it's the sickness of an america where nobody is clean
Yes, that's a tomato roughly the size and shape of a human heart. It's my job to think about these things.
For the record, it was a Russian Orange tomato, and it was delicious. Sweet and mild, with a velvety texture almost like a persimmon. It's not going in the ranks of my absolute favorites, where the Paul Robesons and gigantic German Striped tomatoes dwell... but damn, that was a fine tomato.
I also had a tiny little Garden Peach tomato this morning. It was as translucent as a gooseberry, and fuzzy on the outside. My life was sad before I knew how good a proper tomato could be. Even a garden-grown Beefsteak has nothing on these guys.
I'm not a fan of the heat of summer, but the things it brings to the table--peaches and plums and cherries and raspberries and blueberries, tomatoes, the first Ginger Gold apples... those make me a happy and well-fed bear.
My heart still belongs to autumn, and the Macoun and Stayman apples. But summer gives it a run. Especially since we found a teeny tiny brown tree frog in one of the foundation shrubs this morning. It had such minuscule fingers!