Six tomato plants were planted, in May, in grow bags, on a small balcony off a kitchen in Brooklyn. By July, two plants had died. By August, the remaining four had produced exactly eleven tomatoes.
The tomatoes were, almost without exception, small. The tomatoes were, in some cases, very small. The tomatoes were, in two cases, smaller than a thumbnail. The tomatoes were picked anyway. The tomatoes were placed in a small bowl on a counter, where they sat, for several days, doing nothing in particular.
Tomatoes have been grown, by humans, for at least two thousand years. Tomatoes originated, by most botanical accounts, in western South America. Tomatoes were cultivated, by the Aztecs, in what is now central Mexico. Tomatoes reached Europe, by most historical accounts, in the sixteenth century, by way of Spanish conquistadors. Tomatoes were, for a time, by some accounts, considered poisonous, in parts of Europe, because of the resemblance, by some accounts, to other plants in the nightshade family.
Tomatoes are, by current accounts, the most commonly grown vegetable, in home gardens, in North America.
Gary
A man named Gary has, by some accounts, six hundred tomato plants. Gary lives, by his own description, in a small house, on a small lot, in a small town in central New Jersey. Gary has, by his own description, been growing tomatoes for forty years. Gary grew, in 2019, a tomato that weighed four pounds.
Gary has, by some accounts, a YouTube channel. The channel has, by some accounts, a number of subscribers. The channel contains, by the same accounts, a number of videos about tomatoes.
Gary speaks, in his videos, with great patience. Gary speaks, in his videos, about the relationship between a tomato plant and the sun. Gary argues, in one video, with his wife about whether the plants in the front yard are decorative or edible. The plants in the front yard turn out to be decorative.
Gary has not, by most accounts, ever had to learn how to keep a tomato plant alive on a balcony that does not get enough sun.
What was expected
Eleven tomatoes were, by most accounts, expected, by the person who planted them, in the abstract. The person had read three books about tomatoes. The person had watched, on YouTube, an embarrassing number of videos. The person had watched, in particular, Gary.
The person expected, in particular, the kind of tomatoes that are described, in books about tomatoes, as the kind of tomatoes that are held in both hands, and eaten over the sink. The person expected, in particular, the tomato Gary describes, in one video, as a tomato that tastes, when bitten into, like the sun.
The person did not, in any realistic sense, expect to grow this tomato. The person did not, in any realistic sense, expect to grow any tomato at all. The person was, by training and temperament, not a person who grew things. The person had, in the person's life, killed more plants than the person had kept alive. The person had, in particular, killed every basil plant the person had ever owned.
The person planted the tomatoes anyway.
What happened
The first plant died in late June. The first plant was, by the time it died, very small. The first plant had been watered, in the early weeks, too often. The first plant had been forgotten, in the later weeks.
The second plant died in early July. The second plant died, by the person's own diagnosis, of something the person could not identify. The second plant had, in its last weeks, a strange yellow color. The person looked, on YouTube, for what the yellow color meant. The person did not find an answer that satisfied the person.
The third plant produced, in late July, two tomatoes. The two tomatoes were small and very slightly sour. The two tomatoes were eaten, sliced, on toast, with salt. The two tomatoes were, by the person's own description, the best tomatoes the person had eaten in years.
The fourth plant produced, by mid-August, a single, very small tomato. The single tomato was the size of a grape. The single tomato was not picked. The single tomato was left, on the plant, until the person pulled the plant out in October.
What was learned
The person learned, in the months the tomatoes were grown, that growing things is not, in the end, about the things.
The eleven tomatoes that were harvested were not, by any objective measure, worth the time that was spent on them. The eleven tomatoes could have been bought, at a farmers' market, in less time than it took to water the plants. The eleven tomatoes could have been bought as larger tomatoes. The eleven tomatoes could have been bought as sweeter tomatoes.
The eleven tomatoes were, however, worth the time, in a way that had nothing to do with tomatoes.
The person learned that the act of standing on a small balcony, in the early morning, with a watering can, is a particular kind of act. The person learned that the act of looking at a small plant, every day, and noticing whether the plant has changed, is a particular kind of attention. The person learned that the act of waiting, patiently, for a thing to grow, is a particular kind of waiting.
The person learned that the person is not, in general, a patient person. The person learned that the tomatoes, in their slow, sour, mostly-unsuccessful way, taught the person to be.
What will happen next year
Tomatoes will be planted, next year. The tomatoes will be planted in a different spot, where they will get more sun. The tomatoes will be planted in a smaller number, in a smaller number of grow bags.
The person will not, in particular, expect to grow the tomato Gary grows. The person will not, in particular, expect to grow any tomato at all. The person will, instead, plant tomatoes because the person has, in the past year, learned that the planting is the point.
The tomatoes will be planted in May. The tomatoes will be watered in the early morning. The tomatoes will, in late July, be watched, slowly, not dying.
The tomatoes will, in August, be eaten, if there are tomatoes, on toast, with salt.
The grow bags will, in September, be pulled out, and put in a closet, and waited on, until May.