Ideally, on Saturdays Steve and I work in the yard. Sometimes that happens, most times it doesn’t. Today for some bizarre reason we both felt very ambitious. We just recently had the jungle of Mulberry trees we inherited demolished:
My next dream was a hammock. But I hate those stupid looking hammock holders, so I resolved to buy a post we could dig into the ground and hang the other side from a tree:
After finishing the hammock hole, I weeded around my tomatoes. And I noticed something: I have a tomato! It is still in its green stage and is a runt, but it will grow into a juicy red tomato that one day lies in a slice atop my burger.
I called Steve over to see for himself that I’m not a total halfwit and am able to grow the most simple plant. In my excitement, I found renewed vigor to pay attention to my tomato plants. I stuck yet another tomato cage on top of the one already there for each plant.
I pulled and pushed the branches in all different directions, manipulated them into the cage against their will as a woman in a corset. Then I stood back and admired my work. And that’s when I saw it: my one and only tomato, lying in the dirt, a casualty of my gardening enthusiasm.