Time to get rid of it
Although the bottom leaves of the tomato plant are yellow and many of its leaves dropping, I hesitate before picking it up, feeling like a traitor.
The plant is over five feet tall with scraggly vine-like uppermost stems that reach for the ceiling. Finally, two months after bringing it into the house and setting it in my office window, it is dying. Done. Finished. I picked its last ripe red cherry tomato yesterday.
Early snows are melting on this warm November day as I carry the plant outside and carefully place it on my compost pile. This darn tomato plant has been part of my life since April when I planted and nurtured it alongside half a dozen other seedlings until finally they were all large enough for their own pots.
They flourished on my back deck but not fast enough for the early oncome of this year’s chilly autumn. I had planted too late. They were just reaching their peaks when the first frost warnings were issued.
The plants were thick, lush and filled with blooms, and Dick and I couldn’t bear to leave them outside where an early frost would surely kill them. We lugged them indoors and set them in south-facing windows. One in my office, one in the master bedroom.
I’ve brought tomatoes inside to ripen but never thought to bring the whole plant indoors. To my delight and surprise, the plants continued flourishing and soon produced small cherry tomatoes. There weren’t enough for me to make salsa but were sweet and delicious for snacking or tossing on salads.
As the weeks passed, and the plants thrived, I wondered—how long would they last? Could we possibly have fresh vine-ripened tomatoes for Thanksgiving? Even teeny weeny ones?
Unfortunately, things began changing. The plant in my office sat atop the off-peak heater where it thrived and was first to produce, and now was first to die. The other looked tired and spindly.
I leave the compost pile thinking there would be no Thanksgiving tomatoes from this plant when a cheerful thought crosses my mind.
Before I throw in the towel, I will give the other tomato plant a good scrutiny. I’d checked them the other day, but not thoroughly.
When I get inside, I do a serious look-see at the one in the master bedroom, and yes! There it is. One tiny green tomato. I’d looked earlier but missed it. It should be perfectly red by Thanksgiving.
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