Tomatoes & Trebuchets

TOMATOES & TREBUCHETS
By
Ellie Mack


It was a situation that every gardener dreads - horn worms on my ‘Better Boy’ tomatoes. Overnight my lush plants had been stripped of their leaves, leaving stalks and nearly ripened tomatoes. I searched frantically. The little devils were masters of disguise, being the same shade of green as the stalks, but I found them.
There has been a standing challenge with family and friends that spanned three generations. The annual challenge was to be the first to have ripe tomatoes by the Fourth of July. Only ten days away, I knew it was my year. All the hard work had paid off. In January while snow was on the ground, I ordered the seeds. In late February I planted the seeds in starter trays. By the middle of April, my starts were nearly two feet tall with blossoms.
Once they were planted I checked them almost daily. I pinched off suckers, watered, weeded, and mulched. I hummed as I worked around them. My efforts were rewarded with a dozen grapefruit-sized near-perfect specimens that no worm was going to destroy.
I had already found three chubby vermin that I promptly deposited in my bucket to dispose of later. That’s when I discovered it. It had to be the mother of all tomato horn worms. Nearly five inches long and as big around as my thumb, it greedily munched on my tender plant. Carefully I plucked the monster worm from the stem, then I launched it behind me. Had I been thinking, I should have chosen the bucket - directly behind me was the neighbor’s privacy fence.
Suddenly a great shriek came from behind the fence, followed promptly by a splash. The neighbor climbed out of her pool and began yelling, using very colorful language. My neighbor had a habit of sunbathing au natural while floating in her pool. The monster worm landed on her bare skin, I didn’t ask where.
My noisy children had tipped her off to our presence, which she automatically jumped to the conclusion that they were responsible. In a few short minutes she had dressed and stomped into our yard. Hair dripping, clothes crooked, red-faced, she was livid. My children were banned
from her pool forever. I started to explain what had actually happened, when she abruptly turned and squished away. Once inside our house, I explained to my kids what had happened. I decided
that it was best to give the neighbor time to cool off, then I would apologize.
Swimming is my children’s favorite summer activity. Being banned from the neighbor’s pool through no fault of their own was a challenge that demanded their full attention. Any strong-willed child worth their weight naturally views rules as obstacles. Obstacles that they are driven by some instinctual inner force to overcome. Similar to the way velociraptors tested the perimeter fences in the movie ‘Jurassic Park’. Children are fiendishly clever.
A few nights later our family watched the movie “Lord of the Rings - Return of The King”. My children took an unusual interest in the medieval weaponry, especially the catapults and trebuchets. We should have recognized the gleam in the eyes of our eldest - the strong-willed child.
All through Saturday the children were busy in the garage. Excitedly proclaiming that they were working on a science project. In hindsight, I should have known better since it was summer and school was not in session. But, it pricked my “parent” ears with pride to have such creative, smart children. Daydreams of my darlings as world famous scientists, or world renowned doctors filled my mind as I inspected my fully ripened tomatoes. Just two days before the fourth, bragging rights were sure to be mine!
At three in the afternoon the next day, my neighbor pounded on my door with the same
red-faced anger, only this time she wasn’t squishy wet. The accusations were made that my industrious children had thrown tomatoes over the fence into her pool and on the surrounding deck. I argued pointedly that they couldn’t possibly have thrown my tomatoes over the fence.
I followed in disbelieving silence: not my children, and certainly not my tomatoes. The same tomatoes that I would impress my father with. It had to be a mistake. My “Bragging Rights of 2009” tomatoes were safely attached to their nurturing vines in my garden. How could she accuse my brilliant, some day world famous children of vandalism?
It was a complete massacre. The only mistake was that they hadn’t thrown them. No, they had built themselves a trebuchet and launched them forcibly into her pool area. Tomatoes were splattered on the deck. Smashed and oozing tomatoes covered the lounge furniture. Bruised tomatoes helplessly bobbed in the pool. Waterlogged tomato parts swirled in the eddy created by the pool’s pump. I felt ill. I needed to sit down, but every surface was covered with my brutalized tomatoes’ remains.
“We’re sorry. We were just trying out our ‘science project’. We’ll clean it all up.” said the oldest with such innocence I wanted to believe her. The neighbor wholeheartedly chimed in complete agreement that they would indeed clean everything impressing that she “had better not find so much as a single seed remaining”. My children trailed behind me as we returned home. Immediately they donned their swimsuits and returned to the crime scene with mischievous grins. They cleaned everything as promised. Of course the job required immersion into the pool. It also involved spraying each other with the hose while washing away the sacrificial tomatoes.
At the Fourth of July barbecue the next afternoon, my dad asked about my tomatoes. Admitting defeat, I told him the worms got them.