An English In Kentucky


















June 5th  2011    Tim Candler

    Very certain there is a Horn Worm in the Tomato.  The little bastard struggling for his life, and sometimes I come to the opinion that maybe this time he should be allowed to reach his maturity, form his chrysalis and fly with the Hummingbirds.

    Then Horn Worms get big.  The size of a large fat finger with appetite to match, and you know he's big because his scat resembles Elephant droppings, and hours are spent with your head in the Tomato plants desperate to find him because the night before he swallowed a little Tomato.


     Soon now too, Stinkbugs will start to suck on things, their beady eyes staring back, their million children waiting to hatch and the Long Beans already confused by volunteer Malabar Spinach.  It's a odd thing, but Stinkbugs don't bother the hot weather Spinach, yet they'll crowd and throw drunken parties for a Long Bean.

      And though my fingers are still tightly crossed, Blue Lake are bushing not climbing, which is certainly a testament to that ancient tradition of maintaining civility when amongst vegetable rows by never swearing at a hose pipe.

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