if you give a boy a tomato
Wednesday, October 7 
Lemon cucumbers surround a platter full of Roma, Oregon Spring and cherry tomatoes.
I know I complain a lot about the testosterone around here, but I’m really in touch with my inner junior high boy more than I’ve let on. Yes, the guys annoy me plenty. I don’t like that they’re always messy, destroying things and farting. But I don’t mind my own messes and farts. In fact, I love to trick Shawn or the boys into coming near me after I’ve launched a butt blast, then as the smell registers and they rant about how gross I am, describe the stench as though it’s fine wine, “This fart is reminiscent of freshly roasted peanuts, with a rare burnt-rubber finish.”
Given this, it should come as no surprise that our family can defile even a Martha Stewart day of harvesting and processing the final baskets of garden tomatoes.
Big, luscious tomatoes don’t grow very well in Bozeman. Nights are too cool and the summer season too short. Cherry tomatoes, Romas and fist-sized Oregon Spring tomatoes are generally what one can hope for in a good year. This season I had a bumper crop of all three and was busy cutting the cherry tomatoes in half, then squeezing the juice and seeds into a bowl so that the salad I was making didn’t end up a runny, seedy mess.
Oldest Son came in the kitchen to ask me what I was doing, when I showed him the bowl of mucousy-looking seeds afloat in tomato slime. (It should be stated that Oldest Son has never liked tomatoes, and will go to great lengths to find a small, cooked piece of something that looks remotely tomato-like in a casserole and relocate it to a trash can in the same manner that you’d transport a dead mouse by it’s tail.)
Me, as I held the bowl of tomato slime out to him: How much would it cost to get you to drink this?
Oldest Son, as he stared into the bowl: Oh, gosh.
Me: A few bucks?
Oldest Son: No. I’m gonna have to say ten bucks for that.
Me: You still owe ten bucks for your cell phone last month. How about you drink this, and I pay for your phone?
Oldest Son: Deal…Oh man. I don’t know if I can do this.
Me: Ten bucks, no phone bill.
Oldest Son: Okay, it’s going down.
Oldest Son tilted his head back, opened his gullet and poured. His chest and throat heaved, then he swallowed assertively. He looked down at me.
Done.
I was sitting on the floor laughing so hard at his tortured facial expressions that my side hurt. Then Oldest Son suddenly leaned over the sink and projectile vomited the whole mess. Then he laughed too.
I know. I’m a bad mom. I don’t know what I was thinking. But I looked at that disgusting bowl of seeds and it just seemed right to dare him to drink them (see paragraph number one, sentence one).
Later that day Oldest Son had several friends over. I love teenage boys. I love their rowdiness, humor and boyishness despite towering over me — and the simplicity of their friendships. I love to feed them and watch them together. I try not to be too obvious about this or invade their space too much, lest they find a new house to hang out.
Anyway, I was making salsa for a big taco feast when I looked out the window and saw Shawn pegging the boys across the yard with my green tomatoes, throwing them like explosive baseballs. It wasn’t long before it was a full-on war zone, and many, many tomatoes were sacrificed. Turns out Shawn was the instigator, but really, it was a fitting way to say good-bye to the season.
Oldest Son sends a green tomato across the yard.
A little wrestling after all the green tomatoes were gone...There is snow in the Bridger Mountains, which I can see from our front window. Time to make one last batch of my very favorite tomato-cucumber salad. I’ll post the recipe in the next day or so. I hope I haven’t ruined any appetites, because this salad is worth grabbing the last of summer from your garden or local farmer’s market. Until then, be well.
Reader Comments (5)
You mountain people have never heard of the great Southern delicacy:Fried green tomatoes! There was a book and a movie....remember? It was an end of summer meal for my south of the Masondixon line family. Try them, if there are any left.
Have you gotten out the skis yet? GM
I remember that movie fondly. And, I have a basement room full of unripened tomatoes. We pulled the plants out by their roots and have them hanging. So I'll make some fried green tomatoes soon and let you know how it goes.
Haven't gotten the skis out yet :) I'm still pining a bit for summer.
HA! HA HA!!! I'm in touch with my innrer 12 year old boy, too. The other day at church in the little kid class the teacher was using her high pitched sunshiney voice and asked "Doesn't it feel good with the wind passes?" And I felt my lip quiver so I bit it to make it behave. When out of the corner of my eye I saw a kindred spirit trying to hide her smile behind her 5 month old. Passing wind is FUNNY.
What are Lemon Cucumbers??? I've never even HEARD of them! I'm lame, I know. Forgive me.
And, uh, DUH that you dared him to drink it. How could you NOT? I think it was mandatory.
Good grief. I can spell and I KNOW how to speak. I just can't type. Or focus. It feels good WHEN the wind passes, not with. Though it probably feels good WITH wind passes, no?
Must learn to proofread.
All wind passing around here is good -- unless it's not mine :)
Lemon cucumbers taste the same as a regular cuke, but they grow in the shape/color of a lemon. Because they're smaller, they grow quicker than a regular cuke. Key for nut jobs like us who live in places where winter is on steroids!