I grew up loving Peter Rabbit. My mom read it to me when I was young, and I thoroughly enjoy sharing it with my kids now. I have decided, however, that Beatrix Potter must not have grown a garden. Here's the reasoning behind my hypothesis:
We have voles.
Okay, so a vole isn't quite the same as a snuggly little bunny, but it wreaks havoc on a garden just the same. I have recently developed an unexpected sympathy with Mr. McGregor, the maligned farmer who turned poor Peter's father into rabbit pie. The scene below has been comically recreated by Jeremy and me as we wage war upon these creatures. Just replace the rake with a shovel, and you've got the general idea.
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| "Stop, thief!" |
Are we heartless animal haters? I like to think not. But if you could see all the nibbles in my potatoes and carrots and tomatoes and squash we have so carefully tended and urged to grow, you would understand my vengeance. Just like I now understand the villainous Mr. McGregor and am quite certain that Ms. Potter a garden did not grow.
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