Green thumb? Definitely not one of my gifts, but I continue my pursuit each spring, growing homegrown tomatoes. I have narrowed it down to two main reasons: (1) When I’m working with my tomato plants, I enjoy reliving some really happy memories of being with Daddy in the family garden. (2) There’s nothing better in the summer than a BLT with homegrown tomatoes! So — I make it an annual spring event in an attempt to grow tomatoes in our backyard in three large containers.

My backyard venture to grow tomatoes dates back to Etta days when our kids were still children and my energy didn’t need boost supplements. When Daddy’s health dictated an end to his gardening expertise, I decided to insert a few tomato plants in our backyard. In the early growing days, the plants blended in their surroundings, but as they grew and needed staking, our backyard took on a totally different look. My optimism began to dwindle. 

The plants also had to survive the kids’ runaway basketballs, the bike trails that sometimes ran too close, and the ever-present running, digging, tail-wagging Lab that had no respect for fragile tomato plants. There were definitely challenges to overcome.

The experiment that retired my backyard tomato undertaking was the genius idea I had about fertilizer. In cleaning our chest freezer, I unearthed a bag of fish that were suffering from serious freezer burn. Before discarding them in a hole in the woods, I recalled a history lesson about the Indians planting corn with a fish under each grain. It was a natural fertilizer.

Why not? I grabbed my shovel with the package of fish and headed to my tomato plants. As I planted a fish near each tomato’s roots, my mind pictured giant tree-like tomato plants producing bumper crops.  

The next morning, I went to examine my plants, half believing they would have already shown rapid growth. The shock was waiting for me. The Lab had a better sniffer than I anticipated and had dug every fish from its fertilizing plot. Tomato plants were flashing their exposed roots and humming a farewell dirge.

The kids kept asking where that terrible odor was coming from while Othel asked why there was a fish in the carport. I thought about replanting the tomatoes and reburying the fish remains around them, but common sense was telling me I was defeated. That was the end of the backyard tomato garden. 

City gardening hasn’t been much of an improvement. The excessive July rains made my tomatoes “stretch” beyond their skins, and now the excessive heat is succeeding at deep-frying them. Nevertheless, I remind myself to not “grumble” and “in everything give thanks.” I will be grateful for the successful tomato growers that supply our grocers while reflecting on fond and crazy memories God has allowed me.

Letters to Camille Anding may be sent to P.O. Box 551, Brookhaven, MS 39602.