Month: July 2017

The Number One Pest Killing Your Tomato Plants

In my early childhood, we lived in an end-unit townhome of a bustling little town in Northern Virginia.  Being in a neighborhood where the homes touched each other didn’t stop Grandaddy from pursuing his love of home grown veggies and he became a master of container gardening.  

Our fence backed up to about 15 feet of woods before opening into the next crowded subdivision.  We had  a tiny back-yard, covered patio, faded deck, and the ultimate bunny paradise (more on that later).

On each stair leading up to the deck from the yard there were tomato and pepper plants evenly spaced and beautifully staked.  No lack of space was going to keep him from a toasted ‘mater sammich!

Grandaddy always had a way of teaching me all about life through nature.  I remember my first real, conceptual image of Jesus hanging on the cross as described using the soft pink petals of a dogwood flower.   I can still smell the raw tobacco wafting from his shirt pocket as he knelt down on his knees bringing the open soft pack of Marlboro Reds right to nose level.   That day I learned how nails were driven into my precious Savior’s hands and feet.

About that same time, he introduced me to what I would come to know as the enemy.  One who came to steal, kill and destroy….our tomato plants.  He called them “horned devils” and I knew immediately by the tone in his voice when he stumbled upon one that they were bad news.

Tomato hornworms are the larva of hawk moths; giant brown moths that can rival a bumble bee with the way they stop and hover.  As a homesteader, creatures with the words devil, hawk, horned or pest in their names have become my nemeses.  I remember in the summertime sitting on the deck steps and pouring over Grandaddy’s plants trying to find these nasty beasts.  Back when I had the fearlessness of youth, I’d pluck them off with my bare hands.

A single “horned devil” can destroy an entire tomato plant in days.  They are merciless.  What’s worse, you can often find them covered in white “spikes”.  I later learned these are parasitic wasp larva devouring the worm before hatching **insert screaming face emoji here**  I can’t fully wrap my head around posts like this, noting the benefits of more wasps – they must not keep honeybees!

On the homestead, I’ve made it a point to use our adventures as a way of teaching my children about the Lord, all while creating memories that (I hope) will last a lifetime for them.  Nature is a perfect place to start learning about God and life if we just slow down and observe all that’s been left for us .  There are clear examples of truth and beauty and love found everywhere.  But the enemy is also everywhere…even in the garden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About Us

Hi there! Thanks so much for stopping by <3

I’m Ashley, owner of Purple Ribbon Homestead in Central Virginia. What once started with a few chickens and a dream, has blossomed into something rooted by passion and drenched in purpose. I lost my grandmother to Alzheimer’s disease in 2018. She was like a mother to me, and always taught me to chase my dreams. Because of this, we’ve used the color purple to bring awareness, raise funds toward a cure, and help others in the areas of love and loss…all while growing a productive homesteading business doing **exactly** what brings us joy!!! I hope you’ll stick around a bit! You can also find us on Facebook @PurpleRibbonHomestead and on Instagram @PurpleRibbon813. Please don’t hesitate to email me at purpleribbonhomestead@gmail…I’d LOVE to hear from you!

We specialize in high quality, performance-proven Nigerian Dwarf and Lamancha dairy goats, pet Velveteen Lop and production meat rabbits, Ancona ducks, Dual Purpose and Silkie chickens, stories, gifts, and recipes.  We are a true working homestead and also offer humanely raised meats, dairy products through herd-share, raw honey, baked and canned goods to our wonderful customers!

*Our posts contain affiliate links used to help us raise funds for our homestead.  A portion of the proceeds will always benefit the Alzheimer’s Association, in loving memory of Nanny.

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How To Let Go

As I peered down into the disaster strewn across the floor and down the stairs, the books began to distort.  Tears came quickly making the mess before me warp and writhe.  It had finally happened.  That cheap, old bookshelf collapsed after an adolescence and adulthood of knowledge and memories had been piled to the brim of each sagging shelf.

I got it from her.  Nanny is a hoarder of sorts.  She’s always held onto things.

Shortly after my eighteenth birthday I found a tiny apartment and was ready to move out on own.  On a small tattered piece of piece of junk mail tossed carelessly on a desk in the loft of Nanny’s old townhome was my handwritten budget.

Rent: $425

Electricity: $25

Phone: $50

Grocery: $50

          Next to my ridiculously naïve expected living expenses she had beautifully penned a farewell note. “HAHA!  Good luck!”

The evening before I came home from jogging to a frantic, frustrated and worried Nan.  It was getting dark out and I hadn’t left a message or let her know where I was.  “Ashley, where have you been!?  I was worried sick.  You can’t just run off without telling me where you’re going.  What if something happened to you?”  In true self-centered teenage fashion I jabbed at her with “UGH, I can’t wait to move out of here.”  I watched those words inflict the pain I intended them to and then stormed off.

Whenever I was faced with something new and unfamiliar, before I ever found my footing, it was Nanny I looked to for guidance and security.  That first night alone in my new apartment she called me.  “Ash are you alright?  Do you need anything?  I just wanted to check on you….”  I was so grateful for that phone call, both for the forgiveness it implied and the comfort it offered.

As the years passed by, anytime I ever needed anything it was Nan I called.   I remember when my toaster broke and she said “Come on over, I’m sure I have an extra somewhere.”  Turns out she had three to choose from.  I began to notice how she held onto things almost just waiting to give either her grace or the perfect item to remedy a hardship.  It was how she let go.

A lifetime of memories flashed by as I began to sort through that pile of books, each one a reminder of an earlier time in life.  Some made me think of God’s mercy and my reckless college days, and some of home and Nanny and of comfort.  I’ll box a few of these books up and donate them.  And some of those really special ones; the ones etched into my soul that molded and changed me, I’ll hang onto for the perfect moment in time when I can help someone with them.

Today I’m learning to let go of her and that’s an entirely different kind of letting go.  Alzheimer’s is taking her from me one day at the time.  But I will always be grateful for the lessons she taught me.  Because of her I’ll look for ways to offer forgiveness even when it’s not deserved and I’ll hang onto everything just like she did, until letting it go blesses someone else, more than holding on ever could.