There was just one single, solitary red orb, positively radiating life like a bright beacon in the night; it stuck out like a sore thumb in that sea of emerald green foliage. Though only the size of a marble, it weighed heavily in my mind, as every day it grew redder and more ripe. Grown from microscopic seeds, those supporting vines were the plants that no one believed would even grow. Sewn in unfriendly New England soil, known in particular for its abundance of large rocks, in a postage stamp-sized garden with moderate sunlight at best, planting them was a long shot from the start. By some miracle, and no small amount of love and long hours of weeding by my mother, those historically fickle plants not only grew, but eventually flowered, and then- Get this- Fruited. Such an ordinary act of nature that thousands upon thousands of gardeners must witness every year, but every time I gaze out at that patch of prolific greenery, I can’t hide my awe. We have our first tomato, perfectly shaped and colored, albeit of miniature size. But heck, size doesn’t matter. It could be as small as the head of a pin for all I care. That fact that it came into existence right here in my backyard, and is undeniably, utterly alive, well… I can’t think of anything that would taste quite so sweet.
