Over Memorial Day Weekend, I stopped ignoring the poor Stupice tomato plant, already weighted down with baby tomatoes, and staked it up. At the time, I made sure to do the same for almost all the other potted tomato plants, except for the Brandywine, which was looking awfully sturdy and straight.
Weeks change, times change, and by this week, the Brandywine had taken the kind of tilt that screams, “Yo, Inadvertent, you bettah be doin’ somethin’ ‘bout this…”
This morning, before work, I found myself with the necessary 15 minutes to spend on said staking. The Brandywine got itself a little staking magic, as did the three yellow pear tomato plants that somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention, went from teeny and stunted to a trio of fattened-up, top-heavy plants that also felt the need to lean every which way.
But there is once again joy in Tomatoville, because everyone has the support they need to get down to the business of growing and producing.
Best of all, even after I washed my hands inside, my fingernails still smelled of that green, spicy tomato scent. When I propped my elbow on the windowsill of the car and leaned my head into my hand, I caught the scent, which propelled me to thinking about the tomato days soon to arrive.