“If we have any inkling at all about biological interrelationships in our garden, they are queasy notions, tinged with a subliminal sense of terror concerning only a very basic thought: the arrival of that one dreaded insect that is going to decimate our plants and presumably our entire garden. We fear most the arrival of the pest.”

Eric Grissell, “INSECTS AND GARDENS” (2001)

Three consecutive nights I left the porch light burning and each morning there were dozens of moths on the posts, railing and wall. At least 20 different species were represented at each of these gatherings, each morning bringing a few new types, perhaps 30 species in all. Field guides identified several as the adult stages of insects that feed on garden plants, including the rosy maple moth, a furry combination of rose-tinted wings covering a sulfur yellow body.

If caterpillars of the rosy maple moth are munching a few maple leaves, let it be. We enjoy sharing the garden with such a unique creature and could never consider it a pest.

There are mice in our garden. Marjorie tells the story about growing cantaloupes one summer, carefully tending to their every need until the day came to harvest, only to find the melons empty, hollow shells eaten out by mice entering and leaving through small holes near the ground.

I could never think of these mice as pests, particularly since reading Wendell Berry’s recent story, “Whitefoot,” the tale of a mouse’s struggle to survive a flood, to continue the “unfinished task of staying alive.” It is a task that we all share. Berry’s story, originally published in the January-February 2007 issue of Orion, will be published this fall as a children’s book.

Last year descendents of the cantaloupe mice consumed a substantial portion of our strawberry crop, despite the use of spun fabric covers. This year we dispensed with the covers and harvested mostly perfect strawberries every morning for two weeks. Maybe there’s a new owl in the neighborhood.

Marjorie did return from the garden one morning with a near perfect berry, a small dimple nibbled out of one side. “You know”, she said, as she washed the berry at the kitchen sink, “I don’t mind sharing.”

We did not share every berry, however. Twice we spied a red squirrel, entire strawberry in its mouth, scamper into the dense needles on a branch of the white pine just off the porch. It seemed to need a place to hide while eating its treat, a secret to keep from the other squirrels – or from us.

There are the run-of-the-mill plant feeders as well, including a few aphids and leaf beetles, slugs, and the aforementioned caterpillars. But predator populations must be sufficient to the task; plants flourish without the use of insecticides.

I came away from Grissell’s book with the notion that gardeners should eliminate the word “pest” from their vocabularies, thus eliminating the need for pesticides. A healthy garden requires a balance of herbivores and predators, a goal that cannot be achieved with the use of pesticides. Clearing the shelves of pesticides means clearing the mind of desire for the spotless leaf, the unblemished fruit. It means acquiring a tolerance, even a fascination, for the blemishes.

We have a pest-free garden. Well, almost – there is Reilly, the Brittany, who is constantly chasing chipmunks, following them into their underground burrows at the expense of nearby garden plants. In spite of our frustrations, I doubt that we will rub her out.

Send queries to Gardening Questions, P.O. Box 418, Ellsworth 04605, or to rmanley@ptc-me.net. Include name, address and telephone number.