Read by Matilda Longbottom

AAs June fades into its final days, I reluctantly bid farewell to my lush garden in North Carolina before I embark on a journey up North. My pole beans are scaling their lattice of strings, and the zinnias are erupting in a riot of colors. However, my departure is tinged with apprehension due to a recent discovery—Japanese beetles have invaded my sanctuary. Now, let me tell you, I despise those little critters with a passion that rivals a toddler’s hatred for broccoli. Armed with nothing but a trusty peanut-butter jar and water, a method passed down from my mother since I was knee-high, I set out to combat the invaders.

Returning home two weeks later, my heart sinks at the sight of beetle-infested chaos. These insatiable pests have launched an all-out assault on my roses, zinnias, kiwi, raspberries, and even dared to nibble on my apple tree. They’ve shown a particular disdain for one variety of pole beans, leaving it in a sorry state while sparing its neighbors. It’s a beetle bonanza, and I’m utterly repulsed.

My attempts at trapping them prove futile as they mockingly flutter away whenever I draw near. Undeterred, I switch from my trusty peanut-butter jar to a capacious spackling bucket, hoping to increase my catch efficiency. Borrowing a page from Robin Hood’s playbook, I even liberate my neighbor’s roses from the clutches of these voracious invaders. Desperation leads me to strategically deploy beetle traps amidst my azaleas, despite their alleged aversion to the plant. Yet, to my chagrin, the beetles seem to have a penchant for defying conventional wisdom by scaling the lofty heights of my twelve-foot apple tree.

In a last-ditch effort to seek counsel, I find myself at McPherson’s Hardware, seeking solace from the sage advice of the local gardening aficionados. Among them, Buddy Moore emerges as my unwitting savior—a veritable oracle of Japanese beetle lore. Despite his insights into the biology of these pests and tales of beetle-infested trenches, his proposed solutions offer little solace for my immediate plight.

Undaunted by the absence of a knight in shining armor, I devise a plan of my own. With the break of dawn, I lay down sheets of plastic beneath the apple tree, capitalizing on the beetles’ lethargy in the early hours. Armed with a pole, I rain down blows upon the branches, causing the beetles to plummet to the ground in a stupefied stupor. Swiftly ensnaring them in plastic confines, I unleash a triumphant war dance, pulverizing the invaders beneath my feet. Three mornings of this guerrilla warfare, and the beetles are vanquished—never to darken my garden’s doorstep again.

As I reflect upon my victory, I realize I owe no allegiance to peanut-butter jars or dubious soil treatments. Sometimes, the most effective solutions are born from a blend of ingenuity and sheer determination. And so, with a triumphant grin, I bid adieu to McPherson’s Hardware, leaving the men to ponder the mysterious disappearance of their resident beetle whisperer. ❖

About the Author: Marjorie Schratz McNamara, a green-thumbed maven hailing from the verdant landscapes of North Carolina, is renowned for her gardening prowess and her unwavering determination in the face of insect invasions. With a penchant for organic gardening and a lifelong feud with Japanese beetles, Marjorie’s tales of triumph over garden pests have earned her a revered status among fellow horticultural enthusiasts. When she’s not battling beetles or nurturing her botanical brood, Marjorie can be found exploring the boundless wonders of nature or swapping gardening tips over a cup of chamomile tea.