Finding humanity in a tomato plant
It started out as nothing much - just a thin green stick surrounded by a red plastic coffee can with the bottom cut out. Hollowing out that coffee can took some effort. My mother first tried to cut the coffee can with a knife but the blade just got buried in the thick plastic and wouldn't budge. She carried it over to my father like that - holding the knife handle high as if it was a baton in a parade. My father used an electric saw to complete the job and I took it to make it the cherry tomato plant's home.
While this may be the first plant at my new house, I do bring experience when it comes to growing cherry tomatoes. As a kid, I would fill up wall-o-waters to serve as an incubator for the tiny cherry tomato plants I selected at greenhouses and I carefully watered the plants as they morphed into twisted, tangled bushes of leaves and juicy fruit.
I was always mindful of those fat, green caterpillars that snack on tomoatoes. Their buldging bodies appalled me and while my mother would just carelessly toss them out of sight, I usually backed slowly and sliently away.
I love caring for tomatoes - I love the earthy scent that perfurm the leaves, I love the extraordinary taste of the red fruit that is so superior to those that fill the bins at the supermarket, and I love how easy it is to see these plants transform from skinny sapplings to full-grown bushes.
My current cherry tomatoe is no longer just a thin stripe of green but a minature jungle. The plant features a canopy of leaves and an intricate web of limbs. Mixed in are very green tomatoes. The transformation is remarkable but I am still impatient to see the ripe fruit of my labors. Every time I water the plant, I study what cherry tomatoes I can find, hoping that this time they changed colors.
This evening, I mentioned to my mother that those tomatoes stubbornly remain unchanged as if they are stunted in infancy. She responded saying one of these days, I'll look at the plant and all those baby green tomatoes will have matured into red fruit.
I guess that is the other remarkable thing about tomato plants - they possess some human-like qualities.
While this may be the first plant at my new house, I do bring experience when it comes to growing cherry tomatoes. As a kid, I would fill up wall-o-waters to serve as an incubator for the tiny cherry tomato plants I selected at greenhouses and I carefully watered the plants as they morphed into twisted, tangled bushes of leaves and juicy fruit.
I was always mindful of those fat, green caterpillars that snack on tomoatoes. Their buldging bodies appalled me and while my mother would just carelessly toss them out of sight, I usually backed slowly and sliently away.
I love caring for tomatoes - I love the earthy scent that perfurm the leaves, I love the extraordinary taste of the red fruit that is so superior to those that fill the bins at the supermarket, and I love how easy it is to see these plants transform from skinny sapplings to full-grown bushes.
My current cherry tomatoe is no longer just a thin stripe of green but a minature jungle. The plant features a canopy of leaves and an intricate web of limbs. Mixed in are very green tomatoes. The transformation is remarkable but I am still impatient to see the ripe fruit of my labors. Every time I water the plant, I study what cherry tomatoes I can find, hoping that this time they changed colors.
This evening, I mentioned to my mother that those tomatoes stubbornly remain unchanged as if they are stunted in infancy. She responded saying one of these days, I'll look at the plant and all those baby green tomatoes will have matured into red fruit.
I guess that is the other remarkable thing about tomato plants - they possess some human-like qualities.
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| I discovered this last night - change is coming! |
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