They too have to eat

“They too have to eat.” These were Yuval’s compassionate words regarding sharing our organic greens with other critters. As we stand over buckets of water, dunking and swirling heads of lettuce, our feet in mud and our hands covered in caterpillar refuse and aphids, I keep trying to remember these words.

Last Thursday, we were up with the first rays of sun, chipper as the birds and ready to harvest. We cut bundles of spinach, Swiss Chard, green onions, arugula, parsley, rocket, and coriander. All was going really well and we were making good time. 

We are always racing the sun, trying to get the vegetables picked, counted, boxed and loaded into the air-conditioned car before the heat intensifies. It was a great morning until we met the aphids.

The aphids had moved in big time since last week’s harvest. They first set up home in the romaine bed, then moved into more stylish quarters in our curly lettuces. Meanwhile, the elegant, ruffled, buttery crisp salanova lettuce was slowly ripening to perfection. The aphids had taken it over before we could even taste a leaf.

I now know more about aphids than I want. They are as small as a pinpoint and are miniature sap-sucking tyrants. One single aphid can produce 600 billion offspring in one season. Male aphids are skipped over in the proliferation process and females can birth live pregnant nymphs. All of these factors speed along the numbers game.

As we had multiple orders of lettuce to fill, we first tried to shake the aphids off. We then grabbed buckets and a hose. One person cut the lettuce, the other swished and swirled it like a mop head. We then had to check it and bag it. The disgusting water in the buckets had to be dumped outside the garden, then refilled afresh. 

This took three of us so much time, we had people coming into the garden wondering what happened to their orders. And this was all for a 5 NIS organic lettuce. 

It was a disheartening battle and we were losing. I was tired and sopping wet. We picked a bit of lettuce and then discarded the rest. We now have to build two composters in the back so we can dump all of the infested lettuce. The timing is terrible as Pesach is coming soon and many people would have enjoyed those enormous romaine leaves at their seder. 

It is also a humbling experience. I can see humankind’s desire to find a workaround, fix things, win nature’s battles, and make a situation more beneficial to himself. Yet there is a complex delicate, and unseen order to creation. We are the observers and we must let nature work it out. 

Ladybugs fly in to the rescue.

The interesting part of this story is that the ladybugs found out about our plight. They do not have internet or cellphones but the word got out and they flew in. Ladybugs dine on sweet aphids, eating up to 50 a day and they do not damage the plant. I am hoping they are battling it out right now as I cheer for Team Ladybug. 

Insects that have aphids on the menu are called aphidophagous. I am putting it out there to all the aphidophagous bugs that we have a banquet awaiting them!

Next time around, I will try companion planting to repel aphids, placing lavender, rosemary and sunflowers at various place in the beds. We are also trying to install a bubbler, a kind of washing machine for lettuce. But this will require a dryer. The list goes on. 

With three wheelbarrow loads of lettuce to consume, my neighbors’ goats scored. My chickens did well too. On the chicken front, one of our 13 has so far expressed itself as a male. I know that the rooster is supposed to a leader and protector of the hens. 

The so-called rooster that self-proclaimed his sovereignty one early morning does not exactly have leadership stature, charisma, or charm. Our rooster is a silkie, a forlorn, dishevelled chicken that looks like a rabbit and can barely see because his feathers cover his eyes. 

He has a powderpuff head and two toes that are feathered. When he is wet, he looks like a rag. I read on a website that you should dry a wet silkie with a hairdryer. That is not happening on this farm!  

And, a silkie cannot fly. In fact, he keeps bumping into things. I do not think the hens will accept him as a protector. Even his crow is not exactly classic. Seems to be a theme around here! 

We are all beginners on this journey and may not be the best candidates for the job. But we are trying our best, learning a lot, and are left in awe at the end of every expansive day.