when enough is enough

Sweet peas are easy to grow, but a little bit particular. They like cooler weather and are susceptible to powdery mildew. My plants continue to produce flowers, but for awhile, the leaves have been sort of white and powdery, and at the bottom all the leaves have turned yellow and started to fall off. I've just kept the plant around so I can collect seeds and then dig up the plant and start over with something else. I gave some seeds to my mom when she was visiting, so then I had to wait longer. Then I collected a few pods. I was sort of impatient, so the first few weren't fully dry when I picked them. That means I had to wait a little while longer because if the seeds don't germinate, then all that waiting would be for nothing. Before I knew it, I had filled up almost an entire tin with seeds, and I still haven't pulled up the plant. Maybe tomorrow, I keep saying.

Meanwhile, summer vegetables are growing strong in the garden. My plot neighbor recently harvested zucchinis the size of caveman clubs from his plant, and I guess having tired of extra large zucchinis, he hurled them through the air towards the pavement. Sometimes waiting too long doesn't help at all.

I've been anxiously anticipating my first ripe tomato. Since my whole tomato seed starting fiasco didn't go so well (I only have one viable plant), the first to ripen was the enchantment tomato plant that I got at a garden fair (at the mall?!). The small egg-shaped tomatoes grow in clusters of five or six and the first one started to get ripe around the time when rodents began to overtake the garden. Some tomatoes disappeared overnight and others would be left, half eaten or shredded in the dirt.

I spent a few nights worrying about my tomatoes. Would they still be there when I went to water the next day? When would the squirrels or rats decide that it was time for them to take a bite? The first tomato hung onto the vine, a blush slowly deepening across its surface, when I decided that I couldn't take waiting anymore. I would sacrifice having the chance at a perfectly vine-ripened tomato, if picking early meant that I would have a 100% chance of having a tomato at all. I brought the first tomato in when it was still a little orange with some green streaks by the stem end.

The next day, the second tomato was still intact on the vine, beginning to turn red. I felt sort of silly for worrying so much about the other tomato, and figured that if this one ripened on the vine and the other one on the counter, I could do a taste test to compare the difference. Today, I went out to the garden, anticipating a ripe tomato on the vine, but it had mysteriously disappeared, and in the dirt nearby were tiny specks confetti, suspiciously tomato-colored. Those rodents!!


I don't feel stupid for picking the half-ripe tomatoes anymore.