|
Monday, 07 April 2008 |
|
By Emily Jones 
As the sun finally peaked from behind the clouds yesterday, I decided the time had come to move my bloom-covered, four-foot tall heirloom tomato plant from the greenhouse into the garden. I was giddy with my newfound passion for gardening.
I had been babying that tomato plant all winter since it emerged as a “volunteer” from one of the pots my son had tossed into my greenhouse last fall. I nicknamed it “BLT” and talked baby talk while feeding it kitchen compost. This had been going on daily since I discovered it back in February. BLT was the first thing I saw each morning, and I practically kissed him good night each evening. He was paying me back with phenomenal growth – at least a half inch a day - and no less than nine blooms. I dug a big hole and gingerly set BLT in his permanent home in my front garden. I bathed him in Epson salts and a little cottonseed meal. He was a beauty to behold. My mind drifted to that first tomato sandwich which couldn’t be far behind. I could FEEL the juice dripping down my arm as I consumed it over the kitchen sink. As I stepped back to survey my handiwork, I saw a leaf curling at an unnatural angle – a disfigurement that bothered me. I eased up closer to observe what the problem might be. That was my first mistake since I have been showing signs of Hyperopia (far sightedness). It began about the time I turned 50. I can’t see anything closer than my reach, and my arms aren't very long. I squinted trying to bring the blight into focus. Perhaps I should just remove the offensive leaf and pretend it was never there. I pinched it off and cupped it in my fist and went to dispose of it far away from the garden. Suddenly the leaf tickled and felt like a raw oyster in my hand. I opened my fist to discover a smushed caterpillar. I tried to scream but couldn’t catch my breath. I practically turned a backwards somersault trying to shake it off. People driving by my house thought I was waving and they all smiled and waved back. I got down on all fours and began to wipe the crud on the newly mowed grass, gagging and crying at the same time. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might pass out. You must understand that I have an aversion to anything smaller than a breadbox. Lucky Dawg barely made the cut since she only weighs eight pounds. I walk an extra block to cross the street if there was anything moving on the ground in front of me. I sleep with a can of Bengal beside my bed and I would use it on critter or human without hesitation. I have a dedicated “dust buster” used only to suck up bug carcasses and I get my son to empty it when he stops by. Now! Knowing that Id been, well, INTIMATE with this slimy, squirmy thing made me want to have my hand amputated. After two showers I went out back to gag down a cup of green tea (I make myself drink one cup a day but I can’t remember why). As I sat trying to regain my composure, a movement caught my eye. Something was slithering not two feet from my feet. It was 12 inches long and its little tongue was darting into the air. Was it hissing at me? ”SNAKE!” I yelled so loud and long, my voice could be heard clear out to the Wal-Mart parking lot. I dashed back into the house and locked the doors. I won’t be going outside for a long time, so BLT and I are probably going to need some counseling.______ Emily Jones is a retired baby boomer who is trying to adjust to second adulthood. She may be reached at
This email address is being protected from spam bots, you need Javascript enabled to view it
|
|
Last Updated ( Tuesday, 08 April 2008 )
|
