Marti Miller-Willoughby contributing writer
summer storms
& Horn Worms
Ah,
summer! For many, it is the
most delightful season. It’s a
break from school schedules
and stresses. It’s homemade ice cream and refreshing trips to the beach, family reunion adventures and sand-laced suntan lotion. It’s stars and
stripes and fireworks. It’s juicy peaches and hot
buttery corn on the cob and thick-sliced tomato
sandwiches slathered in mayo (Ewww!). It’s time
to grill out and jump in the pool…or the river…
or the hammock. Or the ice cream bowl.
As for me, however, I’m more of a fall and winter
kind of gal. Give me cool breezes and crisp mountain air. And long pants and sweaters. And Halloween and Thanksgiving, and Christmas and jumping
in leaf piles and snow drifts. This appears to be
especially true for the summer of 2016 – at least so
far, anyway. Please allow me to share with you the
following early summer adventures.
I was reaching forward to select the ripest of
garden peas one recent toasty morning when my
dear, sweet husband simultaneously reached
forward to introduce me to my first ever horn
worm. Now, I have been around the garden, so
to speak, in my 62 years. I’ve learned a thing or
three about what vegetable is what and when
it needs to be picked. But I have never, ever in
my life seen, up close and personal, mind you –
a ginormous horn worm.
56
JULY 2016
If you have never had the joy, let me attempt to
describe h im (I guess?) for you. He was undulating along an innocent pea pod, heavy-laden with
previously consumed pea leaves. If you are a fan
of Star Wars, my best descriptor is this: he looked
just like Jabba the Hut, only skinned in a bright
Kelly green shade – not unlike the pea leaf he was
undulating upon. Clever worm. And, of course,
there was that horn thing protruding from his body
like a weapon of mass vegetation destruction.
As if this were not enough, Mr. Willoughby decided to give me a lesson in how to rid the garden of
this disgusting, grossly overweight blob of a pest
by hurling him forcefully to the ground beside me.
Old Horny literally exploded before my eyes as dark
green innards spewed forth like earthy fireworks…
all over Mr. Willoughby’s uncovered, hairy calves.
Yes, there is justice in this garden world! And it was
the only positive portion of that chance encounter
with my first ever and hopefully last horn worm.
But wait, there’s more!
I was reaching forward toward the kitchen
one bleary-eyed morning in anticipation of my
first cup of life boosting hot java nectar when my
not-so-keen-yet eyes glanced at something in the
corner of the kitchen. Keep in mind that I was still
in jammies and barefooted. I heard a slight thumping sound, too. What could that be? Auuuuggggghhhh!!! It was a very large snake, IN THE KITCHEN,
just two feet from my bare tootsies. I ran. And I
screamed. And screamed some more.
Waking a man who sleeps soundly without his
hearing aids is not an easy task. That morning was
the exception. Perhaps it was the running and
screaming in his direction? He shot out of bed like a
rocket (not like the usual bear waking from winter
hibernation). He made it to the kitchen in record
time, only to discover to our mutual horror that the
snake had disappeared. Again, perhaps it was all
the running and screaming?
To this discovery, my husband wrongly decided
to share the rule about snake sightings: Never take
your eyes off the snake. Oh, right. Guess I forgot
about that while I was busy running and screaming. Golly Moses. Sorry! Fortunately, he redeemed
himself later in the day by successfully extracting
said snake from the dining room as it slithered up
beside him while contemplating his game plan at
the table. Evidently, he followed the rule of snake
sightings because, when I was calm enough to
return to the house, the snake (a five-foot long corn
snake) was lying outside, dead as a doorknob. So,
I forgave him for repeating the snake sighting rule
to me while I was gasping for breath during my
early morning pre-coffee panic attack.
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