Tomatoes When the Time is Ripe and if the Lord is Willing

I am sure that most of the credit goes to the rain. We have enjoyed consistent showers in Des Moines since early spring, meaning that flower beds and gardens all through the neighborhood are lush and full. That fertility has certainly extended to our back deck. Early in the season we planted our traditional flowers in the hanging boxes around the railing, but we also decided to try our typically brown thumbs on tomatoes again -- and a few miscellaneous other vegetables -- in pots. Ground planting has routinely proven disappointing, except to the rabbits and deer who enjoyed all the benefits. Pots on our elevated deck seemed the only possible route to success, and so we...

...got a little carried away. Seven pots of tomato plants have now so junglized the space that we have had to fold up and put away the deck chairs and table. Underneath all that foliage are supposed to be a similar number of bell peppers, but those shorter plants have long-since been hidden from view. I was disappointed by the scant number of blossoms on the vines, but now collections of marble-sized tomatoes are posting more favorable reviews. It has become an important part of my days to accomplish crop surveys, and I have sort of resented the rain for depriving me of occasions for offering my meager but beloved H2O therapy. It seems little enough to do -- slaking the thirst of those towering vines -- especially when the plants, themselves, are doing all the really hard work. Staying upright seems exertion enough, even with the wire cages offering their assistive support. But making fruit; that is labor of love, indeed!

Which is why I wish I could do more to help. My sense of stewardship is kicking in -- and, OK I will admit it, my salivation. It is too early to tell; after all, high winds or birds or, my luck, a flying rabbit or leaping deer could still intrude with a horticultural abortion. The nibbled whiskery stems down at the base of the tree where hosta leaves only yesterday sprawled is cautionary reminder that there are all kinds of mouths out there looking to be fed. We don't have tomatoes or peppers quite yet -- only their anticipation.

In the meantime we will wait, and watch and coax and fantasize.

And water, whenever the rain will let me.