Pesticides

The genetics of the strain was a mystery to me, but by the looks of it, I was growing a strain that was close to pure Sativa. They were big, beautiful plants with excellent branch development and an inter-nodal length that was acceptable to my level of snobbishly high expectations. They had a pleasingly quick growth rate and a heady scent that slightly resembled some exotic hideaway down near the equator. The parent stock must have been lengthily cultivated because the product that the seeds were obtained from had exceptionally good effects, considering the condition that the product itself was in. It looked like it had come from very far away, by a mode of transport that took a very long time, but it was still really good, considering. It contained the qualities that Sativa should possess. An energizing euphoric declaration with mental acuity and creative vigor combined with a flavor that was floral and sweet.

My vanity and curiosity prompted me to try and cultivate it further. It was early in the flowering season, the air clean, clear and fresh. The flowering formations looking very, very promising and developing into gorgeous full, though immature, close forming clusters filling the branches. I was ecstatic.

That’s when it all began. That night after dinner as I was reading in the quiet peace of the rural area where I lived and was alerted to a sound I had not heard before. The best I can describe it is it sounded like a high pitched insistent electric buzzing noise that penetrated the ears and felt like it reached into your head. To me it was abnormally loud and due to the fact that I was alone I had no one else to concur. I put the book down just as I was reaching the part where the hostile indigenous tribe was about to over run the main character and his female companion’s position. It felt like I was the one being over run. What is that noise? I turned on the outside light and peered through the illuminated beam trying to discern the source. It sounded insect in nature, but I had not heard the insects around here sound so, lets say, aggressive. I turned off the outside light and went back to reading the drama of an intense battle against all odds that was taking place in my book until I felt my eyes getting heavy and fell asleep to the unrelenting cacophony out side.

I rose with the sun the next morning as was my routine to silence, thank goodness. I walked to the operation site that was only a few minutes away and as I entered the plot I saw to my horror, branch tips and ends, the most productive parts of the plant, approximately 8 to 10 inches long strewn all over the ground at the bases of the plants. I rushed over picking up a branch and examining the severed end. It was not a clean cut. I picked up another, then another, the best parts of some of the plants scattered on the ground with the same gnawed looking ends. There was some damage to various leaves, but the branches apparently were the main target.

What the $@&! is going on I thought to myself. Then I saw it and it was looking at me. It was slowly rotating around the branch to the other side trying to conceal itself. It looked like some large grasshopper type insect only brown in color and it appeared to be chewing the branch it was perched on. The branch sagged and swung like a pendulum. I was enraged. I reached over and grabbed for the creature as it tried to give a desperate kick in order to escape, to no avail. I had it in my hand. It felt hard and thorny. I squeezed and I felt it break. I threw it to the ground and noticed a pin prick of blood on my hand. When I picked it back up I noticed sharp spurs on its back legs. That must have been the cause of the injury to my hand. It was a locust.

Oh no, I remember seeing a show on them. I started to scan the rest of the plants and when I knew what I was looking for; I saw the rest of them. They were all perched on my beautiful branches chewing away, but when I rushed toward them, their friend that was now in bud heaven must have warned them with his dying breath, or they saw what happened to him because they took to the air flying out of reach into the neighboring scrub growth.

This can not be happening. This is like some Biblical curse. I am being plagued by locust. How can this be, I haven’t done anything to any Israelites. Like the Pharaoh mentioned in the Bible, I am in big trouble. What do I do? I can’t spray the plants with pesticides, I have ethics and I’m not going to poison anyone. I can’t even use a non-toxic substance like neem oil or soap because regardless of what they say, it leaves a residue that affects taste and these locusts might even enjoy the soap, I’m thinking, considering their size. I don’t even want to spray the surrounding scrub because my ladybug and praying mantis friends live there. Where did these things come from because they weren’t here last season?

I attempt to chase some into the scrub and they fly out of reach to the next bush and when I get closer, the next bush again. I’m pursuing a group of what appears to be twenty or so and they keep just ahead of me, flying from bush to bush. They swarm to a tree and they hang on about 9 feet up looking at me, taunting me with their shining eyes. I am unable to catch any more by hand. I’m pissed. There are some rocks piled up at the base of the tree and I throw one hitting the leaves near them. They really take off now, but to my disbelief they turn in mid flight and return to the plants.

Now I’m desperate, I question science on their assessment of the intelligence of these insects. Could they have possibly led me away intentionally? I look around uneasily expecting some type of trap. These things are driving me crazy; I need to do something, now. The damage that these things wreaked is like nothing I have ever experienced, except the time we had that Hurricane, but that is another story. I rush back home and consult all my resources. There is nothing conventional that applies. The recommendations are unacceptable; poisoning, fire, electric shock, what is this? I’m sitting there searching desperately for an answer and I hear pop-tink------pop-tink-----pop-tink. I look out the side window and see the neighbor kid shooting a pellet rifle at some cans; pop-----tink.

I get an idea. I can’t get to within 15 feet of these Locusts without them flying away to safety, but a pellet could. I yell my thanks to the kid as I jump into my car and drive. He waves with a puzzled expression and goes back to shooting. I speed to town and enter the Sporting Goods store. I go to the back where the firearms are. Why are they always located in the back? I find a sales person to see the most accurate pellet gun they have.

