Gardening might be the closest I will ever come to magic in this world. The delight and wonder of growing plants transcends the sometimes ugly or thorny blemishes of reality – and I felt this way even before the Pandemic. If gardening is magic, then the tobacco hornworm is a troll, gnome, or orc of the magical world.* My lazy Sunday morning stroll through my vegetable garden ended abruptly as I spied a defoliated tomato plant, looking miserable and a little embarrassed with numerous leaves conspicuously missing.
I’ve never seen such an enormous caterpillar.
I’m a gardener most passionate about ornamental plants. My husband is still coming to grips with the fact that although I am a farmer’s daughter, most of my energy is directed toward flowers, with one small exception. I adore tomatoes.
Beginning in August and continuing through October, I move at a breakneck speed picking and putting up tomatoes – canning, freezing, and making container after container of tomato spaghetti sauce to freeze. Those tomatoes sustain me through the cold dark days of winter.
It is a lot of work (and makes the kitchen hot!), but I do love canning tomatoes.
This summer – our third on the farm – finds us just starting to get raised beds constructed and new in-ground plots established. I have a baker’s dozen of tomato plants – Rutgers, some Cherokee Purple, a handful of Roma tomatoes, and cherry tomatoes.
And I have tobacco hornworns on my tomatoes.
Such a sad and naked tomato plant!
The tobacco hornworm (Manduca sexta) and the tomato hornworm (Manduca quinquemaculata) look quite similar. But, if you consider them within the realm of a magical world, the differences are easy to spot: the tobacco hornworm has a red horn, and the tomato hornworm has a black horn. (Unicorns are quite popular in our household right now.)
Late instar larva of Manduca quinquemaculata (Haworth), the tomato hornworm. Photograph by John Capinera, University of Florida. http://entnemdept.ufl.edu/creatures/field/tobacco_hornworm.htm
I spent over an hour inspecting my tomato plants, and removing each fat hornworm. Then my toddler and I examined them, deciding that they were very colorful, but perhaps not quite as interesting as unicorns.
A hummingbird moth feeding on cleome in my garden.
I must disagree with my three-year old’s opinion, for the metamorphosis of the bright green caterpillar into a hummingbird moth (or hawkmoth) is far more fascinating than unicorns.
A close-up view of a hummingbird moth. https://www.featheredphotography.com/blog/2014/08/24/white-lined-sphinx-moth-hummingbird-moth/
For that reason, the fat caterpillars were removed to another part of the farm, far from my tomatoes. If they survive to be adults, then I will welcome them back as they flit and flutter on warm summer nights – for the sight of their hovering, speedy bodies in August is decidedly magical.
*Although the hornworm can wreck havoc on plants while in the larval stage, as moths they are invaluable pollinators. If they aren’t destroying a crop on which you depend for your livelihood – pick them off and move them somewhere else instead of killing them.
