Gathan Beaga

a sticky end

My parents are coming to stay next weekend. So as you can imagine we’re doing a lot of spring cleaning at the moment.

This extends to the outdoors as well, where there’s literally piles of stuff to take care of (being the weeds from late summer still on the path). Worst of all, for a good farmer’s son like me, is the gorse and blackberry growing in all the corners of our section. The gorse has started flowering now, with winter coming to a close, and I can’t pretend that it’s invisible anymore.

So outside I went. Prudently I shook my boots, which had been sitting at the back door for several months. One never knows what lurks within.

a weta in my bootThis time it was a weta, just a small one. I was pleased it was not one of those grim, large, and damned scary tunnelweb spiders.

Rosa saw what I had found, and she decided that we had to put it with its friends. We have two weta motels, the one furthest from the house attached to a large and vine covered pohutukawa tree, and usually full of both tree wetas and cave wetas. So there we went.

But by the time we got there, the weta had gone. “It must have hopped out on our walk”, I assured Rosa. I gave the boot a good shake, but nothing came out. Must be gone. Phewf.

Or so I thought.

Until I took my boots off, much later and after an afternoon pulling out gorse seedlings. Stuck to my sock was the forlorn sight of a squashed Wellington tree weta. Which Becky cautioned me not to mention to the girls.

I had thought there was something hard and sharp in the toe of my boot. But they’re old and worn, and are not exactly comfortable anymore anyway (which is why they’re gardening boots).

Oops.