Tomatoes
Katherine D. Bennett
(First published in the Lathrop News Thursday, July 9, 1998)
Like a lot of other people, I enjoy doing a bit of gardening. I have to admit, I tend towards being more of a flower person than a vegetable person, though this year I did manage to get some tomatoes in. My cherry tomatoes are just loaded with the tiny fruit, and I am sure I’ll enjoy them when they ripen. I’ll enjoy them, but I’m sure they wont be as wonderful as Mrs. Tucker’s cherry tomatoes...
Mrs. Tucker lived around the corner and up a block from our house when I was a little girl. She was a practical kind of woman who wore sturdy shoes and a crisp apron over her house dress. She always wore a work rag tied around her head, and I never saw but a wisp of her hair, and that only on occasion. She was plump and muscular, used to hard work. She oozed with the sense of getting things done.
My sisters and I really liked Mrs. Tucker. She never invited us in or spent any time with us, but it always seemed she wished us well. That is probably why we all, eventually, felt so bad about stealing her cherry tomatoes.
Mrs. Tucker, as you can well imagine, was a fabulous gardener. Every bit of her yard was full to bursting with life and vivacity. Her corner lot was a wonder of hollyhocks and roses, thick vines of green beans and abundant tomato plants. Along her fence, the one that faced the street, there was always a neat row of cherry tomatoes.
My sisters and I found them irresistible. We would sneak around, using our best sneaking, and pluck the sun-warmed fruit from the plants and pop them into our mouths where the first bite was like a burst of tangy sunlight. For some reason, we never got caught and we thought we were extraordinary sneakers.
Then, one day in Sunday School, the group leader told a solemn, sad tale about the horror of the fate of thieves and the deep grief that stealing caused. My sisters and I were plagued with remorse. We decided to confess.
Mrs. Tucker was already outside by the time we got there in the morning. With great humility and a noble sadness, we told the dear, kind Mrs. Tucker about our crime. She listened, silently, her face impassive. We all felt that crumbly, horrible feeling that comes before punishment. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like jail one bit.
Mrs. Tucker put her hands on her ample hips, leaned back her head and laughed until tears ran down her face. We all thought she’d lost her mind from the horror of so many stolen tomatoes. Then, she leaned towards us and patted the nearest head and said, “Why do you think I plant them there? You girls are so funny to watch! You eat ‘em all if you want!”
We looked at each other in stunned relief. She liked us! She really liked us...
For many summers after that, Mrs. Tucker planted cherry tomatoes along her fence. Eventually, we grew too big to allow ourselves to pluck them; eventually, Mrs. Tucker grew too old and sick to plant them...
My cherry tomatoes are loaded with bright yellow blossoms and tiny, green fruit. If a child sneaks one when they ripen, I think I’ll smile and be glad. Mrs. Tucker would approve.