Irony & the Snout Weevil Strike

Agaves in our Mallorcan garden
Agaves were the start of our garden

In my last post, I wrote about the challenges of keeping our Mallorca garden’s agaves under control. What I didn’t mention was that The Boss had suggested removing a few of these plants to make gardening less risky in the future.

I’m all for simplifying life where possible, but we’ve had these agaves in our garden since they were very small. They were the foundation plants in what would become the garden, having cleared the part of our field closest to the house almost seventeen years ago.

Most of these agaves are now taller than I am and they provide a striking (sometimes literally) contrast to the other plants we’ve added over the years. I couldn’t bear the thought of removing any of these architecturally interesting plants and, after some discussion, we agreed to review the situation next year.

Nature Intervenes

Oh, the irony. We recently went into the garden and found that one of the agaves had fallen down – separated somehow from its core, which was still in the soil. We were mystified but told ourselves it was probably due to the plant’s considerable age – or the shock of The Boss’s recent pruning of it.

He duly removed the toppled plant, its core, and roots. Now we had only twenty-four agaves left. Still enough to start a tequila farm, although neither of us is partial to the famous Mexican tipple, made from the blue agave.

A message came from Vicky, one of our part-time neighbours, who’s created an attractive garden at her property here. Had any of our agaves been affected by the snout-nosed (aka snout-nose or snout) weevil? We’d never heard of such a creature and I went straight to Google in search of more information. It seemed likely that one of these voracious little beetles was at the heart – literally – of the problem. They may be small, but they’re a huge pest.

Plenty of choice for the snout weevil
At risk of attack from the snout weevil

The Evil Weevil

The agave snout-nosed weevil is about half-an-inch long, black, and has a downward curving proboscis that it uses to deadly effect. This proboscis pierces the tough core of the agave, where the weevil lays its eggs. When the grubs hatch, their first meal awaits them: the agave heart. The plant keels over. Once the grubs have eaten their fill, they bury themselves into the soil to pupate. It’s unbelievable that such a tiny insect can lay waste to a plant that’s taller and wider than I am (not that I am especially wide, I should add).

A Solution as the Solution?

I found a website that could be useful when it comes to battling the snout-nosed weevil: American gardener Debra Lee Baldwin’s article on Agave Snout Weevil Prevention and Treatment seems to offer some hope, if action is taken. However, a few friends have informed me that we should expect to lose more agaves. And possibly other succulents.

It seems The Boss’s agave-trimming in the future may be a lot easier, after all.

Agaves on the Attack in Mallorca

The biggest challenge in our Mediterranean garden in rural Mallorca is keeping the agaves under control. This entails The Boss taking his special saw to the lowest ‘blades’ – they’re more like weapons than something as innocent-sounding as leaves.

This summer we did more gardening than is usual for the time of year, by getting up earlier in the morning. I’m Head of Weeding. The Boss is Head of Sawing & Agave Management. He doesn’t allow me access to his saw (boys and their toys), or the agaves. Thank goodness.

Agaves in a rural Mallorca garden
The Boss fights his way in

As well as a sharp point at the tip, each blade has spikes down each side. As careful as The Boss is when he squeezes himself among the agaves to trim them back, he still takes on the additional role of a human pincushion. Head of Weeding adds Emergency Nurse to her duties, wielding Betadine, cotton wool, and plasters. If you don’t yet have shares in a company making first-aid necessities, now could be the time to invest!

Off But Not Gone

Disposing of the sawn-off ‘blades’ is no easy task. Our local Parc Verde (recycling centre) won’t take them as garden waste, and these things have to dry out fully before we can burn them on the bonfire. We’re fortunate: we have a large field and the bottom of that field isn’t visible from our house. Just as well really, as several dozen agave ‘blades’ are spread out across the land to dry in the sun. One day they’ll have dried out enough to burn.

Agave blades drying in the sun
‘Sunbathing’ agave blades

We were gifted our agaves by a couple of kind neighbours. The plants were very small at the time, and we had no idea how close together and large (and dangerous) they would become. My advice if you acquire some small agaves to plant in your garden would be to space them out well, buy yourself a good saw and some sturdy gauntlets.

A pair of the latter is winging its way to our apartado (post office box) as I write. We should save a lot of money on plasters and iodine next year.

@Jan Edwards 2021

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Ticks . . . and The Gritty

Just passing through . . . slowly

It didn’t take too long for us to realise that our initial dreams of growing citrus fruit trees and vegetables were not going to materialise.

Having dealt with the back field full of asphodels, using The Boss’s new “toy” – a brushcutter – we had to face the stark truth. Our soil was not only gritty and of very poor quality, there wasn’t much of it. Having barely breached the earth’s surface with a garden fork, we hit rock. At that point, we decided to abandon the field for the time being and concentrate on another, smaller part of our land, where the soil is all of an inch or two deeper, with the aim of doing some serious weeding and planting a couple of agaves we’d been given by a neighbour.

The majority of our land is pretty much useless for cultivation purposes; what was once a valley with a decent number of fruit trees had been left untended for so long that nature had reclaimed it, suffocating the fruit trees with wild olives, wild broom and . . . well, plain old weeds.

It might not be much good as a garden, but it’s a fantastic haven for wildlife. Every day birds of prey give us a flying demonstration, as they scour the “jungle” for its resident population of rabbits and other small rodents. And we’re often lucky enough to see wild Mediterranean tortoises going – slowly – about their business.

But less than welcome are the ticks – of which there are many, as the countryside around us is largely given over to sheep farming. Ticks are rather fond of sheep, but they’re also quite partial to a bit of human blood. In the UK I happily used to give my blood – for the benefit of other humans – but ticks are something else . . . ready to lay their eggs under your skin if unchecked. Gross.

Some people have a cuppa, a G&T or San Miguel at the end of a hard session’s gardening. We have a rather different après gardening routine, which involves stripping off all our clothes, shaking them out wildly, then inspecting each other minutely for the presence of those dreaded little black beasties – before they can sink themselves into our flesh.  You’ve seen chimps in the zoo?

I bet Monty Don doesn’t do the same . . .

Jan Edwards©2012