Dig It

by Sarah Eshleman on April 1, 2024

To a mole, I must be filthy rich in dirt and wealthy in worms because molehills have become mountains in my backyard.

Each season brings a new offense. In summer, my mower blades catch on the mounds, puffing out dirt. In fall and winter, new brown volcanoes dot my yard each morning. In spring, the soggy ground caves beneath my steps, weakened by the mole metropolis beneath.

My mole is a five-inch machine designed to dig. And dig he does—up to 15 feet per hour. He’s rigged with paddle-like feet; strong front limbs; elongated claws; small hips for navigating narrow tunnel corners; an ultra-sensitive nose attuned to vibrations and smell; and specialized blood allowing him to thrive in conditions with elevated carbon dioxide.

My illusive adversary is exquisitely equipped by his Maker. And beneath my agitation, I deeply admire this subterranean scoundrel and his excavation expertise.

Though I wish the mole gone, I wish him well with worms galore in soil-rich yards—just not mine.

This article is from Answers magazine, April–June, 2024, p. 66.