The Origins of Slimer



Future salad makings.

My parents gave me two beautiful tomato plants last week, and they are both loaded with buds and flowers. Because we've had very little rain lately (like much of the rest of the country, though not quite as extreme), I've been making an effort to water our potted items while letting anything in a garden bed sort of fend for itself.  Even the rain barrel is pretty low.

So the tomato plants are on the side stairs next to our bedroom door, tucked into this little corner so that you-know-who (the woodchucks) might not find them. I kind of like this little area as a mini garden -- we hardly ever use that door, so something might as well be happy there. They get plenty of sun and are fairly protected from the elements.

So imagine my surprise when I went to water these darling plants and saw something so ugly, so repugnant that I started shrieking like a little girl and did what any brave gardener would do -- I went to get my husband.

Me: JOSHUA! JOSHUA! COME HERE NOW!!! PLEEEEEASE!

Josh: (With a look that questions my mental stability) Are you all right?

Me: You need to see something...

Josh: (Now actually concerned) What? What's going on? Did you get attacked by a woodchuck?

Me: No, it's way weirder. Come see this. (leads husband to tomato plants while remaining about 10 feet away.)

Josh: What is wrong with the toma... whoa. Look at the size of that thing! That's HUGE!  (regresses into 10 year old boy.) Can we keep it?



Venkman, get a sample of this.



He slimed me.


Me: No! Get rid of it!
Josh: (Turns into 33 year old woman.) I don't really want to touch it.
Me: Neither do I!
Josh: It's not hurting anything...
Me: Yes it is! It's eating my tomato plants! Everything eats everything I plant and love!!!
Josh: So YOU get rid of it.
Me: Come onnnnnnnn. (I actually whined. I hate to admit it, but I really whined.)
Josh: If we move him, he's going to die. He lives on tomato plants.
Me: Well he can live off the sumac trees now.





Is it me, or do all of his little eyes look sad?


So Josh heroically moved him in a napkin to the woods.  We didn't kill him.  We couldn't kill him -- this thing was about 4 1/2 inches long and as big as my thumb. He's the granddaddy of tomato caterpillars. And now he resides in an area of the yard without tomatoes. Or he's making a fantastic breakfast for one of the robins.

Whatever, that's the circle of life.

But I swear he looked depressed when Josh moved him.  He had his own private tomato smorgasbord going on and got kicked out.

My guilt will go away though when these are finally ripe. Though I'm sure I'll go home today and one of the woodchucks will be leaning back on the stairs, popping these babies in his mouth like M&Ms.



These are mine.