I have a love/hate relationship with my yard. It is spacious with wonderful trees. I have small garden spaces and patios. I even have a large freestanding octagonal swing structure surrounding a fire pit. We also have delightful wildlife that, four months out of the year, turn into creatures of mass destruction.

I love to sit on the patio and side porch in the cool of the morning to listen to the birds . In the evening, the animals visit. We have rabbits, foxes, deer, raccoons, squirrels, and even a random bear. Most of the year, I love to sit in the glass sunroom and observe their adventures. Their tracks in the snow are enchanting.

But in the summertime, it is war. I plant bulbs and the squirrels dig them up. I put out my hummingbird feeders and the woodpeckers and raccoons knock them down. The deer munch my hostas like they are at the all you can eat buffet. The rabbits chew my flowering plants off at the stem. And the beetles and worms leave my roses looking like a toddler was turned loose with a hole punch.

I love puttering around the yard, watering and weeding. I love planting and tending. But I hate waking up to mass destruction. The moles have made so many burrows that grass won’t grow in patches. Some large animal thinks the mulch under my Adirondack chairs is the perfect place to dig a sleeping hole. Repair is futile. Each day brings a new indignity.

I have a native plant area in a corner garden that happily grows wild. It is gloriously unkempt. It reminds me that the struggle is futile. We can try to control nature, but in the end nature will have its way.

Stubbornly, I refuse to surrender to the plant eating terrors that live in my yard. So before bed, I sprinkle cayenne pepper on the new growth. Take that you beasties. Perhaps in the morning instead of chewed off stems, there will be leaves missing just a bite. Small victories. I don’t ask for much, but I would like to have a few blooms.

Last night I chased a rabbit from the flower bed. He looked at me, happily munching as I clapped and yelled. He had no reaction until I charged at him waving my arms like a crazed Mr. Macgregor (random Beatrix Potter reference for those of you deprived of bedtime stories). The struggle is real.

So I will water and weed and work to keep the beasties away in the hopes of beautiful blooms. In this way, I can be assured of a few days of stunning garden. At least until we go out of town for a few days in July. Then I will come home to brown and brittle stubs which I will nurse until they become scrawny shadows of their former selves.

My yard is a glorious mess. And yet, hope springs eternal. I see why medieval gardens had high walls. I also know why lawns were uncommon prior to the last century and reserved for those wealthy enough to employ gardeners. As usual, my ancestors had more sense. I guess I will contemplate where I went wrong as I replant the hanging basket that the squirrels have used as a climbing gym this morning.