Grasshoppers are the scourge of my garden. They've made havoc with my raspberries this year as well as every single year preceding. They've ravaged the leaves, the berries, the vibes of the garden.
Over the years, I've gone to great lengths to get rid of them. I've crouched among the brambles with a flashlight at night. Shining the light in their eyes stuns them into stillness. But after I stunned them, I hardly had the courage to squish them into garden purgatory.
But I did. I had that right. They were interlopers feeding on my family's food.
This year, when I saw the first grasshopper, my blood boiled. But I didn't have what it took to squish it. So I brought my scissors and when I saw a grasshopper, I cut it in half. I did this only a few times until the day I sliced a hopper through his eye. Dark black oozed on the blades of my scissors. The extent of my treachery made me sick in my heart.
The grasshoppers won their stay of execution. The executioner was weak.
In their glory, they hop in front of me all over the yard. They stop and stare. They dare me to diminish their existence by grinding them into the sidewalk. But they know I won't. I can't.
I recently read a meme: If something is eating your garden, you are part of the ecosystem.
Sacrifice required.
I've become more humane.
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