Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells—and one little determined tomato! It was an amazingly beautiful and warm day in San Diego (surprise), so much so that the patio called me out to dine for a late-start breakfast. Admittedly the patio is in a bit of a neglected state, with little activity since summer's end—overgrown vines, dried mounds of leaves blown over from my neighbor's yard, and the tilted artwork hanging on the patio walls. While I surveyed the landscape of a future to-do-project while sipping my coffee, I notice the remnants of a little dried up tomato plant, one that had sprung up on its own last spring inside my decorative watering can—it actually produced better tomatoes than the ones I planted on purpose. The two stalks with leaves, browned to a crunchy crisp, with something yellow and round hanging off the end of one of them. I can't believe my eyes, it's a tomato! This plant hasn't been watered since the last summer harvest and with nothing more than (we are in a drought, California) a few dewy mornings for nourishment—I'm instantly rendered in awe of this plant's power and determination to produce in seriously destitute conditions.
Dear little cherry tomato plant, you are an inspiration. I made a commitment at the beginning of the year to write a daily blog of my spiritual and philosophical thoughts, and yesterday I started to feel the pangs of panic that a drought on words and thoughts were heading my way—then you showed up. You literally have presented yourself to me as a symbol for this word, determination, and I also got a sense that you were happy I noticed you, understood and appreciated the powerful message behind your courageous efforts—I know that I am. More determined than ever. Water coming your way.
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