(Or: Gardening May Not Be For Me)
What you see there is the remnant of the lone ripening tomato that was on the vine when I left the house on Monday afternoon. This is what was left of it by the time we got back two hours later. Oh, there was a little green one, too; I later spotted half of it over by the barbecue.
Never have I felt such murderous rage toward the nasty, stinking squirrels that consider our backyard their home. A logical person would realize that they probably would’ve carried on their dirty pillaging right under our noses, but I’m not so sure. I think it was a plot.
This makes my fourth failure in the pursuit of successful tomato farming. I’m pretty sure I’m done now.
On the plus side, though, at least we don’t actually have to rely on my feeble efforts for food. I think that’s something for which this whole house should be deeply and profoundly thankful. There are only so many ways you can cook up parsley, and I dare say none of ’em are going to fill you up!