Disclaimer #1: I love my husband dearly and feel blessed to have married such a kind-hearted man. Really.
Disclaimer #2: As punishment for the story I’m about to tell, I did not offer my husband his usual editing rights prior to posting this. This is my side of the story, but really, it’s the only side that matters.
My nightmare in the tomato patch.
After eight months of marriage, my typically flawless husband has finally found my “I-can’t-believe-you-did-that!” button.
The reason behind my recent fury is going to be very difficult for the average person to understand. But if there’s any outlet for me to rant and possibly get a little sympathy from someone other than my mom, it’s going to be here on my garden blog.
He wasn’t out drinking all night. He didn’t wager his paycheck playing online poker. I didn’t find a beef taco under the couch cushion.
It was so much worse.
He gave away… gulp… all our ripe tomatoes!!!
Big, beautiful, heirloom brandywine tomatoes in the hands of danger
The story began on Thursday night when I called home from the office to tell my husband that I would be, for the second night in a row, working around the clock in an attempt to meet a completely insane deadline. (Note to self: send blog link to bosses. Italicize completely insane.)
I immediately perked up from my compu-coma when my hubby mentioned that he was going to pick some vegetables to bring to his close friends at work (i.e. all staff and faculty in his school corporation) the next day.
Unenthusiastic, but trying not to appear selfish, I said, “Okay, but please don’t give away our tomatoes because I want to make sauce this weekend and I need all the ripe ones that we have.” I was looking forward to spending my Sunday barefoot in the kitchen, turning our homegrown tomato harvest into homemade awesomeness.
He replied, more or less, “Blah, blah, blah. There’re plenty. Blah blah blah. But Baby, I’m a giver. You need to be more of a giver. Blah.”
I said, “I’m serious. I don’t think you realize how many tomatoes it takes to make just one jar of tomato sauce.”
Friday evening I stumbled home from my 60 hour work day and immediately noticed that our kitchen, which typically has fresh produce protruding from every nook and cranny, was uncharacteristically barren.
“You didn’t give away all our tomatoes did you?”
“No. Not ALL of them,” he replied matter-of-factly as he handed me TWO of my heirloom tomatoes, undoubtedly saved from his free produce stand only because they were really big and really ugly.
Too tired to argue, I laid my head down on the kitchen table next to one of my thankfully ugly Marvel Stripe heirloom tomatoes, pouted for a minute, and fell asleep.
But when Sunday rolled around, I had regained enough strength to wage my battle.
While the tomato thief and I rummaged around the patch looking for the “plenty more ripe ones” he had promised, I wore a grimacing frown that every husband should fear.
I prodded for an apology.
Finally he said, “Okay, I’m sorry, but Baby, they’re just tomatoes.”
“JUST tomatoes?” I gasped. “These aren’t JUST tomatoes! These are the heirloom tomatoes that we started from seed on our window sill back in March, built a cold frame for in April, planted in our garden in May and tirelessly tended to through the frosts, storms, droughts and bug infestations of June, July, and August. These are the tomatoes that were to be the main ingredient, and a rather important one at that, in the homemade tomato sauce that I was to spend my day therapeutically smelling and stirring for hours and hours. This was to be the sauce that would forever dispel my pressurecookerphobia. ”
Never again shall these babies be mistaken as "just tomatoes"
When I saw I wasn’t reaching him with sentimentality, I tried to reach him with numbers.
“Do you understand the investment I’ve made in this tomato sauce already? I’ve spent $10 on seeds and supplies, $30 for a canning class, $40 on a blanching pot, $70 on a pressure canner and now I have two tomatoes to work with? That’s about $150 for a scant ½ jar of sauce! And you thought Bill Alexander’s $64 dollar tomato was ridiculous?”
We picked a meager 6.5 pounds of ripe-ish tomatoes that morning. I needed 30.
He said, “I’ll get you more tomatoes.”
“It’s not the same,” I sulked. And sulked. And sulked.
