Tomatoes On The Plate


My father, a farmer, finished August dinners and suppers by filling his emptied plate with sliced tomatoes. He liberally sprinkled sugar over the juicy rounds, then ate them all. This is a clear childhood memory for me, and my brother shares it.

What I don’t know is if Daddy liked tomatoes or not.  Did he relish his sweet crop or was he eating because there was plenty more on the vine? I am asking too late; there is no one living to answer.

What I learned from my father is to use the resources at hand and to be seasonal.  There are seven bags of fabric, processing dye, out in the garage.  Today I harnessed the heat of early September to turn white yardage into the stuff of fabric art.  It is good work.

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