November 24th, 2008
About the time some of you were finding South Shoreganics, the birds were, too. Let me stop here to interject that we like birds. Especially doves. In fact, one of our kid’s names means dove in another language.
That said, we also like cherry tomatoes.
So, about the time the doves were finding the cherry tomatoes, I was hearing words uttered in sentences with doves that should never, never be spoken in the same breath. Fortunately, it was shortly after those muffled threats that a remedy was discovered. A kinder, gentler solution to the issue of the birds presented itself in the form of a large, plastic…owl.
The owl arrived at South Shoreganics in the back of our trusty vehicle one day while I was down harvesting bird-sampled tomatoes. I was immediately summoned by the kids to view the newest member of our farming operation. The idea of keeping the birds away with an owl? It was brilliant, and this owl was definitely going to work. He was about 1.5 feet tall, which would have been intimidating enough for small birds and field rodents, but his size wasn’t the half of it. If you were to get into the mind of a mouse (track with me here) and probe the area of gray matter that stores fear, you would find a movie playing over and over of this particular owl’s eyes. I’m not joking. You know baby-doll eyes? That slightly creepy frozen stare? They have nothing on these. These are hands-down nightmare eyes. Bulging, yellow eyes whose stare is fixed on whatever the owl is pointed towards. This owl had scary Lord of the Rings villain down-pat.
The kids lost no time in naming the owl. It’s name I would gladly share with you, however I cannot, for anything, ever seem to remember what that name is…Ted? Ned? Ed?
In our excitement, we hoisted the owl (Bert? Sam? Jeb?) over our heads and began a joyous dance. The tomatoes were saved, and we were ecstatic. We cheered and jumped…until we were sternly hushed by Farmer Jer. He pointed out to the kids and I that if the rodents, birds and other tomato predators saw the owl in the hands of cavorting humans, they would never fear it. They would know.
That man is pure genius, I tell you.
We set the owl (Bob? Bill? Dirk?) back in it’s place and shut the back of the vehicle, tip-toeing away giggling.
The full-moon, which always find us at the land transplanting seedlings until after dark, was the following night. After we finished our transplanting, we made our way to the car and brought out the owl. His time had come. Under the cover of night, we hoisted him up on the end of a long bamboo pole. Once again the tomatoes had hope; the owl had landed.
The weeks passed in a blur of harvesting. Every couple of days we moved the owl’s perch to imitate the life that he was lacking. It was a season of freedom, of joy, of salsa. The blurry season ended abruptly one night when a strong gust of wind knocked the owl (Doug?) to the ground and he lay face down in the dirt. On the morning that I found him, I’m pretty sure I saw a dove roosting on his plastic backside.
Farmer Jer picked up our store-bought villian. The owl’s eyes, once terrifying, were now caked with mud.
Jer carried the villian’s plastic body and placed it back in the vehicle. We said our sad goodbyes to the owl (Frank? Sid? Lenny?). The gig was up. The secret was out.
They knew.
The age of the owl has ended, at least until a new generation of rodent/bird/varmit comes to the farm. Fortunately for our members, his legacy lives on. More on the joys and perils of farming later. For now, know that your produce, including but not limited to cherry tomatoes, is being valiantly defended here at South Shoreganics by our family and the memory of an owl whose name eludes me.
organic, it’s local, it’s fresh. This is the good stuff, folks.
