One of the notable episodes of my summer in the garden was the discovery of this horned worm on my tomato plant. This was my first encounter with such a bug and our acquaintance lasted less than a day.
I found it while visiting my garden. There was an area of a tomato plant completely denuded of leaves which warranted a closer look. It had eaten so much the culprit wasn’t too hard to spot: A huge caterpillar clinging motionless to a branch. Not wanting to touch the beast, I found a jar and clipped the stem.
What a remarkable creature. Safely in the jar, I took a closer look. It resembled perfectly a curled-up tomato leaf. The color and markings resemble its favorite food and provide superior camouflage.
After leaving him alone for a while I came back to the jar. The worm, who I called Harold, was moving and had eaten all the leaves. I picked a few more from my other plants and stuffed them in the jar. It didn’t take long for him to begin. All day that’s all he did. Eat and poop. Green tomato leaf balls of waste. I didn’t know what to do with him. Many suggested drowning Harold in soapy water or giving a good squish. But that’s just not my style. I learned that if allowed to live, Harold would become a large and rather striking moth. So, I determined to release him at the end of the yard at a densely hedged fence. I hoped he wouldn’t starve to death, but he couldn’t hang around in my vegetable garden, either. Horned worms are voracious, and they’ll quickly kill a tomato plant and move on to the next.
As life happens, soon after my decision over Harold’s eventual fate, I forgot about him. Night fell, and we went to bed.
The next day as I got up to walk the dog, I remembered Harold and went to his jar. Except for about six marble-sized balls of green tomato leaf poop, it was empty. No stems, no leaves, and no Harold. It was a dewy morning and there looked to be some disturbance in the dampness around the jar, but what happened to Harold was a mystery.
He couldn’t have gotten out. It was a glass jar with sides that slanted inward. He’d eaten any stems he could climb. So, he probably didn’t crawl out, but what happened?
Later that day, I passed by the scene of the crime. The dew had dried, and distinct footprints were now visible around the jar. Squirrels. It had to be! We have them all over. A quick Google search about squirrels and caterpillars reveals that Harold is quite a snack. A delicacy, even. And not only as a caterpillar but as a moth. Apparently, squirrels like butterflies, too, but I don’t want to think about that.
I was satisfied by it all, really. I spent time in wonder at a curious creature. And what to do with Harold worked out without further intervention from me. It was a circle-of-life moment. And I hope the squirrel enjoyed it.
