Tomato ecstasies

Mark the day: Sunday, June 20, 2021.

Yes, it was Father’s Day. And the daughters who gave me the gift of fatherhood marked the day nicely.

I celebrated for another reason – my harvest of two deep-red cherry tomatoes. Their round, slightly yielding firmness was an ecstasy of touch against my palm. Their scent was a marvel.

“It was two measly cherry tomatoes!” you’re thinking, “What’s with ‘ecstasy’ and ‘marvel’? Are you nuts?”

Probably.

But we take our ecstasies where we can. As I’ve shared before, my career in gardening is remarkable only for serial failure. Sunday’s harvest brought my lifetime haul to perhaps seven or eight tomatoes.

That figure is legit, not an exaggeration for effect. As a gardener, I’ve been that bad.

Yet, this year, two dozen green orbs still hang from the cherry tomato plant and five bigger fruits from the heritage plant beside it. The cayenne and jalapeno pepper stalks also hold fruit.

A better farmer would scoff. I see the promise of redemption. If only I could preserve today’s harvest in amber.

Instead, I shall dine.