|
|
Dalton
Roberts |
|
|
|
I have often extolled the pleasures of tomato sandwiches (called “mater sandwiches” by southerners and enlightened yankees) and here I sit today taking small bites of the last three tiny tomatoes from this year’s tomato patch. Taking that final bite will be as painful as burying my best dog Brownie when I was fourteen. There was a country ditty a few years ago titled, “I Miss You Already and You’re Not Even Gone.” That’s how I feel about this last bite. I am already having withdrawal pains. I will have to drop by the drug store and get a pack of Tomatorette Chewing Gun. Having a tomato patch instead of rows of plants worked well for me this year. Let me share some findings with you. I say “patch” because that’s what I had this year. As I’ve told you, neighbor Wayman Wilson and friend Hoyt Branham brought and planted tomato plants when they realized my bad back had made me decide against a garden. I put all those plants under a metal swing set and mulched them with deep straw. A few days ago I went out and saw some red under the straw and pulled out three tiny but perfect tomatoes. One was the size of a tennis ball and two were little more than golf ball size. I am now enjoying them in succulent splendor. In case you want to try my tomato patch idea next spring, save this column and you will know exactly how to grow your own patch and close it out. Find you an old metal swing set or stick some metal pipes in the ground. This will allow you to transmit static electricity to the plants and make them grow bigger and stronger. Get your wife, girlfriend, daughter, aunt, granny or any combination thereof to save their old pantyhose. Hide them somewhere so no fool will think they are useless and throw them away. Tie your plants with them and tie the other end of each strip of pantyhose to the metal. During electrical storms the plants will perk up and take off like Moody’s goose. Two weeks before the expected first frost, untie the pantyhose strips and lay the plants down on the soft bed of straw. Poke some little flag sticks (available from garden supply stores) down everywhere there is a good looking tomato. The night before the first frost, cover all the tomatoes with loose straw. The little flag sticks will tell you where the best ones are located. They will keep ripening until several hard frosts come along. These will be some of the most delicious tomatoes of the year. I don’t know whether it’s the procedure that makes them taste so good or just the realization that your tomatoes will soon be gone. There’s an old saying among tomato patchers, “Anticipated absence makes the taste buds grow fonder.” After all the big tomatoes are eaten, go thru the loose hay and find the little ones that have ripened. Pick them as you need them. When you are certain you have your last tiny little tomato in your hand, take a Polaroid shot of it and stick it up on your computer so you will not lose your will to live over the hard, cold winter. If you are rushed to an emergency room with some awesome illness or tragic wreck, just as soon as you become lucid call your mate and ask him or her to bring your Polaroid shot to you. Uncle Oral puts his faith in popping foreheads. I put mine in pictures of tomatoes. After you take the picture of that last tiny tidbit of heaven, you may eat it. Savor it slowly. You may want to tape your sighs and moans of pleasure and listen to them while you drive to work on those cold sleety mornings. Now, sit down and cry until the pain goes away. Just think spring and chew your Tomatorettes.
|