This is a hostage situation and the hostages are flowering clusters of prime Sativa. I can not afford any collateral damage here, I need something precise. He brings out this thing that looks like it belonged in the Olympics and condescendingly tells me that these are precision air rifles not pellet guns and indeed they could be competitive in an Olympic level competition. I tell him I’ll take it and he smirks at me and says “that will be five thousand dollars, sir, without optics” What!? I exclaim. I say, how about something not set up for world class competition, something middle of the road maybe. He sighs and rolls his eyes at me. This guy is irritating. He turns and places the precision air rifle back on the rack and lifts another, handing it to me. This one is similar just less massive. “How much”? I ask. “Two thousand, three hundred”, he says.

I just stare at him and he stares back. I sigh; all right I am wasting time here. I need to get back. Every minute I waste more of my branch tips are eaten. I look over his shoulder and point to a beautiful but more stream-lined looking rifle. “What about that one”? I say.

He turns and pulls it off the rack and tells me, “this is a Beeman Precision R7, it is .177 caliber and costs three hundred dollars” Now we are talking.

“Is it accurate”? I ask.

“It’s more accurate than you can shoot, sir, especially if equipped with a scope.” He says.

I really am beginning to dislike this guy.

“May I see it” I say, with a similar sarcastic tone. He hands me the R7.

I sight down the barrel and aim at a wooden clothes pin that is holding what looks like a note that is down the long counter. I estimate that the clothes pin is roughly the same size as my enemy, maybe slightly smaller, and maybe I could get this close to them. I realize due to the distance and the size of the sights I’m going to need a scope. This will allow me to sight in and hold my aim directly on target, lessening the chance of an errant shot into a gorgeous developing flower. This is a better option when compared to sighting in with the open sights while having to hold under the target so I could see it, thereby increasing the chance of hitting the hostages.

I ask the irritating sales person for a recommendation. He says for me to get a three by nine power variable scope. I ask to see one and he pulls it out of the case. He hands me the telescopic sight and I look through it and aim at the clothes pin. Now the clothes pin appears to be right in front of me due to the magnification, and the cross hairs, what enthusiast call the black X in the field of vision when looking through the scope are much thinner than the target so it is easy to align and the target is no longer obscured as with the open sights that come with the R7. I tell the salesman that I will take both and he reminds me that I need pellets. I tell him I will take three boxes. Each box contains 250 pellets. I hope I don’t need more. Now the salesman is warming up to me. He offers to mount the scope on the rifle and he does it while I wait.

Thirty minutes later and four hundred seventy five dollars poorer I leave the store. I head home and by now it is almost noon. When I reach my drive way, the neighbor kid is mowing my lawn with his riding mower. Since there is no barrier between my lot and his he just keeps going into mine when he mows theirs. He’s a good kid, never gave me any trouble, respectful and takes care of his grandmother. I never did see his parents but I don’t pry. I wave my thanks and he waves back. As I am opening my door I see the grandmother pull up to their house and she waves. These are friendly people. She has a bakery box in her hands and she calls a greeting over as she opens her door. I enter my house and head for the closet. I dress accordingly in drab clothing to blend in with the scrub. I don’t want them to know I’ve returned.

I take some shots to sight in at a paper target. This thing is accurate. I sneak down to the operation site and use the scope to search for a target. They are still there chewing away. More beautiful branch tips falling to the ground snuffed out before maturity affecting my philosophy of maximum production. I don’t try to chase them off the plants. It’s much more difficult to see them with their natural camouflage on the surrounding brush.

This is going to be delicate. Shooting at a target and shooting a target off of something you love is different. This is how William Tell must have felt being forced by the king to shoot an apple off of his young sons head. At least that’s how the story goes.

The breeze stills and I take aim. I am shooting from a supported rest from approximately twenty feet. The first locust fills the field of view of the scope and I line up the cross hairs on his disgusting body, making sure that I slowly press the trigger. Doink, goes the rifle and splat, the repulsive insect is blasted into custard colored mist. Fantastic, I quickly search out another. They are none the wiser and oblivious to their peril. I cock the rifle as stealthily as possible. The R7 is a barrel cocking precision air rifle that requires you to bend the barrel down once to 90 degrees. This compresses a powerful spring that pushes a syringe assembly contained in the rifle to achieve air power, hence the precision air rifle title.

Now, when using this method of pest eradication always make sure of a safe back stop to ensure the prevention of shooting accidents. Over and over again I locate a target, fire and reload. This is truly a target rich environment. I spend all the rest of the day shooting Locusts off the plants. It was a large patch. I couldn’t count how many of those dammed things I shot. I won’t lie, I had fun doing it and I used a whole box of pellets.

I head home feeling really good for discovering this alternative method of pesticide replacement and literally wiping out all those locusts. After a well needed shower I glance out the living room window and I see the kid finish cleaning his riding mower. I get an idea. I bet he would really appreciate and definitely enjoy this precision air rifle. I wipe it down; it really was a nice looking rifle and take it over to him. He can’t believe his good fortune. He is ecstatic and thanks me over and over.

I walk back to the house feeling good. I sit down and finish the book, except now the main character and his female companion have survived the attack and now she is his wife and they sail off down the coast of Africa. I bet there are still some undiscovered land race strains down there, one day maybe I do some botanical research. Someone is knocking on the door. I look out to see Grandma the neighbor with something in her hands. She brought me a piece of birthday cake, I find out it was the kids birthday.

What a coincidence, but I don’t believe in coincidences. She sincerely thanks me for the gift to her grandson and tells me he hasn’t put it down since he received it. We laugh about that and she heads home through the yard. I troop off to bed and think before falling asleep, it’s not all about the growing, it’s about what you do with some of what you grow, it’s about doing good things for others and showing appreciation for what has been done for you.

So, do something good with some of what you grow.

GroPro Guys