My Summer in a Tomato

This is an excerpt from the weekly News-Loveletter. If you would like it sent to your inbox directly (with all the other juicy bits, including a mini joy practice), you can add yourself to my mailing list here.

In one story, my summer is contained in a red, ripe tomato.
 
The story is rooted in green transplants collected abroad last May. One from a friend, several from the natural food market. The Roma, a gift with purchase from the feed store. Like children gathering from across the neighborhood, my tomato starts find their way to my garden and take root in soil tended with love.
 
In early summer, these plants blossom, full of promise. Sunny flowers burst from every branch’s tip, awakening my imagination to the fullness of what summer brings. The fruit emerges in my mind's eye before it ever appears.

I count on the tomato's arrival. That red, plush fruit is inevitable. It ripens when my back is turned, while I’m tending potatoes, berries, and trees. I give it little thought.
 
This is the way I want my joyful daily imaginings of the future to be. My Priming. This story of summer in a tomato could be the story of my dream life—and it is!—when I let it be. When I plant my intentions in well-tended soil and turn my back to tend a hundred other dreams, I return my gaze to find the fruit appearing. A relaxed and fertile Priming ground. I weed out dark thoughts and fertilize with joy and empowerment.

The tomato packs a lesson. There are struggles.

A hot dry spell bakes some of the early red fruits, so they pale and harden at the top. Sometimes we water not enough and wonder if the drought will further reduce the harvest.

But I never really worry. Because the tomato is determined to fruit. And here’s something else: Your dreams are determined to fruit, too. As are mine.

When we weed and build a nourishing soil, our dreams are unstoppable. They stretch skyward and grow through all weather, needing no more than a casual glance.

Dreams, like tomatoes, don’t like to be over-watched. The trick is to keep planting, so that no one becomes stunted under the scrutinizing eye. My summer in a tomato is about my whole garden in a tomato, my whole life and all my dreams, as condensed into one small fruit.

The loving and the letting go. The overlooking of crisped leaves and the wonder of that first luscious bite.

Today, I pick tomatoes for roasting. They’ll find their way to the oven in stoneware with carrots and onions, basil, garlic and oregano from the garden.

The story of a tomato never ends. My sauce will be frozen, then find its way to the table on Christmas day to feed my adult children and their dear ones if I’m lucky. Our most fruitful stories nourish those around us too.

May we be nourished together, by all that grows in our gardens and dreams.

Send me your story in a tomato, if it brings you joy.