TheBanyanTree: My first Tomato Sandwich This Year...

[Sharon Mack]

I plant my tomatoes in small trash cans (new and clean of course) with holes
punched in the bottoms for drainage.  Tomatoes are usually late here in New
England, but with all the rain and very little real sunshine this summer,
they are even later.

 

I plant my tomatoes in buckets and cans because I live in PCB heaven,
granted to us by GE (General Electric).  They are now pretty much gone from
the area but they left us their legacy of PCB contaminated soil and water
and the air ain't so good in the city either.

 

Anyway, yesterday I picked my first ruby red tomato and made a luscious
tomato sandwich on whole grain bread with fresh basil (I grow that and
parsley and hot peppers, too).  I slathered on the mayo and salt and pepper
and ate it down with an iced coffee.

 

Boy!  What a treat!

 

Today I made a sandwich with a yellow tomato I got in my Berkshire Organics
basket.  I get a vegetable and fruit basket of locally grown, organically
grown, fruit and vegetables every two weeks.  It is supposed to be for one
person, but trust me, it is so chuck full of goodies I can share it with my
vegan son.  And only $32.00 a pop!  Not a bad price at all.

 

YUM!! What a treat!  

 

I came by this taste for "home grown tomatoes" early in life.  The poem
below is an actual experience of my childhood....

 

A TOMATO STORY 

My father liked

to teach his children...  

 

Don't talk with your mouth full.  

See the difference 

between the salad 

and the regular fork?  

Is that the right spoon 

for soup?  

Elbows off the table, please.  

Use your napkin. 

Eat everything on your plate.  

Don't you know

there are starving children 

that would love to have

a meal like this.

 

Late one summer 

in my seventh year 

several bushel baskets 

sat in the kitchen

ready for mother

to cook and clean

and store in quart jars.

 

My brother and sister and I

could hardly wait 

to get our customary treat 

of a fresh tomato 

with little Morton salt shakers.

We loved those little shakers 

as much as we loved

the tomatoes.

 

"Please, Daddy, please?

He smiled 

handing my younger, 

but bigger brother 

a huge ole' red one.  

He handed me 

and baby sister, Biz, 

two smaller ones.  

 

As the eldest, 

I whined my displeasure.

that brother got the biggest.

Daddy raised his brows 

and said, 

if you finish 

and think you can eat more, 

you may have another. 

 

I hurried

finishing mine first 

then rinsed the juices 

from my hands 

with the hose. 

 

I ran to get my second tomato.  

Daddy chose a small one.  

"Oh, no," I cried.  

"I want a big one 

like Patrick had."

I pointed to a huge one 

at the top of the basket.

 

Daddy warned me; 

my eyes were 

bigger than my stomach 

but I held my ground.  

Putting his hands 

on his hips

he glared down 

at my stubborn self. 

"Sharon, you better eat 

every damn bit of it.  

No coming in here 

and telling me 

you're full."  

 

I nodded a big nod 

and skipped outside, 

sticking my tongue out 

at my brother,

as I passed him. 

I grabbed my Morton shaker 

and off I went 

beneath the oak 

to eat my wonderful 

big tomato.

 

Half-way through 

I knew 

I'd bitten off more 

than I could chew.   

Daddy'd been right.  

What to do? 

What to do?  

I sat  thinking 

while pretending to eat.

 

Finally, 

I crept to the trash can

and lifting the lid

put my half eaten tomato inside.  

I hosed off my hands 

took my shaker 

back to the porch, 

and headed out to play.

 

As I squatted 

at the sandbox, 

thoughts lost 

in my digging 

and building, 

I felt a tap on my shoulder.  

Startled, I turned. 

My father crooked his finger at me. 

 

I followed him.

What had I done? 

Had I forgotten 

to do a chore,

had my mother called

and I hadn't heard her?  

 

Daddy walked 

to the garbage can.  

and lifted the lid 

I had lifted 

just a while before.  

 

Pointing 

to my half-eaten tomato 

he said one word, 

"Eat!"

I squiggled and squirmed.  

He glared and repeated 

his one word command.  

"Eat!"

 

Reluctantly, 

I reached in 

and took the tomato.  

"Can I get a Morton salt?"  

I asked trying to stall. 

Daddy reached 

into his pocket 

and handed me 

the one I'd left on the porch.

 

He covered the trash can. 

Crossed his arms.  

He was going to watch 

and make sure 

I ate every last bite....

 

and I did...

slowly and reluctantly,

but I finished.

I didn't bother with the salt.  

 

When I finished 

Daddy held out his hand 

for the salt shaker.  

"Now go wash 

your hands and face." 

 

My 'eye' appetite 

shrunk considerably

that afternoon

never to return.