mole takes a liking to his veg patch the shot gun comes out and the mole is history. This I think nicely illustrates the difference between me, the suburban escapee, and proper country folk born and bred. I grow agapanthus, he grows food. I am soft and sentimental and he is hard and elemental. I have a mole and he has not!
Right now half my lawn resembles the wilder regions of the moon. A mole has been excavating the newly laid half for six months, completely undoing all the hard work I put into preparing, seeding and nurturing a smooth lush sward. I find my attitude hardening. Perhaps direct action would be justified.
Live and let live? Up to a point!
I am not at that point yet, but it’s rapidly approaching.