| Whoever
composed “summertime, and the livin’ is easy…”
wasn’t trying to grow tomatoes off of my back porch.
If they had been, the lyrics would have been more along the
lines of “summertime, and the yard is a war zone…”
You’d think that growing tomatoes would be easy--I mean,
from the way Home Depot sells them every spring, you get the
impression that next to marigolds, they’re pretty much
your basic starter garden plant. And I’ve been witness
to their success in other gardens in my own neighborhood:
by August, little old ladies have an over abundance of the
juicy red fruits, which they try to pawn off onto other neighbors,
with promises of the delicious taste that lies within--a little
like Snow White’s witch with the red apple.
So hey, since I like a big, fresh, juicy tomato on top of
my burger just as much as anyone, I thought to myself “why
not give tomatoes a shot in the patio garden?”
After all, the
jalapenos took off like gangbusters last year. This being
my second year in the growing-edible-plants-on-the-patio racket,
surely I was ready for tomatoes.
So I planted them--and they grew. Little green plants sprouted
little green buds that bloomed into little white flowers that
ripened into lovely little green tomatoes. And I saw it. And
it was good. In fact, my boyfriend and I watched the whole
process and began to salivate: the thought of fresh tomatoes,
still warm from the sun, diced artfully and sprinkled into
savory salads... sliced skillfully and paired with fresh mozzarella
and basil for an elegant Italian-esque snack… chopped
expertly and tossed with freshly cooked pasta for a savory
summer dinner… the possibilities were endless, limited
only by our imaginations…
And, unfortunately, by the birds.
In my young gardening naiveté, I didn’t realize
that we weren’t the only ones salivating over our tomatoes.
A family of mockingbirds was eyeing them, too. And just as
our first batch of the delicious little fruits began to turn
from green to yellow, they descended--a ravenous horde, crazed
and greedy, in a blitzkrieg strike of sharp beaks and gray
wings. The left nothing but bloody pecked skins in their wake.
I was bummed, of course. My boyfriend, on the other hand,
was livid. While I was resigned to moving the plants closer
to the house, or maybe buying a plastic owl to act as a scarecrow,
he was intent on revenge. He quickly learned to identify the
responsible birds (although he insists on calling them assholebirds
instead of mockingbirds), and began to sit in wait for them
by the back door. As soon as an assholebird landed anywhere
near a pot of tomatoes, he’d jump up and bang on the
door to scare them away. That had the effect of telling a
two-year-old “No”: the bird would fly off about
10 feet for about 10 seconds, decide there was no real danger,
and fly back. Obviously, further steps needed to be taken.
 He
wanted to get a BB gun, and asked me if I would mind. I pictured
him crouched in wait by the back door, weapon in hand, eyes
scanning the trees for the telltale gray heads and white-striped
wings. Unhappy with this guerrilla-like warfare, I played
the part of Gandhi in this conflict, insisting on a campaign
of nonviolence--surely there must be another way.
We lost two crops of juicy tomatoes to the assholebirds before
we made it back to Home Depot, armed with a slew of internet
research on the best way to protect tomatoes from winged predators.
And thankfully, we found it--in Aisle 7, along with the all-weather
tarp and multi-spray hose nozzle--the Holy Grail of tomato
gardening: the bird net.
Nonviolent yet effective, defensive without being offensive
(and cheap to boot!), this fabulous invention was the answer
to all of our problems. It didn’t take much in the end:
a couple of feet of black netting, draped protectively over
the tops of the tomato cages and secured under the pot of
each plant. It was nearly invisible once it was up. And it
actually worked! The assholebirds came swooping down, evil
thoughts in their little minds, and landed on the net. Confused,
they took several frustrated jabs at the fruit within--so
close, yet so far away--squawked angrily at the invisible
enemy, and flew away. In the end, the bird net has always
won.
So, for now at least, the war is over. Still, watching the
mockingbirds go nuts because they can no longer reach that
juicy little morsel shining inside the net brings a satisfied
gleam to my boyfriend’s eye. As for me, I survey our
little patio garden in the morning over my cup of tea, happily
making plans for our next batch of juicy tomatoes. I hope
that my guy has learned something about resolving differences
peacefully in the big scheme of things… and then I notice
that there’s a colony of fire ants starting to build
a mound near our porch… time to head back to Home Depot
for the ant-killer… |
