Yesterday afternoon, I got an email from Seed Savers Exchange announcing it’s time to put in transplant orders. Since I moved to Oakland, I’ve been deleting most messages from SSE, although, it should be noted, not actually getting off the mailing list. Just deleting, and ignoring.
Until yesterday afternoon.
Though it’s not yet time for a full announcement, suffice it to say that I have solved the I-don’t-have-a-garden-in-Oakland problem. There are changes in store, and they’re coming fairly quickly. I’ll get to that, but for now, you’ll just have to stay in suspense.
Because this is not a story about moving. This is about how, as I clicked through the tomato seedling possibilities (Mexico Midget, Amish Paste, Stupice…), a quick wash of sadness surprised me. Not regret, not hindsight, not a revision of memory, just a momentary reminder of where all this began, and where things are not anymore.
And then it was gone, and I resumed normal operating levels of happiness. But who knew the simple idea of a tomato could carry so much memory in its wake?