The Battle of Bunker Hill [let’s never mind at this point the battle was actually fought on Breed’s Hill] was a pivotal battle of the American Revolution.

Despite the patriots losing the battle and Boston in turn, they made the British suffer greatly during the three assaults up Breed’s Hill.

It was a statement to the Empire that the patriots were serious about their quest for independence and freedom from what they viewed as tyranny.

Okay, history lesson over. I only really bring this up to showcase that I’m in a similar struggle in what I’m calling The Battle of Strawberry Patch.

The enemy is the empire of bugs invading and assaulting my berry plants.

In the beginning, I flirted with smaller conflicts — skirmishes if you will, but at that point it was simply just an effort to keep my plants living. They weren’t producing that many berries anyway because it was the first year I planted them.

But this year, they’ve taxed my patience for the last time. Taxed, British Empire, see what I’ve done there?

The invaders began their assault fairly early, capitalizing on my first mistake.

I had milkweed growing out front and I let it go because I wanted a place to draw butterflies outside our big picture window. It did not, of consequence, draw butterflies but it did draw a legion of Japanese beetles. Those beetles then migrated over a few spots, taking advantage of me being on vacation and launched a savage attack on those berry leaves.

Staring down at the pock-marked leaves I swore, though whether it was at the bugs or myself is debatable — probably a little of both.

It wasn’t long after when I noticed another beetle, smaller than the Japanese beetle that I recognize but don’t know the name of. Again, there is swearing, so one of those words shall take the place of the name. We’ll call it the &*$#^ Beetle.

At any rate they bypassed the leaves and went straight to the berries, gnawing through them and devastating the berries that were ripening.

The &*$#^ Beetle’s attack was the last straw. I don’t like using chemical on my plants. It’s just the idea of putting it on my plants that brings poisoning myself that much closer, but I’ve had it.

So I marched to the garage, more than likely providing a comical display to anybody passing by as I gestured wildly and mouthed something that I’m sure they took for praying. That sounds plausible. It’s wrong, but plausible.

After a couple moments more of trying to open the garage with the wrong key and a few more inventively created words and I strode through the door, grabbed the container of beetle-killing powder and strode back to the front, intent on terrorism.

The directions said to dust the plants, but by the end there had been a minor snow storm complete with drifts. I have no regrets. I’m a man pushed to edge and will now defend my plants with fervor.

Listen, I like nature. Love nature and most everything in nature, but these creatures … these creatures have suddenly made the list of bug and creatures I would really like to ask Mother Nature, “Why?”

That list includes mosquitos and ticks, the most hated of creatures.

So where do I stand? At this point I don’t know. I hope as a mass murder among the beetles infesting my attempts at self-sustaining.

I hope they see me come out the door and think, “There comes the God of Death, or there strides Eric, Destroyer of Worlds or even, hey it’s that wildly gesturing lunatic with  a creative vocabulary — you know, like most people in town.

I will continue throwing my poison blizzard on my plants until such time as I think I’ve killed them all. Heck I’ve even thought about finding and transplanting spiders into my berries.

Nothing but total victory. Like the British found in the patriots, these beetles will know I’m serious, only without the powered wigs because let’s be honest, it’s hard to be taken seriously when walking around with a powered wig in Austin.