How to grow tomatoes

Lately I’ve been poking around in my “memory lane” files, and I came across this little post that’s so old it’s grown moss, but it still makes me smile.  Here it is:

tomato

DH and I are in the throes what has become our annual fight — uh, pardon me:  “discussion” — about how we should go about renovating the kitchen, which is desperately in need of some major surgery and a facelift.

This is a procedure which begins in the early summer with some excitement and creativity and lasts for about two weeks, during which we tend to move fairly swiftly  from a happy sharing of ideas to a “discussion,”  in loud voices, enunciating very clearly, exactly what should be done to effect these renovations, using words of one syllable as much as possible so that the other party will catch on to our masterful idea if it is within the capacity of his/her brain to do so.

After this two-week period of sensitive negotiations (allowing time for periodic stomping out of the room and/or sulking), one or the other of us will suggest that we “think about it for a while,” and we will gratefully adjourn the subject until next summer when, like the proverbial death and taxes, the renovation question will again fall due.

However, one thing we do agree on is tomatoes!  We are hell on wheels when it comes to deciding when, where and how to plant tomatoes, what kinds to plant, and how often to fertilize.  Why, often after a particularly sensitive session at the bargaining table, we’ll meet out back at the tomato patch and reflect on the good sense we showed in choosing this particular type of tomato over that other, and boast a bit about how huge our tomato plants are in relation to the puny little sprouts next door.

It just does a person’s heart good to know that, no matter what the vicissitudes of life, the family that plants together stays together.  Who cares if the kitchen sink is on the verge of plunging through the rotting counter-top onto the Ajax and oven cleaner below – we’ll just retreat to the back garden and contemplate our tomatoes.

In its own peculiar way, marriage is fascinating.

Namaste,
Susannah

Advertisements