The cherry tomatoes, undeterred equally by months of drought and by the torrential rains that followed, still bear more fruit than we can eat. Planted two to a pot and having long since outgrown their stakes, they intertwine with their neighbors for mutual support and have strength to spare for the morning glories, whose blue and purple flowers now swarm the fence, clashing riotously with the orange tomatoes.
But even these prodigious plants now weaken as the first frost approaches: we found three tomato hornworms this week devouring the green leaves. One was healthy, plump, nearly the size of my index finger; we pinched off its chosen stem and sent it to face our avian death squad. Saffy, the adventuresome eater, tasted it first but dropped it when bossy Eddy arrived. Through a fascinating combination of slurping, tossing her beak, and dabbling in the pool, she was able to choke down two-thirds of this huge worm. The last third, snipped off in her bill, fell to the ground, where Francie quickly plucked it up and swallowed it.
Wilder predators had already arranged for the other two hornworms’ demise. There is a wasp that lays its eggs on the backs of tomato hornworms; when the eggs hatch, the larvae feed on the worm’s flesh, form their cocoons on its back, and ultimately emerge from its body as new wasps. Our hornworms were lined with cocoons, and we let them live, for the time being, to secure their crop of wasps for next season. “Beneficial insect” is a relative term.
After their snack we let the ducks run free in the yard to stretch their wings. As they do every evening when released briefly from their pen, they ran to one end of the yard, sweeping their bills through the freshly mown grass for insects, then turn and fly back, thirty or forty feet in a low arc a few feet off the ground. They have nowhere in particular to go and no apparent desire to fly away; one beats her wings, feeling her muscles and the warm air, takes off, and the others follow. They fly, as far as I can see, for the pure joy of flying.
They fly for our pleasure, too, though of course they don’t know it. I love watching them fly just as I love watching them devour the pests that eat our tomato plants. Nature is indeed red in tooth and claw—and bill—but it can also be peaceful and joyous. Today, it is both.
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Mutual admiration society: the tomatoes and morning glories. (Click for a larger photo.) |
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A tomato hornworm meets his slow demise. The cocoons are those of the |
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Eddy, Saffy, and the others hang around the water cooler after their snack. |
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The parsley reseeded itself in late summer; after a wet month breaks the drought, it returns for another season. |
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We gave up on the peppers in the worst of the drought; now they too are bearing fruit. These cayennes will go into a jar of vinegar to dress greens this winter. |
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Our makeshift bed of basil was small enough to keep wet through the summer. Next week, we’ll make pesto sauce to freeze. |