In search of story


Disconnections: August 4.18


I’ve written tomato posts before

I hope another won’t annoy ya

this is, I think, but half tomato

the other half’s sequoia.


For many years I’ve planted tomatoes in memory of my Grandpa Mauck. The smell of the plant always brings him back for me. Alas, the smell was about the extent of my harvest. I just couldn’t grow tomatoes. Until last year.  Suddenly those Mauck gardening genes roused up, and I had actual tomatoes! I especially loved the pear tomato, so this year I tried another one, and, even though it was planted late and spindly, and in Someone Else’s Garden, it rallied and has taken exuberance to a whole new level, racing over and through the deck rail, and draping itself over the potted plants. I know that one morning I’ll wake up and find it wound around my ankle.

A pear tomato, marigolds, zinnias, dill…as you can see, dear reader, the garden is slowly, slowly becoming mine. (MINE, you wretched rabbits and Japanese beetles and chipmunks, MINE! Not YOURS!!)


Connections: August 25.17

I’ve never grown pear tomatoes

but I hope I will do it again

there’s something jolly about them

though I’m not sure I quite comprehend.

Is it the belfry they bring to the garden

their curly jester hat

or is it they look like shmoos

or first cousin to squatty kumquat?

Or maybe the candle flame

they glowingly bring to mind?

Or happily all the above

conglomerately citrined.