It’s ironic to talk about death and gardening. It seems contradictory. You break ass to get the most robust plants, maintain their good health and sustain overall vigorous planting so, death isn’t part of the deal. I just recently lost one of my best friends and I was walking around the garden with him yesterday. I know he’s dead but we were talking about replacing stuff we’d lost through a dry summer. Seeing death inspires change. At least with me. I will rip out a leafless osmathus. Trash the brown arbutus and replace it with something hardier, something more likely to survive.

Trite:death is part of life. I miss him and can’t just dig him out and replace him with another as much as I’d like to. So. Death. Unfortunately, we know what it looks like in the garden.

We were also talking about the terrific damage done by a porcupine. The little bastard is digging up my tulip bulbs and finds the sternbergia tasty.

Alliums are a fine snack. Foxtail lilies finish off a mighty fine meal. See the photograph above for destroyed year-old wisteria and uprooted dwarf pomegranate. See the quills in the wake of the damage. Tim wants to stay up at night and shoot the culprit. We don’t want to put out poison as I’ve got a dog. Maybe a trap.

Tim's drawing poetically describes Porky’s route around the garden. We’ve tapped the holes under the fence.

After the snow we’re able to follow the tracks. It’s days are numbered.