This spring, we bought six itty-bitty tomato plants. Ko-Koibroke one (she has a fetish for green vegetables), and we managedto save both parts, giving us seven. We planted the tomatoes inthe garden, with rows of sunflowers, beans and beets, foureggplants, five bell peppers, several herbs and a peach treenamed Packwood (named after creeping under my skirt once toooften).
Everything was going along nicely. Then we went onvacation. . . .
We came back to find a sea of green. Tomatoes coveredeverything. We had to transplant two of the eggplants, and welost the one with the red and white stripes. Most of the herbshad disappeared. The peppers and Packwood were ok, but we hadn’tplanted any tomatoes in that box. But the tomatoes in the nextbox over were trying to invade it.
Tomatoes overflowedeverywhere. After a few weeks of picking, I noticed a few things. Thefirst was how much my back and legs hurt from standing on my headso much. The second was how much picking tomatoes was like fishing. The first thing you do is find a spot to fish/pick from. Forfishing, that means either wading out in boots or going out in aboat.
For picking, it means wherever you can find room for yourfeet. Next, you cast off with your rod or your hand. Then yougrope around until you feel something. Then you bring it up tothe surface and decide if it’s big enough/ripe enough to eat. Ifit’s not, you throw it back.
If it is, then you pick it/reel itin. And of course, you can always brag about the ones that gotaway.