Tomatoes have always been my favorite vegetable. Technically, I suppose, they're a fruit, but whatever you consider them they're damn tasty. I fell in love with them so long ago that the memory is almost fuzzy, grainy, like an old black and white movie..
I was living in Bridal Veil at the time, in a tiny little house in a tiny little neighborhood, in the smallest town I have ever been in. The house may have actually been more akin to a wooden shack... but to me it was perfect. I was two, and our meeting is one of the first memories I have.
It was a warm afternoon, probably late August or early September. My father (bless him) had been working seven days a week for far too long, trying to earn enough after the divorce to take care of us. Consequentially he was exhausted, and therefore napping. My sister, almost four at the time, was old enough to go play at the neighbors, and so she had. So I found myself there, bored and alone, and as I looked out at the world drenched in the summer's sun it seemed ripe for exploring.
Our back yard was huge - practically a field in my eyes - and lined with maples and roses and other things, all gleefully growing of their own free will. There stood the gigantic oak tree (at least a hundred years old!) guarding the path down to the creek that I wasn't allowed to travel alone. As my curious toddler eyes wandered I spotted something red. Several somethings, in fact. All sprouting from the small garden my dad had spent all of a weekend digging up a patch of grass to create. I remembered that weekend.. it had been dull watching him dig. But these... these red things didn't seem dull. They hadn't been there before, and that made them very interesting indeed. I did what any curious two year old would do – I ran over, picked one, and plopped one in my mouth. It was sweet. And juicy. And so, so perfect. It was glorious. I had never had something so good, and never wanted to eat anything else, ever again.
I ended up sitting there, in that garden, and eating every tomato I could reach. Red, green, yellow, ripe or unripe, it didn't matter. If I could pick it, I could eat it. And eat I did. Sitting there, in the sun, tomato dribbling down my chin... it was one of the happiest moments in my young life.
It was a warm afternoon, probably late August or early September. My father (bless him) had been working seven days a week for far too long, trying to earn enough after the divorce to take care of us. Consequentially he was exhausted, and therefore napping. My sister, almost four at the time, was old enough to go play at the neighbors, and so she had. So I found myself there, bored and alone, and as I looked out at the world drenched in the summer's sun it seemed ripe for exploring.
Our back yard was huge - practically a field in my eyes - and lined with maples and roses and other things, all gleefully growing of their own free will. There stood the gigantic oak tree (at least a hundred years old!) guarding the path down to the creek that I wasn't allowed to travel alone. As my curious toddler eyes wandered I spotted something red. Several somethings, in fact. All sprouting from the small garden my dad had spent all of a weekend digging up a patch of grass to create. I remembered that weekend.. it had been dull watching him dig. But these... these red things didn't seem dull. They hadn't been there before, and that made them very interesting indeed. I did what any curious two year old would do – I ran over, picked one, and plopped one in my mouth. It was sweet. And juicy. And so, so perfect. It was glorious. I had never had something so good, and never wanted to eat anything else, ever again.
I ended up sitting there, in that garden, and eating every tomato I could reach. Red, green, yellow, ripe or unripe, it didn't matter. If I could pick it, I could eat it. And eat I did. Sitting there, in the sun, tomato dribbling down my chin... it was one of the happiest moments in my young life.
RSS Feed