by Beth Goodman

Disclaimers: None whatsoever. Oh, maybe a spew alert.

Feedback is always welcome: bethgoodman@e-scribblers.com .

Copyright © 2004 by Beth Goodman. All Rights Reserved.

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Granny was a gardener the likes of which has to be seen to be believed. Plants loved her, I swear the flowers turned their faces towards her instead of the sun. She could grow anything, from any climate, as a potted plant in the house or stuffed in a bed outside. The house plants thrived around her to the extent that she had to give half of them away once a year just to keep the jungle under control.

She was far from scientific in her approach, she just grew whatever sparked her fancy, in fact we had plants that had started off in planters at the mall -- Granny would just reach out and pinch off a bit, wrap it in a napkin and the next thing I knew we had one growing in the living room at home.

Now when it came to the vegetable gardens (and yes she had more than one at a time) she was a woman with a plan. Certain plants were always planted together because one put out something the other needed and the other provided a climbing surface or maybe was a deterrent for a particular garden pest. The back garden was the biggest, and was probably about 20 x 30 feet in size (I was never allowed in it, I can kill plastic plants.) There we planted sweet corn, zucchini, asparagus, radishes, green beans, wax beans, sweet carrots (that were always fat and stumpy because the ground was so hard,) beets, onions, and potatoes, and cucumbers. Then there was the 6 x 6 foot strawberry patch, a peach tree and a apricot tree (both grown from pits stuffed in the ground to amuse a great-grandchild) a plum tree, and a grape vine.

The cream of the crop, though, was planted in the side garden with southern exposure: the tomatoes. I can remember eating huge, meaty, flavorful tomatoes until the acid made my mouth sore and gave me a stomach ache. I liked salt on mine, while Granny preferred sugar (which I always found a little odd.) The only plants allowed to share the side garden with the tomatoes were my grandmothers beloved rose bushes and African violets (which also helped keep the aphids away.) Granny was very protective of the tomato crop, and was constantly patrolling for the most dreaded of all garden pests, those foul creatures which can only be described as evil incarnate, the tomato worms. Now I don't know if you've ever seen a tomato worm, but they just traumatized me as a kid. They're bright green caterpillars about two to three inches long and as big around as an adult's finger. Thankfully I don't have to deal with them these days, but with Granny's eyesight failing I was drafted into the war effort. There was no way on God's green earth that I was touching them, with gloves on or otherwise. No way, no how, not going to make me, I won't do it. So, how did we handle this problem in the armed forces? I would take Granny's hand and guide her toward the tomato worms until she could pluck them off and deal with them. Worked for me.

Considering the heinous nature of the tomato worm's crimes they were not just summarily executed like the other garden pests that Granny would just squish between her fingers (yuck.) Tomato worms were marched out to the back garden where Granny would place them on a flat rock set aside specifically to be a sort of tomato worm gallows, and then she would take her other special rock and lift it up over her head... and drop it dead center on the worm and send green gunk flying everywhere.

Yep. Granny practiced psychological warfare against the bugs. She seemed to take an awful lot of satisfaction in it too -- I almost wondered at times if she was going to interrogate her captives before she reduced them to goo. As for me, while I miss the tomatoes, I'm still not touching a tomato worm, no how, now way, and you can't make me!

Take me to Life With Granny 15...

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