Our purple tomatoes to be are finally showing a bit of color. They've been green enough for frying for what seems weeks now, and it's difficult not to be impatient.
As a temporary fix we bought some of the heirloom Cherokee variety at a farmer's market on Saturday from a guy and girl who looked pretty counter culture. Pleasure doing business local. It's a Green thing.
That prompted me to wonder if my square box garden and my back-to-the-land effort make me seem more hippie-esque or just more like my dad.
He didn't know about things like "local" and "Green" with a capital G. He just liked tomatoes, and he liked making me work in his garden.
I hated it. It was one more source he had for giving me things to do.
Now it feels a little more back to the land, which I guess is why any pseudo-suit with a bohemian streak tills the land, or the compost in his square box at least.
Maybe the Old Man was on to something. He just had a Dick Cheney way of expressing it.