We Don’t Have a Slug Problem

I’ve heard a lot of stories about slugs completely destroying gardens this year. I’ve seen buckets full of drowned slugs in gardens nearby, I’ve heard horror stories of collard greens being eaten down to the main stem, covered in slime, and I’ve felt very grateful that we are not suffering from such garden pests.

But there is a reason for that.

We don’t have slugs, but we do have slow worms — a lot of them.

A slow worm, or slepec, as it’s called here, looks like a snake, moves like a snake, scares the sh*t out of me like a snake, but isn’t a snake. It blinks, it has a flat, not forked, tongue, it has smooth skin, and can shed and regrow its tail. It’s a legless lizard, which somehow makes me able to tolerate them more, given my fear of snakes. I remember seeing my first legless lizard in a high school biology class and being marked by the difference in its jerky neck/head movements (something to do with having fewer vertebrae if I remember correctly) and the holes it had for actually hearing. What I didn’t realize way back then was how my daily life would be spent living in harmony with and in gratitude for these little creatures. And they’ve taught me something important (see life lesson below - a new feature in these posts)

Photo by Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash

Don’t get me wrong, they still make me jump when they slither by me or wrap around the rake if I accidentally come across one. But once I’ve gotten over my initial ick and shiver, I remember to say a humble thank you for their ravenous preference for juicy slugs and snails.

I wish I didn’t have that initial reaction because they’re really beautiful and special, and I feel like we’re living quite well together here on this tiny plot of sunny land. Currently, they love the warmth of our compost pile, which makes turning it a bit of a challenge since we really value them and hate to disturb them. Damir found at least 10 hiding in there last week and gently moved them to the next pile over. They incubate their eggs internally and give birth to live young (that are pretty cute, dare I admit), and feed on all the juicy garden pests in preparation for their winter hibernation. Amazingly, and very impressively, they have extremely long lifespans, living up to 30 years in the wild (54 years in captivity!!). Meaning, that we’re spending every year with the same slithery creatures and getting to know each other’s movements, habits, needs, and rhythms without even realizing it. That’s a beautiful thing.

We’ve got a good thing going, us and the slow worms. I understand why they’re a protected species in the UK and I think everyone in Europe with a garden should intentionally create conditions for slow worm happiness. Because their happiness feeds my happiness (as well as my children’s bellies) in the form of a healthy garden. As for my prejudice against anything that looks and moves like a snake — well, these cool creatures challenge that and make me a slightly better human by doing so.

The domain of my slithery slug-eating warriors

Slow worm life lesson: Your initial reaction may not be informed, correct, or kind. Take a breath and try to look at the whole picture to inform how and what you think. Don’t forget the incredible Creator behind it all. It’s a masterpiece.

And on a lighter note — just because it’s slithery, doesn’t mean it’s bad.

How’s your slug situation this year? If you’re in Europe or the UK, do you have slow worms? What are they called in your language?