I stopped by the local farmer's market Saturday morning on my way home from work. I was somewhat taken aback by the sheer number of people there. Fortunately, I drive a PT Cruiser, and therefore can fit into small parking spaces where beady-eyed soccer moms in big SUVs can't go. Bwahahahaha!
To my delight, almost every single vendor had home grown tomatoes in varying size, shape, color, and price. The vendors who were peddling beer bread mix, fudge, preservatives and baked goods could only stand and wish they had tomatoes to sell.
The Tomato Gestapo was even there, eyeballing all the tables, mentally deciding if they were indeed homegrown. Judging. Silently cursing those whose tomatoes didn't meet his high expectations for the red fruit.
Yes, tomatoes are fruit.
I bought a big bag of big red tomatoes, thoughts of the World Famous Kieffer Fresh Garden Salsa dancing in my head. I bought little orange tomatoes. I also felt sorry for the tomato-less vendors and purchased a very large squash, and somewhat smaller melon.
I thought about the 21 tomato plants Paul and I planted back in April, and how it hasn't exactly produced us a bumper crop...then became depressed. Paul is baffled because he always gets good results, so I have come to the conclusion that it's just me. I can't grow tomatoes worth shit...even in someone else's yard. I simply wasn't blessed with a green thumb, and the only thing I can grow proficiently is a pile of dirty laundry.
I'm just going to toss in the garden trowel and plan on buying my tomatoes from Mennonites for the remainder of my days