BY RUTH HAWLEY
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In February, I see red. Not for candy hearts or chocolate dipped strawberries,
or rage at the absence of a valentine. I see a bowl of tomatoes
fresh off the vine. Big, fat, brandywines and small golden nuggets.
My grandma showed me how to see each month in the colours
of harvests to come. Her favourite shade of February is Juliet,
an heirloom varietal that’s been hard to find.
Do you have some? Will you share? I’ll pay you with the broccoli seeds
I saved from last summer. That’s not a joke, and please don’t take it as an insult. It’s
just the way we are. Shameless swappers, givers and receivers. See,
Grandma and Pa never missed a soccer game, and always came bearing
tomato plants in the back of their red, Toyota Prius. No matter the score,
everyone left a winner. Last year was my inaugural season
growing tomatoes from seed. I trusted my heritage
by sowing them in February, expected frost date be damned.
By March, little palm trees had blossomed. Then one sunny afternoon,
I gently moved those starts into bigger pots. And in no time at all, they created
curtains of greenery across my windowsill and I wondered
if my neighbors would think I was growing marijuana.
But the worry was fleeting. I was seeing red through all that green.
By May, I saw the first true bud. Time to “harden-off.” To prepare
my little plants for a life outside my windowsill. I moved them,
all twenty, out to my deck each day so they could adjust to the sea-side air.
I smiled as they swayed in the sun, leaves tickled by the breeze.
I rushed to the rescue if one or two or three happened to blow over
in an especially strong gust. Eventually I built a canopy for them on the deck,
so that they could get morning sun, be shielded from the wind all day, and try their hand
at camping overnight. Grandma said she hadn’t bothered
with this process for her tomatoes, but that my Great Uncle Chad always did.
I felt Chad watching over me when I planted them outside. When I kissed them
goodnight and told them it was time to leave the deck for good. Ready or not
they flourished, and I did also. I got comfortable pruning
their branches so they could grow stronger. They needed my help for this unpleasant task,
and thanked me with a bounty of all shapes and sizes. I made a promise
to myself that I wouldn’t let one tomato go to waste. I learned
how to roast them and add cream and parmesan. I gave
some sauce to my friend and her new baby. Babies love fresh tomato sauce.
And how could they not? It’s bright and energetic and acidic — much better than pureed pears.
As my first season drew to a close, sauce days became the best days.
I stowed the spare batches in my freezer for safe-keeping throughout winter,
when I needed a reminder of how colourful the world could be.
When I needed something to carry me on to February, when I knew I would see red once again.
Valentine’s Day is really for the gardeners.
***
Ruth Hawley has an MFA in Creative Writing from Stonecoast at the University of Southern Maine. Her writing has appeared on the The Write Launch, CommuterLit, and The Twin Bill (2023 Best of the Net Nominee). Her website is www.ruthhawley.com, from which she sends a delicious little newsletter called Weekly Bites. She lives in Bremerton, WA, U.S.
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