In my family it is a tradition that my Uncle Mike,
who is a grower-from-seed and
connoisseur of all things tomato,
donates several of his precious seedlings
to each family household in the spring.
And we all look forward to receiving our yearly gift.
Because as you know
there is nothing like picking a fresh sun ripened tomato
and eating it a few minutes later.
But life has a way of pulling the rug out from under you
and last summer
when my father was dying
I didn't have the time or the heart to tend to my plants.
And leaving the North Pelham countryside and moving to the city
after Dad died was hard in more ways than one.
I went from 10 acres of land to a few metres.
So this year I sadly declined my gift of tomato seedlings.
Where would I grow them?
I get very little sun here in the urban jungle,
only a few hours late in the afternoon.
But Uncle Mike,
who knows tomatoes like neurosurgeons know the brain,
or maybe better,
suggested that I take a few of his hardy Siberian tomatoes.
Not really expecting much I took them home
and slipped them into the strip of soil in front of my patio.
And as you can see in the picture above
THEY HAVE FLOWERS!
Sometimes you just gotta have faith.
And an Uncle Mike.
From her most excellent vanttage point
Flynn guards the tomato plants.
I think it's going to be a good summer after all.