The Love Apple

The tomato — classic red, bursting with sweet, acidic flavor — is known as the “Love Apple” in France. This endearing nickname from the culinary world matches my own experience with this ripe, red fruit.

Every summer, my father and I planted tomatoes in our garden. The day began with a trip to the local nursery. Amid the rows of cheery cherry tomatoes and serious beefsteak varieties, he would stress the importance of picking plants that were low, compact, and firm stemmed, with wide, full leaves. “Once a straggling plant, always a straggling plant,” he would say. With our four arms balancing eight young tomatoes, we would drive home. Dad had prepared the garden days before. Additions of musty compost and peat moss enhanced the fertile, dark earth.

The elder planting wisdom would begin. First, gently squeeze the container on all sides to allow the original potting soil to loosen. Place your thumb and index finger at the base of the plant, tip it upside down, and gently guide the root ball out. Turn the plant right side up again. Pinch the bottom of the root ball to gather some of the original dirt. Carefully place this dirt in the freshly dug hole, assuring the roots will recognize the familiar DNA and thrive.

The next step was key! Use a narrow trowel to lightly “comb” the sides and bottoms of the plant to free the hairlike root strands so they could connect to the earth when lowered into the ground. Pack the dirt, one level at a time, to prevent air bubbles from forming. Lastly, pile and press the soil high on the stem, just below the first leaves, to give the plant a solid base. With fascination, I would watch his strong hands, with their plump, blue veins, and absorb every word of his patient teachings.

Through the growing season, we spent time together, watching with amazement at the growth and production of edible fruit. As a child, I did not relish the taste or smell of tomatoes … what I adored was the love passed between Dad and me as we shared this ritual through the years.

On August 1st, my grandson will turn four. This summer signaled his coming of age for sharing the elder planting wisdom. We began with a trip to the local nursery. What followed included strong plants, a gentle guiding, a pinching, placement of family dirt, and combing of the plant. With this instruction, my grandson reminded me of his own wisdom…”its not good to pull hair, Nona!”

We packed the dirt; we provided a solid base for our plant. Our ritual was complete.

As we worked, the spirit of my father floated near us, filling my heart with gratitude. With fascination, I watched my hands with their own plump, blue veins and my grandson’s small, perfect dough-like hands. The circle of life revolving again with the planting of a tomato and a family.

Mason’s plant is growing, with two green tomatoes! Please visit our blog in a few more weeks to see our love ripening!