The First Tomato

I've been watching it all week. Just yesterday evening, I told my sister that this was to be a very special weekend. I had my fresh white bread and mayonnaise ready. It was almost time.

The first bit of color had appeared on a tomato on one of my plants. It started as a pale pink and was gradually getting more red with each passing day. I decided to let it get really, really red and truly "vine-ripened" before indulging.

Home grown tomatoes were something I took for granted during my childhood. We had them at every meal during the summer. It wasn't until I had none for a while that I became aware of just how precious they are. The first sandwich from the first home grown tomato is always a special occasion. No bacon, no lettuce - not even a slice of Vidalia onion - I always want my first sandwich of the year to be pure, with nothing to drown out the true taste that never comes from the grocery store version.

I woke up early this Saturday morning and stepped out side with my cup of coffee. Still half asleep, I glanced over in the direction of my prize possession. I didn't see that little spot of red that I've been eyeing all week. Some leaves must be blocking my view, I assumed. I refilled my coffee cup and bravely walked closer. What was that on the ground? Did my tomato fall off of the vine overnight?
It was a worst-case scenario. I guess some of my little over-night visitors have been watching my first tomato with the same anticipation as I. You see, when I rest my head on my pillow and close my eyes at night, my back yard comes alive. I see the signs the following day - the trampled plants, the entrances to tunnels, the newly dug trenches, the broken limbs, the suddenly dirty water in my cats' bowl. I never think that much about it. I figure there are little creatures out there that need a place to play since they have been pushed out of their natural habitat.

But this morning, I felt like my little friends had over-stepped their boundaries and worn out their welcome. I felt violated. There it was, on the ground, a half eaten tomato. The little creep that did this did not even have the audacity to eat the entire thing or hide the evidence. It was just left there as if to send a message to me to let me know that it is not just my garden.