I used to fancy myself as a budding Naturalist, bound for a life in the wilderness, studying nature like Marty Stouffer. This dream was long on fancy and short on follow through. Like it or not, this would-be Naturalist has been domesticated. Thus a tug-of-war often commences between my domesticity and wannabe naturalism. It seems to be that I am neither fully one nor the other.
In a most domestic manner, I have been assisting my Grandfather with a small garden plot in back of the house. It has been most pleasant to watch the corn and zucchini plants double their size from week to week. I enjoy it. One day my Grandfather approached me with an air of great indignation and a hefty portion of foul-humor.
"Half my tomato plants have been decapitated and all my Rattlesnake Beans have been mown down! Those Ground Hogs are destroying our garden!"
I suppose my domestic sensibilities should have risen up in great wrath against such rotty little mammals that would wreak such havoc in our garden. I nodded my head sympathetically and murmured soft exclamations of dismay,but was already hoping my furry friends wouldn't be relocated or worse.
As it has turned out, Grandfather indeed would like to take the Ground Hogs out with his trusty shooter. I would indeed like to feed and observe them. So which should it be - Garden or Ground Hog?
Oh the quandary of being a domesticated naturalist.