Fruit of the Garden Produced with Love

Today, I munched on my very first garden grown tomato.  The taste of this freshly picked, firm, fleshy fruit is a great addition to any culinary dish.  As I prepared my lunch, I teased my palate with the bottom slice of the tomato. Oh, the cool watery texture was sweet.  

Placing thin slices upon cream cheese, hummus, and avocado made my sandwich a gourmet treat.  The rich red color made my lunch a visual portrait. Yummy! This summer delight almost didn't happen.

My husband and I decided not to plant our annual large vegetable garden. The rationale for this decision was driven by the following forces:
  •  First, we live in the Intermountain West. We have to wait until after Memorial Day to even think about anything more than beets, carrots, or any tuber that might survive the Spring frost.
  •   Secondly, June mysteriously was over-scheduled with workshops, reunions, and other travels. 
  •   And of course, we had new projects requiring more time from our lives.
Sometime during June, I planted four tiny tomato plants in my small raised
flowerbed in front of my living room window.  My DNA made me to do it. It wouldn’t be summer without my own tomatoes.

My rationale was to protect the plants and keep them warm using the heat that radiates from the bricks. Warm my tomatoes, um...this summer we are experiencing record-breaking heat! I thought I was going to eat "fried green tomatoes" instead of those beautiful fully ripened red tomatoes with a fragrance that defies all perfume experts. 

These little plants survived by the tender attention of my husband. Each morning before the sun and its scorching heat would prevail, my husband waters my tomatoes. When we were traveling, he gave our son, who was tending our cat, strict instruction on the watering of our plants. 

You know in life, it is often the simplest of joys that makes one's heart swell with love.  Thanks to those who kept my tomatoes refreshed.  I am enjoying the fruit of the garden and the love of the men in my life.


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