This the next box over were trying

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This spring, we bought six itty-bitty tomato plants. Ko-Koi
broke one (she has a fetish for green vegetables), and we managed
to save both parts, giving us seven. We planted the tomatoes in
the garden, with rows of sunflowers, beans and beets, four
eggplants, five bell peppers, several herbs and a peach tree
named Packwood (named after creeping under my skirt once too
often). Everything was going along nicely. Then we went on

We came back to find a sea of green. Tomatoes covered
everything. We had to transplant two of the eggplants, and we
lost the one with the red and white stripes. Most of the herbs
had disappeared. The peppers and Packwood were ok, but we hadn’t
planted any tomatoes in that box. But the tomatoes in the next
box over were trying to invade it. Tomatoes overflowed

After a few weeks of picking, I noticed a few things. The
first was how much my back and legs hurt from standing on my head
so much.

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The second was how much picking tomatoes was like fishing.

The first thing you do is find a spot to fish/pick from. For
fishing, that means either wading out in boots or going out in a

For picking, it means wherever you can find room for your
feet. Next, you cast off with your rod or your hand. Then you
grope around until you feel something. Then you bring it up to
the surface and decide if it’s big enough/ripe enough to eat. If
it’s not, you throw it back. If it is, then you pick it/reel it
in. And of course, you can always brag about the ones that got

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