I am a Tomato Patch

In the same way that pets sometimes resemble their owners, I think I resemble my tomato patch.

Yesterday, I plucked a gazillion cherry tomatoes from our garden.  The wet summer and long growing season produced a jungle out there!  When we first planted the tomatoes, I didn't have any "cages" on hand.  Then things got busy, and I missed our window.  The tomatoes became bushes, and I couldn't (or didn't) squeeze them into the rings.  So, the vines are all over the place, reaching in every direction.  Honestly, between the tangle of browning leaves and competing prickly pumpkin stems, our tomato plot is not all that "pretty." Appearance is not a priority, productivity is.

As I kaplink, kaplank, kaplunk a ton of tomatoes into harvesting bowls, I'm wearing the same clothes I've worn most of the week; I haven't brushed my hair, nor had it cut since I can remember; I am pretty well covered in dirt.  But, earlier in the morning, I made waffles and eggs for six, packed four lunches, and biked four kids to school.  Brushed hair be damned.  I am a hard-working tomato patch, and I'm thankful to be surrounded / hidden by some blooming marigolds.