Express & Echo (City & East Devon Edition)
Tips from the Mole Man, just don’t mention rats...
ALONGSIDE the primroses showing their pretty faces along the hedgerows and the chickens laying eggs like crazy, the other unmistakable sign of spring here at the farm is that the Mole Man is here again.
Much as it’s good to say hello and catch up on gossip, I wish there was another way to deal with moles. But every year they work prodigiously hard over the winter to turn our fields into a collection not so much of molehills but mole mountain ranges. We’ve got the mole Himalayas, Alps and Pyrenees going on in what should be unbroken turf.
I don’t particularly mind the visual impact (though it is rather startling) but having holes all over the place where horses are walking is just not on. Someone’s going to break a leg here.
The Mole Man comes with a wealth of arcane knowledge of how these creatures go about their daily lives. I’ve picked up a lot of info myself from accompanying him on his annual rounds, too. Indeed, one of the kids produced a superb school project on moles based entirely on what he had learned from helping the Mole Man set traps. For example, did you know that moles mostly live alone, through choice? They are solitary creatures, apart from during the mating season. “One mole has done all that,” the Mole Man explains, sweeping an arm at the mole version of the Lake District.
They are also fierce, territorial and almost blind, finding their way around (sorry about this) by following trails of their own urine. “Never touch the tummy of a mole,” says the Mole Man.
Now, I have no objection to moles in principle. Truth be told, I’m such a softie that I feel bad we can’t welcome them to stay like the myriad other wild creatures here on the farm (deer, owls, voles, trout in the stream, marsh tits in the woods and many more). If they would only go and live in the woods alongside the birds and deer, that would be fine. But no, right across the fields they go, throwing up their mole versions of the Andes.
This year, I have added in an extra request of the Mole Man (whose proper job role, I should add, is pest control). Could he also tackle the rats which have made their home in the barn? Oh, yes he could, he said, and started rummaging in the pile of wood in the corner beside a stable. “Oh, look there’s one now,” he said, as I shrieked and ran out into the farmyard.
Now, living on a farm can be a very back-to-nature experience indeed. And not always in a good way. I usually take it all in my stride. But when it comes to rats, it’s no good. I’m just terrified of them.
I don’t know why, seeing as my younger sister had a pet rat when we were in our teens, who was actually a charming and friendly little soul. My sister was a Goth (remember them?) and liked to sit outside Truro Cathedral dressed in black on a Saturday afternoon with a rat on her shoulder. Ratty even once ran away from her, up the steps of the cathedral. Luckily rats are clever animals and, if well-trained, have just as good recall as an obedient dog.
But somehow the difference between Ratty the pet and the creatures that are scuffling in the corner of the barn is enough to make me shriek and run for cover. I think it is because I know they can carry diseases – and also because they are so destructive.
I picked up a bag of linseed the other day which promptly spilled all over the floor. Rats had chewed through the dustbin it was stored in and then into the bottom of the bag. Cue another loud shriek and another run for cover. Then I had to get over myself, go back into the feed store, sweep up the linseed and find a new bin for storage. And call the Mole Man, of course.
Once the Mole Man has sorted out the moles and the rats, we may not see him for a while, until we get our hornet and wasp invasions in late summer. Now, I’m not scared of these creatures in the same way as I am of rats. That is to say, I don’t feel the need to scream and cower when I see one. But when they nest right next to where our glamping guests are staying, it is time to move them on.
Other than that, the wild creatures of Cuckoo Down Farm can go right ahead and make themselves at home. Live and let live is definitely my motto… within reason, of course.