It might be that more sacrificial plants were available. In any case, there was plenty to go around and little was stunted, though harvesting is delayed by new ventures. It’s where the thrill is, you see: those first new sprouts. If you plant sacrificial plants, those first tender ones might survive the gentle probe of emerging swarms.
If you plant enough, you will not call them swarms or spray them. If you thin enough, they will not gather in clusters so thick that if you stick your hand into the vines they come away sticky with appetite. And a few can be managed. And are even welcome.
In the famous poem, something appears in a real garden. Is it toads or toadstools. Something imaginary appears in a real garden. Ladybirds eat aphids. We must leave the aphids if we want to feed the ladybirds. Today I saw a ladybird, though I’m sure the plant it was on does not have aphids. Perhaps it was visiting. To bear messages that more food is needed for aphids.
We are back to plot, though I am unable to think about plot, and get lost in meander. Remember those lessons about which river moved from which mountain to drain into which lake. Or was it streams that derived from tears along rocky terrains amid landslides. Or how the earth moved to make way for itself. In any case, it felt futile to name the earth’s vicissitudes when we could simply sit in its imagination.
In the origin stories, what do aphids say about sap?