Last spring I planted tomatoes. My friend, Sandra, who lives down the street from me, took me to Lowe’s and we got everything I needed to plant my first crop.
One Roma plant and one grape tomato plant. A bag of potting soil.
My mouth was already watering for big, juicy bright red tomatoes that I could slice and salt or put on sandwiches and hamburgers. Tomatoes that would taste better than anything Wal-Mart has to offer. And cute little grape tomatoes that I could just pop in my mouth whenever I wanted. Dozens of them.
Sandra helped me get the plants in the ground and gave me some extra trellises from her yard for the vines to cling to as they grew.
The plants were so tiny that I thought those trellises were a waste of time.
I was wrong.
The vines kept growing. In fact, they’ve almost grown out of control.
But no fruit.
I watered them religiously. They’re planted in plenty of sunlight. Couldn’t figure out what was wrong, except that it’s been ridiculously hot for two months.
Maybe that was it.
Then Sandra told me she didn’t have a single tomato from any of her plants either.
I felt better.
I just resigned myself to the fact that nothing could grow in this heat. So I stopped watering as much, and decided that there just weren’t going to be any grape tomatoes, my favorites.
I gave up my hope for having homegrown tomatoes and just bought some.
Then last Friday I went outside to water what has now become a tomato jungle and was amazed. There, all of a sudden, dozens of tiny green grape tomato buds had sprouted – and three Roma tomato buds – seemingly overnight.
Shame on me for giving up on those vines.
Just because they didn’t produce in the timeframe I had picked out for them.
And to think, I was about to stop watering them at all.