Our local Sunday newspaper had a front page story confirming what many of us had suspected, but giving it a scientific twist, late blight, to explain why so many of our homegrown tomato plants look like the dog's breakfast, minus the dog.
This summer "our" entire backyard garden is my daughter's effort as her doddering Dad couldn't get organized enough to even remember to think about what to grow in the garden much less do the tilling, the planting, the watering, the weeding and the etceteraing. As a matter of fact, for Father's Day I even got one of those you-put-it-in-upside-down-and-hang-it-up planter things that I saw on TV.
Unfortunately the tomato plant that was in it, like so many across the country, didn't do well and got a color other than green and sort of moldy looking. According to the newspaper, a lot of tomato plants sold through the mass retailers were infected (except so, too were the ones, Michelle grabbed from a local farm to augment the big box limited offerings). And on Sunday, she went out to the garden and now they sleep with the garbage (you cannot compost them for obvious reasons and she's very much her Father's daughter as she's fretting about the ground they were in and how to square it away).
The only reason I ever got started on gardens when I was a wee slip of a lad was because of the enjoyment from watching the tomato plants grow. Between you and me, I don't especially care what kind of tomatoes grow, I like the smell of the plants especially after you weed them (but I do LOVE fresh tomatoes and have never liked hot house ones) , but it looks like we'll be hitting the stores and stands for salad fixings this summer.
Of course we'll save a fortune on the extra "e's"-maybe I can look up Marilyn Quayle's address and see if her better half wants to buy a vowel at a discount(e).