The incident has left me to wonder if I am over-reacting or if any gardener would feel the same hurt and fury if the harvest she has mothered for months is taken away? I realize that in the grand scheme of things, these were in fact just tomatoes. But in my world, they were far more than that.
A few final words to my tomato thief:
I’m sorry for breaking our agreement that you get to edit blogs written about your character, but hey, I also thought we had an agreement that you wouldn’t give away all the tomatoes. Truce?
Although I will forever contend that our homegrown tomatoes are not just tomatoes, I do thank you for the 30 pounds of substitutes that you brought home from your brother’s garden Sunday afternoon. I just hope he asked his wife first.
I have never, in my many years of husband-gardening inter-relationship issues, come across a better expressed, completely hilarious, and absolutely believable adventure. thank you for the post and the laugh and the “yes, oh, yes, i have been there” appreciation in my husband’s eye when he sent this to me.
Kendra Pearce, Owner
Uban Farm School
Ridgefield, WA
Oh how could he? My husband is totally garden free which is sad in a way. He doesn’t go out into the garden. He doesn’t help with the garden. But then he also doesn’t steal the tomatoes either. He makes comments sometimes when the tomatoes are taking over the counter and all the windowsills (and we have a lot of windowsill in the kitchen), but he would never take without asking because he firmly believes that the garden and all it produces is mine. Usually this makes me a bit sad, but after reading your post maybe I’m better off.
If there is one area where complete and utter selfishness is justified, it is in determining just how much (or little) of a tomato crop gets shared. I feel your pain. Sounds like you would have preferred an online poker binge.
On the plus side, I bet he gets a big raise at work!
I just hopped on over here from Burbsandthebees, so I’m a new visitor to your blog. Hope you don’t mind.
I can confirm (at least from my point of view) that you were not being selfish about the tomatoes.
Early on in the post when you said ‘He gave away… gulp… all our ripe tomatoes!!!’ …I gasped, “What????” My husband so would have gotten the evil eye from me had that happened at my house. It seems that you took it in stride (eventually) and got to blog about it in a humorous way. Love, love, your writing style.
P.S. I’m also glad your Honey replaced the toms with homegrown ones. I wonder what he had to tell his brother to get them? Hee, he.
What a story! How could he? I feel your pain! I hope he learned his lesson and never ever will do such thing again. Honestly, I would cry if it happened to me.
Thank you Annie for leaving a nice comment on my blog.
Well, I read this post a few days ago and it rendered me speechless. Seriously. Knocked the wind right out of me. Like Conny, …I gasped…WHAT???! I didn’t know what to say. I know, for a fact, i would have cried. This is such a beautifully written, heartfelt post. So sorry… hope you made something good the replacements. Thanks too for stopping by to say hello at the “burbs”…
: )
I can SO empathize. We’ve had a blighted year, tomato-wise. We have BARELY any. The ones we have are practically named. In my mind, each one is labeled for some specific purpose: oven-dried, tomato chutney, tomato salad. When they first began to ripen, I coaxed a few Sungolds along, then decided I finally had some ready to harvest. I went in for my basket and came out to find…my children’s friends in the garden. Usually this is a beautiful picture to me — children playing in the garden, foraging for the most delicious snacks on earth. But…one of them had eaten every ripe tomato. Gone. Gone. Gone.
I didn’t scream or throw a fit. How could I? But I had to go in the house and cry. A lot. The summer has just been so stingy with sunshine and warmth and tomatoes, and this was just too much.
Good thing your husband has a gardening brother. But I can’t stand to think about HIS poor wife either…
Enjoy your sauce!
LOL, what’s the bet his brothers wife is now saying exactly the same thing!
I heard second-hand about this misadventure, but finally reading it first-hand is far more worth it…what a story Annie! From the sounds of it, you have been pretty graceful about the whole thing! All those lovely tomatoes….
I just spent about a half hour entertained here with your stories, but htis tomato one is the best! I agree, we give a lot away from our garden, but the tomatoes, corn and potatoes are pretty sacred!