Dealing with Summer Pests: Aphids, Spider Mites, and More

Dear friend,

I hope this letter finds you sitting in the shade with a glass of something cool and refreshing—maybe iced tea, or a squeeze of lemon in a tall glass of water. The kind of drink that clinks with ice and makes the afternoon feel just a little more manageable. This time of year, the garden starts to show us what it’s made of: full of promise, heat, and a touch of wildness around the edges.

The roses are blooming, the tomatoes are flowering, and the days stretch long into the evening. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the other thing that arrives right on schedule—our persistent, nibbling, sap-sucking summer companions: pests.

Yes, while we’re marveling at the color and life bursting from our borders, there’s a whole other world at work too—aphids lining the stems of tender new growth, spider mites weaving their nearly invisible webs, whiteflies fluttering like dandruff every time you brush past the tomatoes, and caterpillars helping themselves to kale leaves like it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Some gardeners despair when they see those first signs: a curl in the leaf, a tiny bite, a sticky residue. But I’ve come to see pest season not as a disaster, but as a time to sharpen our observation skills and lean into the quiet relationship we have with the land. You can learn a lot by paying attention to what the bugs are up to.

I’ll never forget the summer when I noticed a faint shimmer on my pepper plants. It looked like dew, but it didn’t dry up. That was my first encounter with aphids, and I was fascinated to discover not only the bugs themselves, but also the ants that had moved in to tend them—herding them like miniature livestock, harvesting their honeydew in a strange little farming arrangement. It was like discovering an entire secret economy taking place right under my nose.

Since then, I’ve learned a few things—not just about controlling pests, but about partnering with the garden so that things rarely get too far out of balance. It all starts with observation.

Most mornings or evenings, I take a slow walk through the beds. I lift leaves gently, peer under blossoms, and look for subtle signs: stippled patterns on the foliage, curled leaf tips, or a shine that signals something sticky has been left behind. That daily ritual helps me spot the early stages of trouble before things spiral.

Let’s talk aphids first.

They’re tiny—pear-shaped, soft-bodied, and usually green, though you’ll find them in black, red, or even pale pink, depending on the species. They love the fresh growth, especially on roses, peppers, cucumbers, and new perennials. If you catch them early, a firm blast of water from the hose can dislodge them completely. I’ve gotten in the habit of spraying the underside of leaves in the morning when I water—just enough to keep the pests guessing.

They multiply fast—some species are born pregnant—and within a few warm days, a light smattering can become a thick coating. That’s why early detection is your best friend.

Next, the elusive spider mites.

These critters are harder to spot. You might not see the mites themselves, but you’ll notice the damage: stippled or yellowing leaves, fine webbing near the base of stems or between leaf nodes. They thrive in dry, dusty conditions, which is why you’ll often see them during heat waves or if you’ve been underwatering.

The fix? Raise the humidity. I mist the undersides of foliage every few days and make sure my plants aren’t stressed from thirst. A healthy, hydrated plant is a lot less inviting to mites. If I need to intervene, I’ll reach for neem oil or insecticidal soap. A few careful applications, spaced a few days apart, usually do the trick.

Caterpillars, while charming in their own way, can cause some real damage.

There’s the cabbage looper, the tomato hornworm, the imported cabbageworm—all of which can skeletonize leaves in short order. On my kale, I usually handpick the little green caterpillars and relocate them to a sacrificial bed or compost pile. If they’re too numerous, I’ll use Bt (Bacillus thuringiensis), a natural soil-dwelling bacterium that specifically targets caterpillars without harming beneficial insects.

Whiteflies are another sneaky one.

They’re tiny and flutter up like dust when you touch the plant. You’ll often see them clustered on the undersides of leaves. They suck sap like aphids and can leave behind a sticky mess. Yellow sticky traps can help you monitor their numbers, but I also find that neem oil, applied carefully and persistently, can break the cycle.

Thrips are the smallest of the bunch and can cause distorted flowers or silvery streaks on leaves. They’re especially fond of zinnias, gladiolus, and beans. They’re hard to spot, but you’ll know they’re there by the damage. Neem oil helps, and planting trap crops like marigolds nearby can keep them somewhat distracted.

Now, you’ll rarely eliminate pests entirely, and honestly, that’s not the goal. A garden with zero bugs is probably a garden with zero birds, zero butterflies, and zero joy.

Instead, I think of pest control as a balancing act. If I cultivate healthy soil, choose the right plant for the right spot, give it room to breathe, and avoid over-fertilizing (especially with nitrogen), then I’m stacking the deck in my plants’ favor.

And I don’t fight alone. Nature provides allies—plenty of them.

Ladybugs are the aphid police. Lacewings lay their eggs near aphid colonies, and their larvae, sometimes called “aphid lions,” can devour dozens a day. Parasitic wasps lay eggs inside pest insects, and while that might sound gruesome, it’s part of nature’s cycle.

To attract these beneficial bugs, I plant umbrella-shaped flowers like dill, fennel, cilantro, and yarrow. The small blossoms provide easy access to nectar and pollen, which helps support these helpers even when there’s not a buffet of pests around.

I’ve even started growing alyssum along the borders of raised beds—it acts as a living mulch and attracts hoverflies, whose larvae are another great aphid control agent.

When things get out of balance—and they do, especially after a hot, dry week—I keep a bottle of insecticidal soap or neem oil on hand. I apply it in the early morning or late evening to avoid harming bees and other pollinators. I also rotate my treatments, so pests don’t build resistance.

It’s not about spraying every time I see a bug. It’s about watching, waiting, and acting only when the scale tips too far.

I also pay attention to the environment. Spider mites hate humidity. Flea beetles dislike moist soil. Mulching with straw or shredded leaves keeps the ground cool and moist, making it less inviting for pests and more favorable for earthworms and other beneficial organisms.

And while it might seem tedious, sometimes the simplest solution is the best—handpicking. If I see a cabbage looper or a hornworm, I just pick it off. I keep a small bucket of soapy water nearby to drop them into, and I always check the undersides of leaves while I’m out harvesting.

There’s something satisfying about that—about stepping into the garden each morning with a watchful eye and the mindset of a steward, not a conqueror.

Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate that a little damage here and there isn’t failure—it’s a sign of life. It means your garden is part of a broader web, that your kale is feeding more than just you.

A few nibbles, a few holes, even the odd web or chewed petal—they’re part of the story. And when you tend your garden with intention, compassion, and a bit of grit, you start to see the bugs not just as enemies, but as messengers. They tell you when things are dry, when plants are stressed, or when your soil needs attention.

So as summer stretches out before us, and the sun shines longer each day, keep a gentle but watchful eye on your plants. Be quick to notice and slow to intervene. Trust the natural rhythms of your garden. Support the good bugs. Spray only when necessary. And remember that you’re part of the ecosystem too.

Before long, you’ll be harvesting baskets of tomatoes, bunches of basil, armfuls of zinnias and black-eyed Susans. You’ll find butterflies resting on milkweed and bees sleeping in coneflowers. You’ll feel the satisfaction of a garden alive with texture and sound and motion—even if the occasional aphid sneaks past your defenses.

Here’s to a summer full of life, in all its wild and wonderful forms.

Warmly,
Logan

P.S. Need help creating an integrated pest management plan that works with nature, not against it? Visit Unicorn Farm Nursery & Landscaping to schedule a consultation. We’ll help you build a healthy, resilient garden—bugs, butterflies, and all.