"The Bastard"

Over the past several years, I’ve become an avid gardener. Like any worthwhile pursuit, gardening relies on instinct, research, experience and a fair bit of luck. And a lot of time (or thyme, if you’re into herbs or homonyms). But, if you put in that time, if you apply lessons learned and if you use really good soil, you’ll produce some vegetables or grow some pretty flowers.

Unless it rains a lot. Or not at all. Or if it gets too hot. Or if there’s an unexpected freeze. Or if a giant hornworm caterpillar invades your garden overnight and devours the tomato plant you painstakingly grew from seed back in the winter and transplanted into a garden bed in the spring in hopes of getting a few slicers for a mid-summer BLT.

In the southeastern U.S., we suffer two types of hornworms: tomato and tobacco. The demons preying on my nightshade veggies this year are tobacco hornworms, which look very similar to their tomato cousins. If you dare to get close enough, you can tell the two apart by the number and shape of the stripes and the color of the “horn.” The tobacco hornworm sports seven stripes and a orange-red horn; the tomato variety boasts eight “chevron” markings and a black horn. Both caterpillars are the larvae of large moths. Both are about four inches long. Both can defoliate a tomato or pepper plant lickety-split. Both of them suck.

Once they appear, you have two choices: let them graze and hope they don’t migrate to another plant, or grab the squishy four-inch-long worms and dispatch them in the manner that suits you.

So in tribute to the horribly-beautiful and impressively-destructive hornworm, I offer the latest entry to my watercolor journal. This one is titled, “The Bastard.” Hope you enjoy!

Squishy. Gross. Eats your plants. Poops a lot. What's not to love?