Tomato Diaries

There is a new lizard in town, and his name is Frank. He exudes charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent, but these qualities weren’t evident right away. When I found him, he was barely moving on the sidewalk outside my place. I already had mealworms for the jumping spiders and hadn’t taught them about sharing yet, so I picked him up and brought him to my patio for food and some group SEL. At first he seemed shy and wouldn’t eat if I was watching (I now attribute this to defiance), and for a few days he barely even lifted his head. I started to worry- is he dying, too? I must have been terrible in a past life. But over the course of a week, he ate about 10 mealworms and finally started to explore. He was quickly promoted to Inspector Frank because of his diligent assessment of the perimeter, and then stripped of his title within days after he picked his favorite spots and became impressively lazy. 

Since Frank’s rescue, I’ve learned a lot about lizards. My most baffling observation: he never pees. I thought maybe there was something wrong with him, but luckily I recognized that I don’t actually know lizard things and decided to do some research before accidentally going full Munschausen by proxy. Turns out, lizard bodies are very different from human bodies. Lizards actually do pee, but it’s solid…they have pee crystals that just come out with their poop which allows them to retain hydration. It’s super easy to clean and I wish all living things had this adaptation. Changing diapers would be so much easier. So would having to pee when there are no bathrooms or adequate coverage around. It would probably also be good for water conservation, which is maybe more important, but wouldn’t directly impact my life as much as the other benefits.

Frank was supposed to be a garden guard, but I moved him inside once I realized there were cats with a penchant for lizards constantly patrolling the neighborhood. He now has a pretty sweet set up with big sticks that have been confiscated from my students. Someone confiscated the first stick at recess one day because of its potential for destruction and gave it to me. I wondered…what am I supposed to do with this? So I put it in a bush outside, but then it ended up back in my student’s backpack and was confiscated again at dismissal. No one can say my students don’t persevere. Luckily, I’ve figured out how to put these sticks to good use. Frank is perpetually distrustful and was very suspicious of the sticks at first, but he’s warmed up to them. Now he uses them to climb for athletically gifted crickets and curl up for toasty naps under his heat lamps. 

Frank’s relocation indoors meant that the tomatoes were left without a guard. That is, until the baby jumping spiders. And now, they’re basically still unguarded because the tiny spiders are useless. 0% intimidating. They could probably cure people of arachnophobia. I wonder if there’s a market for spider immersion therapy. (*Look into this.) Fortunately, the tomato plants seem to be doing well without any defense. All of them are taller and way sturdier than last year’s yield, and I haven’t even had to shake them. 7 out of the 10 survivors have multiple flowers and thus hold great potential. Next order of business: devise a plan to get more pollinators. I was not comfortable with my hands on approach to pollination last year. Also, it didn’t even work. Talk about a lose-lose situation. This year, we’re hoping for a lose-win.