There’s been a whisper of spring just outside of our back window today. I knew it would have to show itself eventually. My trees and rose bushes and various perennials have been slowly but surely sprouting their tiny buds, and today I swear I can almost see them smiling at Mr. Sunshine as he occasionally sticks his face out from behind the clouds. I realize that some may think it odd, but I really enjoy getting outside and sticking my bare hands into the earth. I love my vegetable garden and I love my flowers. I even enjoy pulling weeds and trimming bushes. I don’t like the pests though, and this winter I have been contending with one of my worst enemies – the dreaded and hyper- intelligent mole. 
Yes, the moles that have infested our property are of superior intelligence. There is no doubt that they are running a highly developed and superbly organized covert operation underneath our lawn and spreading out to the far reaches of our five acre woodland. There is a mastermind, I’m sure, but I’m no fool. Their entire organization is inundated with moles capable of much more than we humans can even come close to imagining.
I know this because I have watched as they’ve taken over our land and rather adeptly avoided any and every trap I’ve laid. There is a headquarters, but they are far to skilled at moving it from hither to yon for me to actually locate and unearth this place. Clearly this hubbub of intellectual activity is computerized and filled with technology that supersedes anything that I can find in the farm store. I can easily envision the little moles as they sit in their lab, miniature glasses perched upon their long whiskery snouts, and heartily laugh at my dismal attempts at laying traps. Oh sure, I’ve followed their trails. I’ve dug my holes. I’ve set my traps. I’ve covered the traps with darkness. But after weeks, no – more like months, I’ve caught nothing. Not one mole. Every morning I check my trap and they’ve moved locations. No longer are their nasty little holes on the west side, now they’re on the east, and tomorrow they’ll be someplace else entirely. It’s The Dark Side of The Wind and the Willows (The Wind and the Willows by Kenneth Grahame). Mole and Ratty and Mr. Toad are the evil overlords, and those little rascals are in control.
It’s a game, and I’m their pawn. Two years ago they based their operation in my vegetable garden. I planted, they destroyed. This year they are in the yard and all over our pasture. Better than the garden, but still not at all acceptable. Yes, the war continues and one day I will have my revenge. Those dastardly little pests may be hyper-intelligent, but I am a hearty contender. The roles will be reversed and I will be running the game. They will be my pawns and I will be the master.
Reading this it might appear as though I’ve gone a little off the deep end, kind of like Bill Murray in Caddyshack perhaps? And maybe I have. Or, maybe that’s yet another part of their plan. Hmm, one more piece to consider as I wrestle with these creatures, and at the same time look forward to the work that awaits me in my gardens.
Happy planting!
Shelley's Sagacious Slants 