Over July, the farm bloomed. First, a wall of vines grew up in the fields, dense with green tomatoes.
Flowers at the edges of the fields started to tower and flame.
Soon we were picking tomatoes. We sat at the foot of each plant, because each plant held so much fruit. The vines were strong and fuzzy, the tomatoes in tight clusters. Four or five of us filled our padded crates, stem side down, then stem up, so that the stems wouldn’t poke through their soft skins. We ate a few, dusty, on the way.
All of this led to a perfect Saturday afternoon, eating a caprese salad with Kara in the sunshine, and it tasting like the best caprese I’d ever had in my life. Maybe because I had worked enough at the farm, and felt connected to their creation. But I really think it’s because they had just come off the vine, and the tomatoes were really that damn good. Kudos to Fred, and Sunol soil, and all the chickens and greyhounds, etc., etc.