Following substantial rains, I saved a dozen or so earthworms yesterday by plucking them off my concrete drive and carting them off to some nearby soil. The worms emerge from the soil and head across the concrete for one or more of three reasons: the waterlogged soil may suffocate them; they can safely migrate in the wet environment; or they are seeking a bit of earthworm sex (which is not particularly sexy in my estimation). I am forced to save the worms because more often than not, they get stranded on the concrete and wind up baking to death when the sun returns.
We never had this earthworm problem when I was
growing up in East Helena, Montana, because we didn’t have earthworms. Over the
years of operation, the lead smelter on the edge of town had spewed forth a
cocktail of heavy metals and other pollutants that sifted down onto the ground
and poisoned out the earthworms. The only notable exception to this was my
Uncle Stack’s yard across the street from where I grew up. He had imported some
good soil from the nearby mountains and had a small section of that in which he
tended earthworms for use as fishing bait.
In saving the earthworms from my concrete drive, I
suppose I am following Uncle Stack’s lead in my own fashion.
—Mitchell Hegman
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