A Tomato is Born

The rain fell again this morning. Such a wet season.

A tomato is born

Today we have evidence of our very first tomato! Woo-hoo! The little green fruit popped out seemingly overnight. Our second tomato plant has not fared as well. It was pulled up as it succumbed to some sort of fungus. My ignorance of proper gardening techniques no doubt contributed to its early demise. I have lots to learn and lots of work to do on our soil before next spring.

Most mornings the bell pepper leaves have some sort of droppings on them. Actually, I have seen several different types of droppings, though never more than one type at a time. (Refraining from sharing the photos… You’re welcome.) Some of it has to be from the occasional worm that stops by for a free meal. The other hopefully is left behind by the Carolina anole lizards who call our back porch home and help us with insect control. If someone could inform the cats that the lizards are useful and to kindly leave them alone, that would be fabulous. So far the three amigas have not received that memo.

A Google search of what’s on the bell pepper leaves might give some answers. Something tells me my knowledge of mulch, manure, droppings and the like will grow as time goes by, like it or not.  And while I usually don’t miss an opportunity to learn something new, today is not the day we will be Googling “poop.”

I have decided not to panic over the droppings or the holes in the leaves from whatever is producing them. Between the bugs, lizards, and birds that visit our back yard, the food chain appears to keep the problem reasonably in check. The plant continues to grow despite the holes in the leaves. And it has produced a flower. We wait patiently to see if we get a pepper.

Carolina anole photo courtesy Brett_Hondow, Pixabay

So many wild creatures were taken for granted or simply not noticed until I started gardening. This morning I picked up a water container and disturbed a pile of uprooted gladiolus. Out scurried a tiny little anole lizard, almost black from his choice of hiding spot in the shadows. I apologized for frightening him and wished him well in avoiding the cats.

At midday the cheep-cheep of a cardinal could be heard from my desk in the kitchen where I was busy writing this post.  I walked to the window. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining, though all was still wet. Perched on a cinder block outside was a male cardinal. I thought about snapping his picture through the cat nose prints on the glass. But he had left his perch to hop about under the bushes in search of lunch. I hope he discovers our little vegetable plants and likes the taste of whatever gnaws on the bell pepper.

© 2015-2016 Our Lives in Stories



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