I just picked a few cherry tomatoes today and they brought back my fond memories of MoMo's garden in Southeast Texas.
All the rain we've gotten here in Dallas was just what my cherry tomatoes ordered. The tomatoes plants are more full than before of yellow flowers and nice promising tiny, green tomatoes.
The taste of fresh picked tomatoes are indescribable. But, I'll try. The color was a deep red that only hinted of the soft ripeness that held it all together. I remember all the rows of tomatoes plants my Grandmother tended to along side of fence by a once used clothes line. They were always painted the deepest red and just bursting of ripeness.
My small boxed garden is just that, small, when compared to the tomatoes, okra and all sorts of peppers that my Grandma, MoMo would plant in her garden each year. I love to look out of my kitchen window and remember times of looking out of my MoMo's kitchen window at her garden and the family's big pecan tree that stood tall and strong yielding bowl after bowl of giant pecans. I think MoMo would be proud of me with my small garden.
As I tasted the soft, tiny, red cherry tomatoes it brought back so many happy, large and colorful memories of MoMo - and her garden.
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