I’m Holding Out

[Update: I have added a breathalizer to my laptop.  It will not boot if my blood alcohol level is above the legal limit for blogging.   My husband and I laughed so hard when I read him this post our sides hurt.  I had no idea I had so much to say about tomatoes!  I think some things should go unsaid. ]

I refuse to eat tomatoes in the month of May.  I’m holding out for a fresh ripe tomato. The ones that will be turning red in my garden in a few weeks. I hate store bought tomatoes. They taste like dishwater. I’ve never tasted dishwater. But they taste like I think dishwater would taste - after you’ve washed the spaghetti saucepot. I’ve never liked them.

There is something special about the first ripe tomato of the season. Tomato plants always start with just one tomato. I think they put all their effort into the first one. It always tastes the sweetest. I bet the tomato growers save that one for themselves.

Every year since the beginning of my home I have planted tomatoes. The first year I planted them in the back yard and they didn’t do well. The sunlight that was there in the early spring disappeared when the trees got all their leaves. Tomatoes need light. That’s a fact. I was wiser the following year. Those plants were planted in my front garden just right of the front door between the Azaleas and the Japanese Maple.

“Do you think the neighbors will laugh at the tomato cages in the flower garden” I asked my husband.

They didn’t even notice.

The next year I stepped it up a bit. In addition to tomatoes I planted bell peppers, a watermelon plant, garlic, and onions. I placed them strategically throughout the flower garden. One neighbor asked me about the pretty flower to the left of my front door. They were surprised when I told them it was garlic.

Next was a small patch of strawberries and two blueberry bushes. The only thing better than a fresh ripe tomato is a fresh ripe strawberry followed later by a batch of homemade blueberry ice cream. If the birds hadn’t eaten them, I would have enjoyed them. My sadness at the lack of berries was eased by the cardinal that decided to make it’s home in my dogwood tree. The blueberries were planted just a few feet away. Cardinals like blueberries. Every time I see the cardinal in my dogwood I think of a song, ‘Sweet Virginia Breeze’. I like that song. It’s by Robbin Thompson. I’d embed a youtube video but there isn’t one. I checked.

Now, back to the tomatoes. I know most people have a dignified way of eating tomatoes. That’s fine for just any tomato. But when you have the first tomato of the season it requires a slightly different approach.

I watch the tomato as it grows from just a little white bloom to a tiny green sphere. I water it. I weed around it. I wait. It grows larger and larger. Then it starts to change. It changes shape then it changes color. I watch as it turns orange, then red. I wait. If you pick it too soon it will be sour. If you pick I too late, it too late. You have to become one with the tomato. That’s the only way to know for sure. At just the right moment, at the peak of its ripeness, I will reach down and push the tomato with one hand. It will rock gently on its stem and fall into the other hand. The time has come.

I will walk with the prized tomato over to the hose and wash it. You never know if a dog has peed on it. Heck, Whit may have peed on it. He has a habit of doing things like that. Once it is clean I will dry it on my shirt and hold it towards the sun. The sunlight glistening on the first tomato is a sight for sore eyes. Gently, I will bring it to my mouth and sink my teeth into its soft yet somehow firm skin. My teeth will sink deep into the fruit. The sweet juices will dribble out. Into my mouth. Down my chin. The tasty goodness will overwhelm my senses. It’s the moment of reckoning. I reckon it is good. Actually, I know it is good. There is nothing quite like a perfectly ripe tomato straight from your garden.

So there you have it. The reason I refuse to eat a tomato in the month of May. They say abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, or something like that. I say the waiting for the best is time well waited. What do you say?

I hope you don’t say you can tell how much Merlot I’ve had to drink tonight. I like to keep my empty bottles well hidden. In the recycle bin of course.