And how are your tomatoes?

This summer has been full of rain, the grass is green and I can hear mycelium growing beneath the soil surface getting ready for the fall fruiting of fungus. The tomatoes at my Dad's haven't had to be watered at all, and the growth around them is frisky and lush. The tomatoes themselves are different this year, seemingly more stalky, less leafy. Fewer blossoms have been pollinated, resulting in not so many little green tomatoes starting, I imagine from the decline in the bee population. The ones that have started are larger.

This circumstance is common all the way to the Eastern Seaboard and Rhode Island, for my friend P just returned back from her parent's home and said the same thing. Another green thumb, D, commiserated with me on the shape of her plants also. Tomato plants are to be frisky as ponies, as lambs frolicking in the sun; they simply are not the robust green pack of leaves as ever.

The Brandywines I planted are indeterminate, which means that the vine continues to grow until frost kills it, and so are able to become taller than I. Usually the element that affects growth the most is sunlight, and I don't wonder if certain necessary wavelengths are being screened out, or if too much of one is being let in.

Well, what I mean is this: think of the rainbow, which is the prismatic raindrop splitting the light into components of the spectrum; each color has it's own length, so there is separation. The color that promotes leafy growth and keeps plants compact is blue, so simply put by someone who has no training in physics, are we running out of blue light? Is it being blocked somehow? Or is there too much red being allowed into the atmosphere, which accounts for the length of the stems? Think of the french fries at the fast food place under the infrared lamps.

Still, the earliest of summer tomatoes are just coming to market, they are a commodity even better than summer corn. Wait. Maybe not, but close. I can put away a half dozen ears without butter, and no way could I eat six tomatoes. But I love a tomato sandwich, on homemade white bread with mayo, no pepper, no salt. Just red red flesh sliced sideways thickly with a bit of a squeeze to knock out some of the seeds.

With an iced tea, what are we talking here? Heaven? You might be right.

Next to the tomatoes grows a mint, and anyone will tell you how tenacious that stuff can be. This is a different one, the leaves are rounded more than pointed, and when my brother runs the lawnmower through it, there is harmony among the planets. However, did I mention that the corm from the rhubarb plant sent up another leaf or two except he ran it over again? I am going to just move the thing to a safer, lawnmower inaccessible area.

Here is Sunday evening, clear and cooler. The spiders are just starting to come out on the screened windows nine stories up. Everything is slowing, the traffic, the clocks, the desire to move about. I shall settle with a book after giving Martian his nightly shot, he doesn't mind a bit and will often come looking for me when it's time--it must make him feel better. It is a thousand times easier to give a cat a needle that to pill one. I am happy, for tonight he would win if it were a battle with swords drawn.

Sleep well, rise early, for the day is coming, the day arrives, and we have good work to do.