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Look Who's Coming to Dinner

© Adriela Sakamoto

It was an early morning, as I recall, when May was giving its first kiss to the new year. The garden lay under a spangled net of dew, and the rose buds were there in all their tender promise. A bird was singing somewhere. My coffee, in a perfect china cup, left trails of steam as I moved through my garden. The Mistress on Her Rounds: My hair was perfect. I was humming in perfect pitch, like Aurora. A dandelion shrunk back as I passed, but I twitched it from its station, letting it drop unheeded at my feet. Such arrogant disregard of she who reigns here never goes unpunished. I moved on. All was right in the world.

I squinted. A perfect squint. I set my coffee cup down on the garden rock and leaned over. The Iceberg looked back mutely, its buds absolutely blanketed with aphids. Perfect aphids. They had spared no bud in their perfect coverage.

Perfect.

My lip curled. I snarled. The aphids completely ignored me, except for the one or two who shifted position slightly in annoyance at having been waked so early. I raised my eyes. A vista of aphid covered buds lay before me, and not one bush was spared their attentions. Wasn't it only yesterday I was here, and they were not? Had they exploded in the night, their numbers multiplying under a full moon? Or was that last week, or week before. Flooded with guilt that I had left my kingdom unguarded, I trudged back into the house to learn of aphids. Back in the garden, a slug found the Starbucks.

Thus began my education on aphids. I have found no pest other than the Japanese beetle, which thankfully I am spared, so able to raise horror in a rose grower. I imagined the buds were being sucked dry while I paged through old garden books. I looked out the window fretfully, half expecting to see the roses denuded and the hoards moving on to the perennials.

It never happened, of course. I read, learned, and calmed down.

Though aphids can transmit viruses from plant to plant, and their damage is most decidely unattractive, seldom are plants killed by aphids. Most seasoned gardeners simply knock the aphids off their rose buds with a spray from the water hose. Once upon the ground, they seldom find their way back up, and are ready prey for the beneficial insects prowling your garden. Any insecticide, including the ubiquitous soap and water mixture, will kill your beneficials, and I have learned to ignore my own aphids and let the beneficials take over. By the heat of deep summer, their numbers have diminished here in my Pacific Northwest garden, and the roses bloom merrily on. As I use no insect control whatsoever, beyond the occasional Mashing of the Aphids Ritual, my lady beetles have increased to the point I can find them on every plant I search. Hover flies, those weird, striped, waspish looking things that hang in the air like helicopters are also great aphid eaters. They seem to find my presence interesting, but they are harmless.

The copyright of the article Look Who's Coming to Dinner in Roses Gardens is owned by Adriela Sakamoto. Permission to republish Look Who's Coming to Dinner in print or online must be granted by the author in writing.