As soon as the massive hornworm hosts the eggs of the braconid wasp, cotesia congregates, the worm, while continuing to live as feeding host for the baby wasps, no longer eats or even moves. Nature working for you, as it should be. The little red wasps are friendly. Be nice to them.
These guys, in the tomato patch, go after Horn Worms.
And these guys pray, that is, prey on their prey, this time in the asparagus patch:
No pumpkin patch this year.
But there is a vineyard tended by ὁ γεωργός (georgos – George), the Tiller of the Ground, the Farmer, the Vinedresser. “I am the vine and my Father is the Vinedressor” (John 15:1).
So, some praying needs to be going on in this Garden of Eden turned Gethsemane.
It’s 5:15 AM on a Sunday. Usually up by 2:00 AM. But now it all starts:
5:20 AM Feed the dogs!
5:30 AM Run up to Holy Redeemer church in Andrews
6:00 AM Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament (during which Confessions are heard). There’s also prayers such as a Rosary and the Breviary.
7:00 AM Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament followed by the Litany of Humility etc.
7:10 AM Race to Prince of Peace church in Robbinsville across the mountain
7:35 AM Set up for Exposition and Mass
8:00 AM Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament (during which Confessions are heard while there is also a Rosary)
8:30 AM Holy Mass
9:30 AM Race back to Andrews
10:30 AM Confessions
11:00 AM Holy Mass
12:30 PM Chat with the counters
1:30 PM Head out for Communion Calls, Last Rites, etc.
About 7:30 PM more or less. Collapse, after feeding the dogs.
Oh, did I mention that the Fathers of the Church repeated many times that the seedbed in the garden of the Lord is watered by the blood of the martyrs? Yes. We thank them for their prayers and guidance.
PS: I suppose those using Covid-19 to smash down religious rights will be apoplectic about such admissions as are made in this post, perhaps until they realize that this is the smallest parish church ever.
This beast, hanging out underneath the leaves, is the manduca quinquemaculata, which, as a caterpillar, is the tomato-tobacco hornworm. No tabacco here, so they just have to eat my tomatoes. They turn into this, the five-spotted hawk moth:
“Hawk moth.” That’s rather a compliment. I call it a turd moth.
I’m still enjoying gardening. Finding out even about turd moths is a welcome break from the mayhem of the day, and here, in the drug capital of WNC, from the mayhem of the night as well. Still, I would rather eat the tomatoes instead of them.
“Instead of them…” That didn’t sound right. I meant I would rather eat the tomatoes instead of the horn worms eating the tomatoes. I didn’t mean that I would rather eat the tomatoes instead of me eating the horn worms. But there is some discussion of massive huge worms being an alternative source of protein. Just. No. Can’t do it. Even if it was all scientifically proven to be “good for you.” That would be like eating a… turd.