My Rabbit Garden

I’ve spent the last three years in a state of ambivalence about rabbits. I started out loving them – something that perhaps could be called the Peter Rabbit syndrome. I even named one of my gardens Peter’s Garden, after Beatrix Potter’s bunny hero, and commissioned a wall sculpture of Peter in his little blue coat to hang by the gate. Stoneware rabbits graced the steps to the pool, the entrance to Peter’s Garden, and the deck. How cute!

Then, apparently invited by me, the real rabbits moved in. They ate everything they could reach, and standing on their hind legs they could reach a lot. Daylily leaves – down to the ground. Dahlias – forget it. Tomatoes, petunias, bergenias, all had their leaves not only nibbled but devoured. We sprang to alert and entered the rabbit wars. A new fence was put up, with a sklrt extending out on the ground so that the rabbits couldn’t burrow. Against all expert advice, they found a way to climb over. We sprayed noxious mixtures of all kinds. Hot pepper sprays, garlic infusions, and human as well as coyote urine apparently only added extra appeal. The dog took to a certain frenzied bark whenever she viewed one of the little dears through the glass, and we let her out in the garden to attack. She was too old and too slow to succeed, but she did manage to momentarily chase the invaders over the fence and out of the garden to their home under the water tank. I considered fencing in the space under the tank, but found I couldn’t face the idea of any creature dying of hunger and thirst by my hand, even though I felt no such qualms over a quick death by shotgun. Andy was a terrible shot, alas, and I’ve never shot a gun in my life.

So, what to do? Gradually the lower level of leaves in much of the garden disappeared. I did notice however that some plants were not affected. Clever rabbits apparently have learned over the centuries what plants are poisonous, so they do not eat hellebores and euphorbias, for example. They also don’t like very strongly scented herbs. Lavenders and rosemaries are safe. I’ve planted more and more safe plants. This has led to a certain sameness, which I prefer to call serenity, in the garden.

I’ve also discovered that if I can get young plants established and grown to a certain size, they are less appealing to rabbits. A biologist told me that the various chemicals and other esoteric substances in the stems and leaves develop as the plants mature, so rabbits like them less. I now have various strips of wire with which to surround my most prized young plants, hoping that within this armour they will grow so large that Peter won’t enjoy them.

Clearly I have lost the rabbit wars. To my surprise, I don’t seem to mind. The garden looks somewhat different, but not worse. Maybe it’s even better. I find the sight of the rabbits munching on the grass in early morning sort of engaging. And one event, glimpsed in May, actually makes me smile whenever I remember it. On my morning trek to let the dog out of the yard I looked over and saw two rabbits, right there in the middle of the lawn, going at it with enthusiasm. They were oblivious to me and the rest of the outside world, celebrating the joy of life and creation in the most fundamental way. My garden is the site of a rabbit honeymoon, I thought! How wonderful, the honeymoon garden! And ever since, I imagine swags of roses, Fragonard-like, and an aroma of love and laughter emanating from the space outside my door. First I loved the idea of rabbits, and then I hated the reality of them. Now I love them again. It’s true that rabbits can destroy in a minute, but I can prepare for that. It’s worth it for the delight that bubbles up in me, that gives me a warm glow whenever I think of the rabbits in my honeymoon garden.