by Emily Tuuk

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

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw my mom's latest purchase. Fourteen cherry tomato plants, or Sweet 100, as they're called, to put in our little garden in the backyard." They were her new-found pride and joy, and the dread of all of us kids. "And who would be caring for these 14 tomato plants?", we all wondered. And who would be picking these potential fourteen-hundred tomatoes that no one in the family wanted to eat anyway? Of course, that job fell to none other than the kids. Or to be more exact, ME!

"Fourteen plants?! That's a ton!" I cried. "No it's not." My mother tried to reassure me. I wasn't convinced.
My brother helped my mom spend the rest of the blistering hot day sticking all the tomato plants in the dirt of our humble garden, and the next morning mom shoved me out the door with a watering can. I eyed the plants, and, with a sigh, filled the watering can, and doused the plants with water.
It didn't take long after the little green tomatoes started popping up all over the plants for me to be fully convinced that no one in their right mind could possibly need, or want, this many tomatoes. The vines and leaves grew thicker, and reaching through the jumbled mess became a stickier and more difficult chore. I dreaded going outside to "tend the garden" every morning. It seemed that each plant must have had thousands of tomatoes. I was always happy when one of my siblings or friends would want to join in the "fun". Soon our kitchen began to fill up with little juicy wonders.
My mom loved her tomato plants. She watched in delight as they grew and grew, and loved to see me walk in the house with a bowl of freshly picked tomatoes. She eventually started giving bagfuls of tomatoes to our friends and neighbors, since she was the only one in the family who would eat them (unless forced).
"There's nothing like having vegetables from your own garden.", she would always say. Everyone else seemed to agree with her, and were excited to get some fresh, home-grown tomatoes to eat. I didn't understand why these tomatoes were anything special. They were "just tomatoes." But as I watched other people join my mom in this fascination for these home-grown "treats", the pride and joy my mom felt in them began to spread to me. I still hated tomatoes, but I liked to give people little bags of them and say, "Here! We grew these in our garden. I picked them." I took pride in seeing them in our salads at dinner (although I wouldn't want to eat them). I even tried to convince myself that I liked these tomatoes, since they were from our garden, instead of bought from the store. Somehow Mom made them so special that I thought they would taste different. It almost worked.
Eventually the tomato harvest-time drew to an end, and we hardly ate tomatoes at all anymore Mom just didn't think store-bought tomatoes could compare with those that were home-grown.
Now I've grown older, and my tastes have expanded, and I love to cook with vegetables. I even like to use tomatoes in my dishes. There is no garden anymore, and no more planting, picking, and weeding. But so often when I pick up tomatoes in the grocery store I think to myself, "These just cannot compare to home-grown tomatoes."

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