Tomatoes for Raphael

There really is nothing like the taste of home grown tomatoes. That tangy, sweet, juiciness is the taste of summer. My father-in-law, Raphael, planted a small garden every year and of course was very proud to share his tomato bounty with me. I'm not much of a gardener but one summer he challenged me to try and grow some tomotoes. There isn't a lot of space in my yard for a garden so I bought some large containers and a couple of those tomato cages. You know, those metal wire towers that support the lushious, green branches of the tomatoes as they grow wildly in between and all around? With two Big Boy tomatoes planted neatly in the center of my containers the war was one. By the end of July I still didn't even have one blossom on my plants. Truthfully I wasn't tending to them very well. They were on a drip system for watering but I never fed them or checked them much for disease or worms. One day rather unexpectedly Raphael was visiting and we were in the backyard. He walked over to my tomato plants, looked down at them and in his very low, gravely voice said, "Well, I can see that I'm not going to have much competition this year." He was right, they were pathetic, poor excuses for tomato plants. By the end of August I still didn't have one tomato and ultimately my plants produced nothing.

In October my dear, old, gruff father-in-law passed away. The following year, as a commitment to him, I was determined to grow tomatoes. I bought 3 heirloom tomato plants from the farmers market and planted them in my containers with their wire towers. I fed them and watched them religiously. I can't tell you how excited I was to see blossoms in April and tiny round, green bulbs by June. Raphael had been watching over me and my tomato plants. I enjoyed luscious, dense heirloom tomatoes until October of that year. It was 2008 and the one year anniversary of the death of my beloved father-in-law. I just knew how proud he was of me. I post these photos today, June 2009, as evidence that our loved ones who have passed are never really far from us. Their memories grow in our backyards and sprout out like joyful tomato blossoms. I will never grow or eat another tomato without thinking of Raphael. While I sit at the supper table this summer and sprinkle a little salt and olive oil on my beautiful "Black Krim" heirloom tomato, I will raise my wine glass and say, "Here's to you Raphael."