by Emily Joy White

Created on: August 20, 2008   Last Updated: September 21, 2008

I raise magnificent heirloom tomatoes. That is, today, I raise magnificent heirloom tomatoes. For years I tried to have those delightful summertime treats come up in my yard, but something always happened. The green tomato worms won the battle a few summers. An extended vacation brought disaster another year. My hired teenage helper did not live up to his promises. The ground was dark and moist when I checked the garden upon my return home, but I think he only watered that one day right before we returned.

Finally, when the planting season came around again I was not to be discouraged. I selected lovely tomato plants from the local nursery and put them into my carefully prepared soil. "Grow, you little beauties," I would tell them as I watered and tended daily. "Today, I'll feed you, tomorrow you'll feed me!"

The plants grew thicker and taller and soon I staked and tied them up. My twin sons would watch and ask questions, so I shared my knowledge about raising strong plants and that they needed love and nutrition, just like little boys. My sons were about four years old that summer. They had little watering cans that had been intended for the beach, but soon they learned that watering the garden was fun too.

As the plants developed, I enthusiatically shared each new stage with the boys. "See, there are little flowers now forming. They will become tomatoes. I just love those little yellow flowers!" The boys looked at the flowers with a doubtful look. They really didn't seem to get that flowers would turn into tomatoes.

Outer space could have heard me roar the afternoon the boys came to me with their surprise. "Mom, we have something for you," they beamed and giggled. They both had their hands behind their backs with fists tightly closed. "Close your eyes, Mom." So, I did. I put my hands out and when I looked down to see what they had for me, I found sweaty, crushed little yellow tomato blossoms. "Oh, NO," I shrieked. Tears blinding me, I ran to the garden, and to my horror, they had picked every blossom. They scurried away, so I sat and cried on the back porch. Another tomatoless summer!

My boys are 30 years old this summer, and not once have they ever given me flowers again! However, they do come and help in my garden and they delight in sharing its bounty with friends and co-workers.

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