You'll see with the postings, lately, that I have been employing my sketchpad a bit more and that I am still trying to get the hang of my scanner (she and I don't always, yet, see eye to eye).
Anyway.
We have fresh tomatoes this summer, and it seems a great luxury. There are not a lot yet. There may not actually be a lot ever (this summer), as I am just sort of learning how to do this tomato-growing thing. Next year (I believe with all my heart that I will actually do this, yes) the beds will be labored over a bit (a lot) more before the tender shoots are placed amongst the clods.
The best thing about the whole business is that the plants smell heavenly. I remember, as a child, not liking the smell. At all. It seemed, perhaps, rather aggressively vegetable-y. But now it is a sweet perfume, and heady, and doubly grand when, behind the fragrant leaves, there is red or green or yellow (I did go for color) peeking through and encouraging the vision of a brilliant (healthy!) salad in the next few days.
