Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Wednesday, 02 August 2006 - A tomato memory

Dear God:

Today, I am thankful for a tomato memory.

The sense of smell can be extraordinarily evocative, bringing back pictures as sharp as photographs of scenes that had left the conscious mind. ~Thalassa Cruso, To Everything There is a Season, 1973

Nothing is more memorable than a smell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up a childhood summer beside a lake in the mountains; another, a moonlit beach; a third, a family dinner of pot roast and sweet potatoes during a myrtle-mad August in a Midwestern town. Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines hidden under the weedy mass of years. Hit a tripwire of smell and memories explode all at once. A complex vision leaps out of the undergrowth. ~Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses

As I tend the backyard garden, my hand brushes against one of my six thriving tomato plants. My nose crinkles as I detect the plant's very distinct, pungent odor. Without warning, this memory returns.

Childhood. Probably 45 years ago. Southern California. Our vegetable garden. Hot summer days. Dad asks my sisters and me to pluck the incredibly ugly and destructive horn worms from the tomato plants.

I hate to touch or handle any creepy crawly thing. But, I am an obedient child who enjoys challenges and success. I approach this assignment as though I were fighting a war. Which means, in spite of the intense mid-day heat, I wear combat gear that ensures the worms will never, ever touch my bare skin.

My outfit includes pants, a long-sleeved shirt and boots. For additional protection, I wear Dad's heavy gardening gloves (much too large for my little hands) and a hat. In my left hand, I carry a paper sack in which to deposit the worms that I capture with my right gloved hand.

My younger sisters watch as I go into battle a scared little girl and emerge a victorious horn worm plucker.

Now I know why I haven't grown tomatoes in my garden until this year. I was afraid of those horrid horn worms (which, incidentally, have not yet appeared in my Colorado garden).

Funny. I don't remember eating the tomatoes.

For this blessing, I am grateful.

Amen.

Photo: A cluster of ripening Yellow Pear tomatoes

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