{"id":2178,"date":"2017-02-20T09:42:46","date_gmt":"2017-02-20T16:42:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/?p=2178"},"modified":"2017-02-20T09:42:46","modified_gmt":"2017-02-20T16:42:46","slug":"ignorance","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/archives\/2178","title":{"rendered":"Ignorance"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"strength<\/a><\/p>\n

Strength<\/em> painting by Nolan Winkler<\/a><\/p>\n

The earwigs are a plague on the garden.<\/p>\n

Jonathon\u2014a thickset man with an unruly gray beard\u2014wanders up and down the rows of decimated bean plants searching for surviving leaves, finding none. How curious, and what a disaster for the community. He has been gardening for fifty years, since he was six years old, and he has never experienced such an infestation\u2014nothing even close to this. Only the garlic shoots have weathered the onslaught of the ravenous bugs, and even they show signs of being nibbled.<\/p>\n

Having tea with Malcolm, his predecessor at the helm of the abbey garden, Jonathon says, \u201cI went out last night at midnight and there were thousands and thousands of earwigs clinging to every stem and leaf. I\u2019ve scoured the garden for their nests, but except for one small concentration near the old greenhouse\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Malcolm, eighty-seven, a slender man with boyish dimples, shakes his head. \u201cYou won\u2019t find concentrations.\u201d He swirls the tea in his cup to bring out a last burst of flavor from the leaves. \u201cThey\u2019re everywhere in the ground.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut why this year?\u201d Jonathon gazes at the slice of garden he can see through Malcolm\u2019s open door. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing much different about the weather this spring than last. Our methods haven\u2019t changed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Malcolm settles back in his rocking chair, a smile playing at his lips. \u201cI must tell you, I\u2019m glad it\u2019s not my worry now. I\u2019d be out there all night picking the buggers off one by one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut what do you think it is?\u201d Jonathon frowns at what he can see of the ruined planting. \u201cWe\u2019ll have to start over again. And we\u2019ll have to buy<\/i> vegetables this year. I feel like such a fool.\u201d He turns to Malcolm. \u201cCan you make a guess?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo need to guess,\u201d says Malcolm, finishing his tea. \u201cThe same thing happened to me my third year here\u2014forty-four, no, forty-five years ago. And ever after we always dug the compost in deep and never top dressed with young compost that had any wood chips or sawdust in it. That\u2019s just elixir to an earwig.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my God,\u201d says Jonathon\u2014awareness dawning in his tired eyes. \u201cThe sawdust we got from the mill in January and mixed with the manure.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, and you have five new apprentices who don\u2019t know how to thoroughly rake the clods out of the new beds. Those warm little pockets under the clods are perfect boudoirs for earwig orgies.\u201d Malcolm rocks forward and rises from his chair. \u201cBut even so you might not have had this plague if there\u2019d been a good freeze this winter to kill off most of their eggs, but it never got terribly cold.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jonathon stares in amazement at Malcolm. \u201cHow long have you known?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll along,\u201d he says, stepping into his garden clogs.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you didn\u2019t say anything because I told you not to butt in anymore.\u201d He closes his eyes and shakes his head. \u201cI\u2019m such an idiot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no,\u201d says Malcolm, putting a hand on Jonathon\u2019s shoulder. \u201cYou\u2019re a fine gardener. We can\u2019t know everything.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what did you do back then to kill them off? Poison?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNever.\u201d Malcolm laughs as he steps outside his cottage\u2014his sinecure for fifty years of service to the sangha. \u201cWhat we did was double dig the ground and make the new garden immaculate. Then we sunk big bowls every six feet along the rows and filled them with beer. Earwigs love beer even more than they love baby basil. That drowned a good many of them, and we were out every night for two weeks picking the rest of the buggers off by hand until the plants were strong enough to fend for themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess that\u2019s what we\u2019ll have to do,\u201d says Jonathon, relieved to have the mystery solved, however difficult the remedy.<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you seen my<\/i> little vegetable patch?\u201d asks Malcolm, starting up a narrow trail leading away from the main garden. \u201cUp in the old orchard?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t know you\u2019d planted anything this year,\u201d says Jonathon, watching him go. \u201cI\u2019ve been so busy with the expansion of the fields, and the master classes, and\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been fortunate.\u201d Malcolm beckons him to follow. \u201cNot many bugs up there. Might get enough beans and such to see us through until yours come ready. Come on. I\u2019ll show you.\u201d<\/p>\n

(This is a story from Todd’s book Buddha In A Teacup<\/em><\/a>. An audio version<\/a> is also available.)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Strength painting by Nolan Winkler The earwigs are a plague on the garden. Jonathon\u2014a thickset man with an unruly gray beard\u2014wanders up and down the rows of decimated bean plants searching for surviving leaves, finding none. How curious, and what a disaster for the community. He has been gardening for fifty years, since he was […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[31,4080,163,3062,4081,9,33],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2178"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2178"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2178\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2179,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2178\/revisions\/2179"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2178"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2178"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2178"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}