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From Magic City Morning Star M Stevens-David
It was May twentieth and spring had finally arrived in Androscoggin County like a herd of turtles headed north. I smiled to myself as I walked carefully around my flower bed, pleased to see that most of my perennials had survived another long, cold Maine winter. I made mental notes about certain plants as I took in all the long hours of thankless work that lay ahead of me. Bright and early the next morning, I hurried outside to begin cleaning my many flower beds. I knew from past experience that time was of the essence and I knew that I had the better part of a month's worth of work ahead of me. Over the next couple of weeks, I began a ritual that only "dirt in the blood" gardeners would recognize. I eyed each and every vast flower bed with a practiced and critical eye and began digging up, transplanting, dividing and eliminating plants that hadn't done well in a certain spot or hadn't lived up to expectation in one way or another or would simply look better in another place. Finally, after about three weeks of work, I stepped back and surveyed my landscape. All the plants were up and growing well and I looked forward to the great satisfaction of seeing each and every plant when it finally produced the long awaited flower. As I made my way from one bed to another, I noticed a strange little green plant, just beginning to turn bushy, located at the very edge of one bed. I knelt down and examined it a little more closely and it certainly looked like a tomato plant. But I was puzzled because I never grew edible plants. I am one of those people who don't give a dite about growing vegetables. I am only interested in growing beautiful things and to me that was flowers even though I have to admit that most vegetable plants are also beautiful. I cleaned away a couple of weeds that were growing closely along the sturdy, green stock and decided to leave it where nature had planted it. Sometimes, these surprise plantings by Mother Nature, turned out to be the most wonderful things of all in a garden's design. As the work-filled days passed, I found myself drifting over from time to time to have a look at the plant and was surprised to see how it had taken root and had grown to almost a foot and a half tall. It had just produced small yellow flowers and I couldn't wait to see what kind of fruit it was going to produce. It was always so exciting when my gardens held a secret. The days mounted up and the symphony of the garden began. Days filled with songs of chickadees, sparrows and mockingbirds. The buzzing of bees, the dips and swoops of barn swallows as they skimmed along the surface of the ground and the ever-present scoldings of the blue jays and robins as they flew round my head in the fresh air. It is a time of year that I loved most of all. I would often stand and survey my domain and all that God and I had created and smile to myself with satisfaction. My gardens are beautiful and all is right with my world. I never dwell on all the horrible things that my gardening has brought to me through the years because if I stopped for a moment to think what I have been subjected to over these fifty-odd years, I would never venture out into the gardens again. Thankfully, Mother Nature infects one with a "forgetful" gene that also works for childbirth. Things like, hot, blood-filled welts along my hairline and ears caused by the never-ending onslaught of black flies. The incessant itching and burning from bites by no-see-ems, mingies and mosquitoes. The huge, purple lumps on my arms, scalp and neck from the bites of horseflies. The congested lungs, never-ending coughs and runny nose caused by my allergies to grass, tree pollen and dust. The painful burning bites of minute spiders and ants. The intense pain of kneeling to work in a bed of flowers and placing a knee on a hidden rock or even worse, pulling up a large unidentifiable mass of weeds only to learn the hard way that it was a patch of poison oak. Ah, the joys of gardening! Ever the optimist, I gardened on, oblivious to all the terrible things that awaited me. All those things were horrible, I agreed to myself, but the beauty of it all in the end is well worth it. The irises are blooming, the violets had out done themselves and the lilacs and honeysuckle fill the air with indescribable fragrances. The white and pink wigilias were competing with the white blossoms of the Golden Delicious and the Northern Spy apple trees. It was heaven on earth! As the blossoming of my flowers ebbed and flowed, I kept a pretty close eye on my "surprise" tomato plant. It had produced a lot of blossoms but for some reason or other, it had only set fruit on one flower. I watched with interest as this tiny tomato began to fill out and grow. Seeing that I was only going to have one tomato from this plant, I hurried off to Wal-Mart to buy spray to keep the hungry aphids at bay. I lovingly dosed the plant with aphid poison and fertilizer and then I staked and tied it to a wire cage and hoped for the best. The weeks spun by and as the days of June ran out, the lone tomato, loving the strong sun of early August, grew and grew. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't stop to examine my "treasure." I'd very carefully lift the now heavy fruit and turn it ever so slightly to give it a chance to be exposed evenly to the sun. If it hadn't rained for a day or so, I'd give it a long cool drink. As I swooped by on my lawn tractor while mowing the grass or just making my evening trek along the flower beds with my little dog Chu, I'd always make it a point to check out the lone tomato. It was perfection plus. There were no marks or indentations on the smooth, greenish yellow skin. I couldn't wait to see what the end result would be as I carried watering can after watering can to this thirsty plant. Suddenly, I realized with a shock that all of my hundreds of other flowering plants had taken a "backseat" in my heart as I gave all my time and attention to my "surprise" tomato plant. My kitchen window is situated so that it overlooked the area of my garden where my lone tomato plant grew. Sometimes, my husband would unexpectedly come into the kitchen and catch me staring out the window in the direction of the plant. He'd walk up to where I was standing, look out into the backyard where I was gazing and ask, "What are you looking at dear?" I'd drop my gaze and resume washing my dishes and mumble, "Oh, nothing in particular, just looking." He'd smile at me and walk away, knowing full well that I was really checking out the tomato. In the early spring, before I'd even noticed the tomato plant, I'd placed our birdbath very close to where it was growing and now I decided that perhaps that wasn't such a good idea after all. I worried constantly that one of the numerous birds, while taking a quick dip or a drink, would spot my precious tomato, pounce on it and knock it to the ground or peck it full of holes. I hurried to the phone to call my great aunt, a prolific farmer, who still lives up in Aroostook County to ask her if birds liked tomatoes. Upon hearing my stupid question, she laughed and replied, "And where have you been all your life? Of course they do! Birds will eat just about anything!" Hearing this, I hurried outside to move the birdbath and to throw some netting over the tomato plant as well. Then came the day that I will always remember. It was the kind of day that made you want to run away from home or even contemplate having an affair. The sky was a clear, deep blue with just a hint of a thunder cloud in the far-off western horizon. There was a soft, sultry breeze blowing steadily out of the south and the air was filled with the drone of the early August heat bug. The temperature had climbed to seventy-eight by nine am and it was forecast to hit nearly ninety by mid-day. That was considered a heat-wave for our part of the state. I carried my dishes over to the sink to rinse them before placing them in the dishwasher and then I saw it! My precious tomato had begun to turn red overnight! I was beside myself. What to do? What to do? Do I leave it where it was to finish turning red or do I immediately rush outside and pick it and put it in the window to finish ripening? I didn't know what to do first. I was like a mother with a new baby. I hovered, I checked, I watered and I prayed. It was a very long and anxious day. By evening, the early morning threat of a thundershower had blossomed into a full blown storm with lightening and strong winds. I stood at my outpost at the kitchen sink and cringed every time the lightening flashed and the thunder rolled. As the storm passed directly overhead and the down pour turned into a torrential storm, the rain obscured my vision of the garden. It was only my deathly fear of lightening that kept me from rushing outside to rescue my tomato. When at last the storm had moved off over the western mountains, I wiped the condensation off the window and peered anxiously in the direction of the garden and then I saw it! It was right where it was supposed to be, still clinging to the green plant. It seemed as though the tomato had absorbed some of the storm's energy. It glowed a dark red in the deepening twilight. All was well in my world once again. That night as I prepared for bed, my husband said, "You know, I'll be really glad when you finally pick that damn tomato. I've never see anyone so obsessed with anything in my entire life!" I looked him in surprise and I had to admit to myself that he was right! I was obsessed! Well, things would be better soon. The tomato was turning red and the picking time was coming any day now. There wasn't too much that could happen to it now I thought as I snuggled down into my warm bed. I'd just begun to drift off to sleep and the normally lovely sound of the whippoorwill singing outside in the trees jerked me back to wakefulness. I sat upright in bed. Disturbed by my abrupt action, my husband thrashed his feet around, resettled himself, mumbled something to me and immediately fell back asleep. But I wasn't to find sleep again all throughout that long, worrisome night. I lay awake hour after hour, suddenly aware in my mind of all the night creatures that traveled about under the cover of darkness. I made a mental list to myself in my head, moose, deer, bear, dogs, raccoons, rats, mice, skunks and even slugs. What if they all discovered my tomato? Suddenly, I was acutely aware of every sound the night