However you say it...

...I love 'em. Tomatoes. Real tomatoes, that is. Not those cardboard-flavored things you find at the grocery store. I'm talking about sun-warm, blood-red globes that absolutely REEK of garden goodness. Juice dribbles down your chin with the very first bite, and your tastebuds collapse from overstimulation.

That kind of tomato.

I haven't had one of those in a long time. I got close last year, with a couple of Juliet grape tomatoes in pots on the back step. It was my first attempt at homegrown tomatoes, and it went fairly well. I could pretty much count on getting one or two per day once they started to ripen.

They probably tasted better to me than they really did, because I grew them myself and I was proud of them. Emboldened by my modest success, I decided to try something a little bigger this summer. Heirloom beefsteak tomatoes. Oooohhhh, yeah.

I like the idea of heirloom plants. For one thing, it's more like "Grandma used to make" than most stuff available today. For another, I'm more concerned with how my veggies taste than how well they can travel in a semi. Don't get me wrong, hybridizing has done its share of good deeds for the garden world.

I just get a little nervous at the thought that my salad might start walking and talking one of these days.

Anyway, I bought two plants. One is on the back porch in a nice, big pot. The other is on the front porch in one of those upside-down planter dealies. Kind of an experiment, if you will. The one out back is doing quite well. Several blooms, and I even spied a little green tomato the other day! I'm guessing this is due to the fact that this particular plant can leap out and accost me whenever it wants a drink.

Here she comes. Wait for it... aaaaand YEAGH!!!!

"AUGH! Stupid, lousy... What's that all about?!"

I'm thirsty. Gimme some water.

Yeah. The plant on the back porch is hale and hearty. The one out front... er... Sometimes I forget to water it. Then I'll see forlorn green leaves fluttering sadly in the picture window and feel a wave of horrible guilt and go rushing out with a pitcher of water.

Lucky me, plant number two is very forgiving. She might even favor me with a tomato one of these days.