Sorry I'm late. It's been one of those weeks. I didn't get a chance to stalk bugs or go swamp stomping this time, BUT ... I did find the first tomato!
Does that count?
Tomatoes hold a special place in my heart. When I was a kid, I lived on the banks of a river. Between the house level and the river, there was a wide bank, a ledge of rich soil where my grandfather had a vegetable garden. He grew corn, beans, peppers, melons, asparagus; all the usual summer crops were there. But the best of all were the tomatoes.
You see, in that garden Pop had a little stone shack that he'd built himself. There was a fireplace in it and one castoff easy chair that always faced the fire. There was a trap door over a small hole below the wooden floor for a glass jug of cold water, with a string through the handle for hauling it up. And on the work table under the sunny corner windows, just to the left of the fishing rods, there was always a tin mug for the water and a salt shaker for tomatoes picked straight off the vine. Many a happy morning was spent there with Pop in that tiny world apart.
And there was nothing like the taste of my grandfather's Big Boy tomatoes. The pop of the skin as your teeth broke the surface, the intense scent and tang of their flesh, and the gush of sweet juice, so much of it that some always escaped to dribble down your chin. Maybe they've been sweetened by nostalgia, or maybe we can't grow them like that anymore, but I have never since tasted tomatoes as luscious as those were.
Needless to say, when I spotted these sturdy Big Boy plants in a garden center three weeks ago, there was no question that they were coming home with me. Never mind that we were still getting snow, and that I would have to defend them against the cat for however long it took for the weather to settle. Too bad for the hubby who didn't want them, too. The Big Boys went in the cart, alongside a couple of cherry tomatoes and a rosemary plant, the first of my herb-garden-to-be.
All of them currently reside in the ruined roasting pan I told you about at Thanksgiving, which has proven to be an excellent thing for holding plants and for hauling them in and out of the house until they can be set out for the season.
The little tomato in the photo is only the size of a large marble. Still, it was a moment of pure pleasure to find it there. I know Pop would have smiled too.
Michelle, thanks so much, again for hosting this meme. And thanks especially this week for featuring Havenwood in your blog!
Here's the link back to the main event, everybody. Please play along next time!
Click Here: Nature Notes.
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