Late summer, and this year the tomato hornworms are out in force. I have mixed feelings about these creatures, because once they hatch into hawk or sphinx moths, they are wonderful pollinators for many plants, fascinating to observe as they hover like hummingbirds over the buddleia. But as caterpillars, do they have to be so damned voracious? Most years I can remove them to places far from the vegetables or snip them in half, but sometimes–like this year–I resort to spraying tomatoes with Bt.

We are having a wet August, however, which is a problem for Bt application: I have to keep applying it after every rain. Not to complain of rain in August–so much more welcome than drought. I always look for hornworms to remove them by hand, but they are so good at camouflage that I’ve only found three so far, and two of those were carrying parasitic wasp cocoons so were not going to live to do much more damage (I removed them anyway). Yet each morning I find further “pruning” of my plants. Sigh.

It’s not a big problem, really. My tomatoes have been going wild this year, with plants 7 feet tall, 8 feet in circumference, all of them loaded with fruit. I should not mind sharing with a few very hungry caterpillars when, after all, I’m loading my friends with tomatoes and making more sauce than Best Beloved and I can possibly consume in a year. And yet, it is rather annoying. So I was scouting the internet when I found this blog from Brie Arthur re hornworms. It’s a nice overview and shows “both sides” of hornworm invaders (though as she is in North Carolina, she has tobacco hornworms on her tomatoes).

Hornworms bring to my mind two very astonishing Stanley Kunitz poems written from the worm’s viewpoint. A tricky task, taking the persona of a non-human and still avoiding the more common issues of anthropomorphism. Kunitz, a master, pulls it off. Here is an excerpt from “Hornworm: Autumn Lamentation.”

~

All day, all night, I carry on my back
embedded in my flesh, two rows
of little white cocoons,
so neatly stacked
they look like eggs in a crate.
And I am eaten half away.

If I can gather strength enough
I'll try to burrow under a stone
and spin myself a purse
in which to sleep away the cold;
though when the sun kisses the earth
again, I know I won't be there.
Instead, out of my chrysalis
will break, like robbers from a tomb,
a swarm of parasitic flies,
leaving my wasted husk behind.

~

I encourage you to read the entire short poem. So layered. And it gave me new respect for the animals that eat the same things we want to eat, who can blame them?