pucker up

I don’t know what my problem is. I just love the deformed tomatoes. The lumpy, cracked, scarred kind. Something about all the different textures makes the colors more striking, the shape more beautiful. They don’t sell as well, they’re worth less, but I smile every time I see a good one, a really unusual one. On these long humid days, the promise of something new down the vine is what keeps me crawling on my hands and knees, moving slowly on the row.