Either The Hornworms Go, or The Tomatoes

Reader Contribution by Renea Winchester
Published on August 18, 2010
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Aah, the rewards of summer. Peach juice trickling down my chin, blackberries staining my fingers and time spent with friends. I’ve coaxed tiny seeds into tomato plants that are seven feet tall. I’ve carried water, scratched in fertilizer, and to be completely honest, I’ve spoken love-words to my tomatoes hoping to entice them into a love-love relationship with me. 

“How about some extra water today,” I say as I pour water around the base of my plant, never on the foliage because that might burn delicate, undeveloped fruit. 

The plants responded. Clothed in yellow blooms, they grew tall, dark and deliciously attractive. As the plants matured, my anticipation increased with each passing day. 

I had waited, patiently watching the largest tomato change from lime-green to pale pink. With heat scratching my neck, I grabbed my bucket; my mouth-watering…today would be sandwich day. 

Imagine my surprise when my precious Park’s Whopper met me with stripped-bear stalks. The tomato I’d admired for weeks hung half-eaten with a large green worm munching happily. 

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