Wednesday, May 25, 2011
My Garden Gate
Yesterday morning, I was weeding (surprise surprise!) when my five year old joined me. Her visit began with grumbling,
"Why did you latch the gate so tight, mom? It's hard to open!"
Before I could explain that I was hoping to keep her baby brother out of the garden, the next thing I heard was her shouting "NO, No!! Don't! Don't Touch!"
And then, "Mom, Charlie picked another tomato!"
That would bring the tally of tomatoes that he has picked from my poor Stupice to four. This one was a lovely, hopeful mix of orange and green, so close to being ripe. It was even closer than the one he picked over the weekend (On my birthday, no less. He's merciless.) Anyway, by the time I reached him, the tomato had 8 tiny little tooth marks on it.
After that, I made a decision. There was one remaining nearly-ripe tomato on the vine. It was only about the size of a marble, but it was nearly red, with only a couple of green spots left. It was clear that sitting on my hands and waiting for it to get perfectly ripe was risky business. The little guy is fast and ruthless, and my state-of-the-art garden fencing is no match for him (at least when his sister opens the gate ahead of him and lets him in.) I resolved to snap a photo of it on the vine and then pick it, declaring it my earliest homegrown tomato ever. I even considered photo-shopping it to look a tiny bit more red than it actually was.
This is where I would post that photo if I had it. Instead, I found absolutely no trace of the tomato when I took my camera out to the garden.
I'm grieving the loss.