Tomatoes—the miracle fruit

Yes, it’s a fruit, not a vegetable. Why is it miraculous? They are tasty, good for you, and if you do it right you can grow a ludicrous amount of them. Some folks like cherry tomatoes (I dislike the skin-to-flesh ratio), some like exotics like Purple Cherokee or Green Zebra, and some like classics such as Brandywine or various heirlooms. I like big, well-shaped slicers, which is why I usually go with Early Girl. But no matter your taste, here are a few tips for a bountiful harvest. 1) Tomatoes need sun. Don’t plant them in the shade. 2) Sprinkle some (1/8 to maybe ¼ cup at most) bone meal in the planting hole before planting. This is very important for a massive crop; it kickstarts the rooting and fruiting like what you wouldn’t believe. 3) Plant in rich soil, lots of compost and amendments. Tomatoes are food hogs. 4) Never let the leaves touch the ground; they are on-ramps for bug and bacteria. Those are the four big tips.

Of course, the downside of being a tomato gardener is you’ve committed yourself to a never-ending conflict with the insects that prey on your efforts. I’ve often felt that the little thieves look remarkably like aliens. Reminds me of a flash fiction story (≤1,000 words) that I wrote on that very subject. Here it is. Enjoy.

Tiny Aliens Stole My Tomatoes

by Joshua Mertz

On his morning inspection of the garden, coffee in hand, Malcolm noticed a peculiar hole in one of his beloved tomatoes. This worried him because the big, juicy Early Girls were only a day or two away from being ripe enough to pick. What was more worrying—in fact shocking—was that on closer inspection Malcolm thought he saw a tiny door recessed into the hole in the tomato. Impossible, he said to himself, and went back into the house to get a magnifying glass.

Sure enough, there was a teensy metal door inside the hole in the tomato. Even weirder, the door was set back a little bit and there was what could only be described as a welcome mat on the red pulp in front of the door. Malcolm knew it had to be a prank, most probably from his practical jokester friend, Larry. He pictured Larry sneaking into the back yard, tweezers and electric drill in hand, and carefully installing the diminutive door and welcome mat into the tomato. Malcolm stalked into the house and called Larry.

But Larry proclaimed his innocence loud and long. He said to check the front porch security camera. Malcolm did so: no sneaky Larry. Malcolm went back out to the garden and checked the tomatoes again.

All the tomatoes had similar holes bored into them, each one with a tiny door. Malcolm noted that all the doors also had miniscule welcome mats, some with strange, alien writing on them, others with decorative designs. One of the doors stood open, and as Malcolm caught sight of it, the door was slammed shut. He caught a glimpse of something that looked vaguely like a very small beetle standing upright and making a rude gesture at him with two of its legs.

A rational person would have called 911, the Feds, or Area 51, but not Malcolm. There are garden pests and then there are garden pests, and he was having none of it. He ran to the shed for his clippers and the insecticide spray. When he got back to the tomato bed he was horrified to see several of his succulent red orbs floating away into the sky. Furious, he dropped the pesticide and threw the clippers at the lowest flying tomato only to see them bounce off a shimmering force field surrounding the fruit.

He looked back to the first tomato just in time to see a ring of bright light swirl around the stem and the tomato break free. Without thinking he wrapped his hands around the fruit, trying to pull it down. Despite him digging in his heels, the powerful levitating tomato dragged him across the lawn toward the trellis of cherry tomatoes.

To his horror, a bevy of bright red cherry tomatoes launched into the air and headed toward him. Little bolts of bright energy flashed from the small orbs, sizzling the grass around his feet. Malcolm could feel the tomato he was grasping struggle to gain altitude and he pulled downward with all his strength. The tomato glowed brighter and began to heat up, the light leaking from between his fingers darkening from a rosy red to a burning crimson. He felt the heat increase until it was as if he was holding a glowing charcoal briquet. The energy bolts from the swarm of cherry tomatoes still burned the lawn around him and started to close in on his feet. He felt his skin tingle with electricity as a bright flash blasted a button from his shirt. Still he hung on, grimacing as the burning hot tomato struggled to escape his grasp. Then a cherry tomato swooped in and landed a glancing shot at the base of Malcom’s thumb. He let go of the shimmering fruit and fell to the ground, clutching his injured hand.

Malcolm rolled onto his back and saw all of of his juicy, ripe tomatoes receding into the blue summer sky. A squadron of cherry tomatoes in tight formation followed them. He shaded his eyes and watched the tomatoes dwindle into the blue, becoming a scattering of barely discernable crimson dots, then fading away completely.

An angry blister throbbed at base of his thumb where the attacking cherry tomato had burned it. As the adrenaline in his veins began to subside Malcolm looked at his empty tomato vines. Sadness pulled at his eyes and shoulders. The pride of his garden, the succulent fruit for which he was famous among his circle of friends, had been stolen by tiny, mean-spirited alien bugs. He looked up at the traitorous sky. So long, spaghetti sauce. Bye-bye, bruschetta. Ciao, caprese.

Malcolm sighed. At least I have basil for pesto, he said to himself. He looked over at his luxuriantly green basil plants just in time to see them flap their leaves and take to the sky.

END