Beyond Bottom Rot

We are hardly horticultural masters. Most plantings we have attempted through the years have either fallen prey to predators -- sometimes deer, sometimes rabbits or squirrels, sometimes aphids or fungus -- or the elements. That latter category is, more often than not, usually defined as "operator error", as in too much or too little water. We travel, after all, and rain doesn't always fill the gaps of our absences.

But this year we have been resolute. Tomatoes (seven plants worth) and peppers (at least as many as tomatoes) and herbs. Three kinds of mint, two kinds of basil and rosemary. The tomatoes, however, have been the focus. Beginning with tiny, fragile seedlings, we have nurtured them along, framing with wire cages, regularly feeding, threatening predators, and waiting. Sure enough, a few blossoms emerged, and ultimately fruit -- green marbles that have gradually and ever-so-slowly swollen into the physical anticipation of supper.

We noticed, however, that the early ripening ones had a peculiar malady. The bottoms looked like they had sat too long on a hot board and fried. "Bottom rot" we determined through the wonderful diagnostic tool that is Google. We read, we learned, we confessed, we corrected, we resumed our anticipation.

But don't think for a minute that we discarded those flawed examples. Sure, the bottoms were problematic, so we cut them off and proceeded to consume the remainder. It wasn't always much, but we had been waiting, after all, for months -- Since May 14 to be exact -- and we were hungry. And we were not disappointed. The excised portions were exquisite; we moaned as the meaty juice flooded our mouths and disappeared down our throats. Everything is a package, after all. Nothing is flawless. If some mysterious residue of the bottom rot poisons us and we die tomorrow, we will at least die happy, satisfied and smiling, happily dreaming of the homemade marinara sauces and BLT's and caprese salads still ripening on the vine.

But I'm not worried. We spend lifetimes cutting the flaws off of blessings otherwise delicious -- jobs, marriages, friendships, avocations -- enjoying, forgiving, moaning and giggling and living to tell the tale, rotted parts notwithstanding. Who knows? Maybe the good parts are sweeter because of the bad.

Besides, we are learning. Who can imagine how good they are bound to taste next year?