Worm’s the Word

Last weekend, the under gardener conquered her phobia of earthworms. When I’ve held them wriggling on my hand in the past, she’s tended to whimper and back away, which is funny because she’s happy enough with spiders and flies, but I’ve kept showing them to her and explaining to her that they are my friends and help me with the garden.

Last weekend, I dug over the raised bed and veg patch, which I’ve effectively been using as a giant compost heap for years by digging through garden and vegetable waste, so it’s a worms paradise. I showed one of the bigger ones to the under gardener, and she did her usual whimper and back away so I popped it back on the border and covered it with some leaf litter before going back to digging.

The next thing I knew, I heard a shout of, “Mammy, I gots worm!” and she ran over dangling it in my face. All fear gone.

Now when we do our gardening, I keep a flower-pot on hand with a layer of soil so we can pop the worms that we find so that she can watch them (she sits giggling as they wriggle) and we can return them to their home when we’ve finished planting.

Mini-beasts for the win, it’s time to start building a bug hotel.

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