She Magazine JULY 2016 | Page 54

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. SHEMAGAZINE.COM