|
|
Dalton
Roberts |
|
|
|
A good neighbor will tomato you, using “tomato” here as a verb meaning, “come to your rescue when you are tomato-less and make certain you have an adequate supply of tomatoes for an entire summer of tomato sandwiches.” Last summer I didn’t plant a garden for the first time in 25 years and I wrote a column about my desperate search for good-tasting tomatoes. I was so irritable and hateful all summer that my good neighbors must have noticed. One day this past April my neighbor, Wayman Wilson, showed up with a shovel and four Better Boy tomato plants. He said, “I read about you not gardening due to stooping problems and I want you to at least have some tomatoes for those sandwiches you missed out on last year. Where do you want them planted?” I have an old metal swing structure where I have always tied plants so I told him to plant them underneath it. As much as I like Better Boys, I have always wanted to try Brandywines. I noticed in Organic Gardening that Brandywines usually win their famous tomato tasting contest. Shortly after Wayman planted the Better Boys, the pride and joy of Birchwood, Hoyt Branham, showed up one morning and asked, “How would you like to try a Brandywine tomato plant this year?” I grabbed it and stuck it right in the middle of the Better Boys. Isn’t it amazing how the Universe honors our thoughts? I was sending out my desire for great tomatoes and the Universe bounced that right back to Wayman and Hoyt. It sure makes you think more of the Universe and friends like Wayman and Hoyt who tune into it. Why did I want them under the old swing set structure? I am glad you asked. I am a pantyhose man. Years ago I discovered that pantyhose carry static electricity directly into plants if they are grounded to metal. In a thunderstorm with a lot of static electricity, you can stand there and watch them grow. I’m a politician and I wouldn’t lie to you. My shallow Americans, I want you to know that I have never been so tomatoed in my life. I have been eating them with everything. Sara Lee has had to add an extra shift since I discovered their white bread makes the best sandwiches. Kraft is working their Miracle Whip assembly line overtime. Yes, I prefer Miracle Whip with my tomato sandwiches. I am just now coming out of the closet. I know the abuse you mayo purists are going to inflict upon me but I will feel unfaithful to Miracle Whip if I don’t just admit my preference. A tomato sandwich lover wrote a letter to the editor telling me the proper name for one is a “sink sandwich” – one you need to stand over the sink to eat. She referred me to the White Trash Cookbook and sure enough, it is called that in this treasure chest of recipes from Ten Speed Press (www.tenspeedpress.com). I find it works well for me to just sit on a beach towel on the floor. Daintiness has never been a major objective for me. A sweet young thing from Lookout Valley visited my domicile last week and she said, “Your face is red!” and I replied, “Yes! Want a tomato sandwich?” I do believe I can snag more women with tomato sandwiches than with Lee Anderson’s Corvette. After a fresh tomato sandwich, a woman purrs like a kitten and simply cannot keep her hands off you. The strangest thing about this year’s tomato crop is that Wayman planted them in old hard dirt that has never been fertilized and worked. There are four Brandywines hanging there that are somewhere between softball and volleyball size (remember, I wouldn’t lie to you) and still green. They will be basketballs soon. Pray they don’t all ripen at the same time. I might hurt myself.
|
