It’s that time of year again. The tipping point. The moment when you realize you’ve had one too many tomato.
Remember the beginning of June? When you paid $6 a pound for the first tomatoes? How happy you were? The first tomato sandwich? Ah, memories.
Now it is late August. I have done everything I can think of with a tomato. Raw, stewed, roasted, baked. Blah, blah, blah. I am done. But the tomatoes are not. I planted exactly four tomato plants this year. Two regular sized and two cherry sized. They will not quit. In particular, the cherry tomatoes are just ridiculously prolific. I have plucked approximately 3,765 tomatoes off of two friggin’ plants.
I stopped watering them for awhile. Ha, ha, ha. That will show you. You will just dry up and blow away. But, no. I come out in the morning and there are more, more, more ripe tomatoes. Then I felt bad. Kind of like refusing to feed the cat that you really don’t like. Did I say that? Bad mommy.
So I’m back to watering and I know that the bushes will keep producing for at least another month. Southern women are ashamed to admit that at some point during the summer they begin to loathe tomatoes. It’s just not right. Our genes tell us otherwise. But, deep in our secret hearts, we just want to smash them against a wall and get on with acorn squash and parsnips.
Alright. I’m done venting. I feel marginally better. Thanks for listening. Don’t tell anyone, okay?