held. The hoot, hoot, hoot of the owl, the rustle of other small creatures as they made their way through the grass looking for food. Even my own grandfather clock seemed to haunt me. The rhythmic ticking of the pendulum as it swung to and fro mocked me. It seemed to be saying, to-ma-to, to-ma-to, to-ma-to. Finally, as the rays of the rising sun were just creeping over the edge of the eastern horizon, tired and bleary eyed, I crept out of my rumpled bed, pulled on my old gardening clothes and stumbled out to check on my lovely tomato. It had survived the night far better than I. It was a thing of beauty. It was redder than the day before and there was a drop of crystal clear dew sitting on the very top near the stem. I rubbed my tired eyes and looked again. It was beautiful, it was lovely, it was perfection and it was safe! Relieved, I sat down on the wet grass next to the plant and the next thing I heard was a very disgruntled husband's voice saying. "I thought this is where I'd find you. I certainly hope you didn't sleep out here all night." Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I looked at him. "Don't be ridiculous, dear. I certainly didn't sleep out here all night." "Well, I hope not." He sniffed as he walked away. I looked at his retreating back and said, to myself. "As a matter of fact, I didn't sleep at all." But he never heard a word I said. I picked myself up off the damp grass, dusted myself off and headed for the house to shower and dress. Our son was coming home for a visit and I had a lot of things to do before he arrived around lunch time. Around noon, I looked out the window and made a decision. It was now time to pick the tomato. I walked outside and carefully lifted the perfect red fruit into my hand. I felt the inner warmth of its sun-filled being as my fingers curled around it. I hefted it in my hand for a couple of seconds and then I bit the bullet. I clenched my teeth and twisted the supple green stem but the tomato stayed right where it was. Gathering my courage, I twisted the tomato again and heard a snap as it broke free of the stem and fell freely into my hand. I swiftly brought the lovely tomato up to my nose and inhaled its fragrance. Then I headed for the house. It was going to make a lovely addition to our dinner table. I hurried into the kitchen with my treasure and placed it in the window over the sink. I marveled at its lovely orangey red color as it sat there in the bright sunshine. Just as I was about to slide the chicken into the oven to roast, the phone rang. I listened as my husband answered it and then he came into the kitchen and said. "That was mother. She isn't feeling too well and wants us to take her to the hospital. We've got to go right now!" I slid the chicken into the fridge, turned off the stove, threw my apron over a chair and hurried down the stairs after my husband. "But what about Bill," I asked as I slid into the car. My husband glanced at me as he drove down the drive and out onto the main road. "What about Bill?" He asked. "Well," I replied. "We didn't even leave him a note to let him know what's going on." "Honey," My husband replied. "He's twenty-five, he can take care of himself." He cast me a long look and stepped on the gas. Once we'd gotten his mother to the hospital and settled in her room, I called home to let Bill know where we were. The phone rang a couple of times and then I heard his voice. "Hi honey," I said. "We took grandma to the hospital and she's fine but they are going to keep her overnight. We'll be home in a little while. "Okay mom," He said. "Go ahead and make yourself some lunch if you're hungry." I said and I hung up. When we got home, Bill was sound asleep on the sofa and the television was still on. I hurried over to where he lay and gave his a long hug. "It's so good to see you honey." I said. "Did you make yourself something to eat?" He pulled himself up into a sitting position and said, "Yah, I did mom. I made myself a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich and boy was it ever good!" I heard what he said and it didn't quite register. "Did you say a blt?" I asked as my gut clenched and I turned my head towards the window over the kitchen sink. "Where did you get the tomato?" But I knew the answer before he told me. The tomato, my lovely tomato was gone! The light had gone out of my kitchen window. "You didn't use the one in the kitchen window did you?" Seeing the look on my face, my son looked from his father to me and then he replied. "Of course I did mom. There weren't any in the fridge and who ever heard of making a blt with just bacon and lettuce. You also need a tomato, mom." He said condescendingly. I shook my head in disbelief and stumbled into the kitchen. As I turned on the faucet for a cold glass of water, I heard my son say, "Geeze dad. You'd better take mom to the doctor. She's acting real funny." My husband eyed our son for moment and then he replied. "You don't know the half of it son. It's been a long, long summer." Martha Stevens-David 2002 Martha Stevens-David Column Magic City Email: lmdmsd@megalink.net Childrens Stories include: See also Vengeance is Mine a short mystery novel published at Magic City over 4 days. © Copyright 2002-2008 by Magic City Morning Star |