When I first started this blog I had a few simple goals. I wanted to plant a real garden in my back yard. I wanted to try to stay organic. I wanted to stand hip deep in tomato plants, that had been warmed by the sun. I know that I've gotten green tomatoes and ripened them, I've eaten dozens of cherry tomatoes, fat cucumbers, bushels of beans and a few purple carrots. But today I picked my first, vine ripe tomato. It pulled off into my hand with a satisfying release, it was ready. When I stood up, something made me catch my breath. Everywhere, all around me, was my garden, a garden I had been dreaming about for 15 years. Hundreds of hours of wistfully leafing through seed catalogs, dozens of lists of seeds and garden layouts, a lot of hardwork, love, and fun, all went into the garden all around me. It was a perfect moment.

It's funny how differently things are turning out. My grandpa's garden was always so orderly, mine is chaotic. I love both kinds of gardens. So my hip deep tomato plants are over my head and I've got as many weeds as I do vegetables. I water sporadically, and don't pick the beans as often as I should. This whole summer has been a dream. And I mean that sincerely.

So what do you do with that first tomato? I knew exactly what I would do with mine. The same thing my grandma and grandpa did with their tomatoes. Big fat slices, liberally sprinkled with sugar. They were delicious and gone too soon. I wish you were here grandpa, to have some too. I can almost hear the deep, resonant laugh that you would have had, looking at my tomato plants. I can feel your arm around my shoulder and that tight squeeze you would give me as we stood there, chatting. Tomorrow I'll break out the Folger's Instant Coffee and have a cup, sitting in the swing, watching the garden, like you use to do. (I'll skip the Marlboro's) I can't believe we did it!