three tomatoes

2025 · 08

After a whole summer of fussing over it, the tomato plant has given me three tomatoes. Three. I counted twice on the off chance a fourth was hiding down the back, but no, three. Small, a bit lopsided, real. Grown from the seedling the neighbour pushed on me in April when I was still convinced I'd be giving them away by the crateful.

I ate the first one standing at the counter, still warm off the vine, with a pinch of salt. Genuinely one of the best things I've eaten this year, though I'll admit I've got a stake in that verdict. The other two I keep moving from the windowsill to the table and back, waiting for an occasion good enough for a tomato.

Three tomatoes, against a whole summer of watering and worrying and reading about blight at eleven at night. Worth it? No, obviously. And I'll be doing the whole thing again next year.