A Stand By The Side Of The Road

The first week of January is the time I always reserve for looking through seed catalogs.

Now, back at the old TPMCafe place, in my bio, Jung’s Seed Catalog was listed as a favorite read of mine.  Some folks might have thought I was joking.  I was not.  I get several different seed catalogs throughout the year.  Not as many as I used to, but plenty enough to keep me occupied in….whatever occupation I may be involved in while sitting down.   Ahem.

Anyhoo.  I just finished going through the final one, making a list, checking it two, three, four times, adjusting for value, eliminating Harry Lauder’s Walking Stick shrub from the annual order for the 35^th time because I just can’t seem to justify buying a shrub crooked on purpose when I try so hard to get a forsythia to grow straight on general principle.

I’m taking a little hiatus from political stuff.  I didn’t stop caring; I just drew a sanity preserving line in the snow while I instead concentrate on other things that make life bearable.  Like gardening.  I especially like growing things I can eat.  Tomatoes are a specialty of mine.  Damn.  I love those things.  I’d even marry one.   But, Mr. Flowerchild asked me first.

Unfortunately, tomatoes have become a forbidden fruit for moi.  Although I have not overtly advertised it, I have a chronic kidney disease and after living with this for a good three decades, it has reached the point where I can’t fudge around any longer and must stick closer to a renal diet in which tons of my beloved tomatoes are a no-no.  As I was sternly informed by my renal dietician, “You can have two cherrah tomato a day.  That it.  TWO.”  Little Chinese lady.  Scared the shit outta me.

Well, talk about a buzz kill.  No more fat slices of Pink Brandywines for me; just two stinkin’ little cherry ‘maters with all the flavor of cardboard rolling around on my tongue.  It’s like chewing eyeballs, fer cryin’ out loud.

So, this year, staring at the lists of tomato varieties was something akin to torture for me.  I mean, look but don’t touch.  Here, have a smell of this, but don’t take a bite.  Dammit!  I paid closer attention to the cherry size ones than I usually do, but from past experience, they just don’t pass the flowerchild taste test.  I do remember growing a novelty tomato once.  It was called Tiny Tom or something like that.  A tomato the size of a pea.  No kiddin’.  The size of a pea growing in a bunch like grapes.  Real flavorful, too.  But, you know, if I wanna eat pea sized things, I’ll eat peas.  Only I can’t eat those anymore, either. Hahahahaha  Damn scary Chinese lady dietician.  She has ruined my life.

Or saved it, mebbe.

Where was I?  Ah, yes.  Tomatoes.  Seed catalogs.  Did you know there is a seed catalog devoted to tomatoes?  Well, it started out that way.  Totally tomatoes. At first, it was just tomato seeds.  Then they added pepper seeds.  Now they have a variety of veggies and if they ever add flower seeds into the mix, I’ll know they’ve gone over to the dark side and I shall ban them from my mailbox.  Some things simply should remain sacred.

As it stands now, my list of tomato varieties is a lot shorter this year.  It includes Pink Brandywine (I will have one fat slice at some point in late summer.  I will!), Taxi, Celebrity, Big Beef, Manyel, and an undetermined cherry type.  Just because I can no longer freely love to eat them does not stop me from freely loving to grow them because I can always give them away.  Or sell them.  Or…

Hmmmm.

Flowerchild’s  Roadside Stand

I can almost imagine it…….

 

Ha.