This morning, while Monty and the kids were feeding the goats and chickens nearby, I made my morning pilgrimage to the garden, bucket and scissors in hand and coated well in Off bug spray.
I always visit the tomatoes first, even though I haven't picked the first ripe fruit yet. I'm a vigorous pruner and vine-trainer, and I always want to be sure my vines are establishing great roots and putting their energies toward fruiting with plenty of proper support for the weight I HOPE they put on in tomatoes.
Today, I really took out much of the "underbrush" - the side limbs that are below the first blossoms or small fruits. I want to keep good air circulation under and around the plants, and this should help. I'm always cutting out suckers, too.
What I noticed today, however, is in addition to the red spider mites that I sprayed for 2 weeks in a row I found a nice colony of white flies! Okay, bugs, it's ONNNNNN! I marched straight to the garage, brought out the sprayer canister, whipped out the measuring spoons, and measured the hopefully lethal dose of malathion. A cruel smirk began to contort my whole face and I channeled one or more of the Ghostbusters to get "the right stuff" into my strut back to the garden. Man, I wish I had thought to rig my sprayer into a backpack-type mechanism to really look the part, but the pumping I have to do to get the spray wouldn't be convenient. Darn!!
I arrived back at the garden anthropomorphizing the plants in my mind, imagining them suffering from their pests, gasping for breath, crying out in weak, little voices for help . . . . "Who you gonna call?" ME!!!!
As I pump air into the sprayer, I jump from one movie character to another. First, I'm Bill Murray as Dr. Vinkman in Ghostbusters sauntering around in Dana's apartment playfully squeezing the trigger of a feaux ghost-detector. Then I shift over to Bill Murray's character in Caddy Shack maniacally plotting destruction of the gopher and any terrain or structures surrounding him. Then I'm Trinity in The Matrix turning no-hands cartwheels as I blow away the cyber enemy harming no real humans so I'm completely methodical, precise, and cold as blue steel in leather and greased-back hair . . . .
The bugs are shrieking and stampeding away in the grip of mortal terror, and the plants are relaxing and looking to the sky, thankful that their rescuer arrived just in the nick of time. They receive the poison liquid like so much anti-venom after a rattlesnake bit and then sigh and rest to allow their bodies to recuperate.
I mete out the magical liquid carefully but generously to be sure to save EVERY fruiting plant and eradicate every little ugly, plant-sucking, vine-chewing, leaf-eating varmint that might be lurking about my precious garden.
As the last molecule of poison spits out the end of the sprayer wand, I turn and survey all that I've sprayed. As I look around the beautiful, lush blossoming and fruiting plants and garden structures, I remember what Bruce Willis said in "Live Free or Die Hard": Officer McClane said (something to the effect of): When someone needs help, you have to BE "that guy." Today, in my garden, I am "that guy." I walk exhausted to the garage, rinse out my sprayer, and think about all the death and destruction I have wrought. . . . Cool.
Silly music to accompany a silly post:
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