Greetings, friends!
Long-time readers know that I have a complex relationship with the local squirrels. There was the time I found a trio of tiny orphans under a tree. And the time they took up residence in my attic. And worst of all, the week when one got trapped in my living room and another got caught by my dog. But there’s a story I haven’t told you yet: the tale of Fort Squirrel.
Like every other late-to-the-game wannabe doomsday prepper, 2020 was the year I established my first container garden. I battled the unmasked hordes at Lowes and secured some potting soil and seeds. My crop was pitiful—a few miniscule cherry tomatoes (promptly gnawed off the vine by squirrels) and a single, emaciated jalapeño. As summer turned to fall, I paid a visit to my friend’s lush deck garden. The secret to their success was painfully obvious, in retrospect: fertilizer. A revelation! I picked up a bottle of fish emulsion and got to work. My plants got happier, but by the time they were ready to produ…