Happy Birthday, Tomato Farmer

This is the first birthday remembrance since I started this daily blog. My second sensational son and as close as I could get to a namesake, Stuart made his entrance on Planet Earth forty-one years ago this afternoon. I gave up my diary when I married at nineteen and regret not recording the cute things my babies did, the milestones, and the feelings that went with being a mother, but memories are there anyway and here is one for Stuart. We moved to Spartanburg when he was four and lived in a neighborhood with a back yard full of gangly pines and no good summer garden spot, so I hoed and prepared a place at the side of the house. My drive to have a garden was no doubt something I learned from my daddy who loved the fruit trees and various veggies that he planted and nurtured, including of course tomatoes. In this side yard garden the different varieties of tomatoes thrived. An early rising, retired neighbor across the street observed that Stuart - at four and five - was "like an old farmer" because each morning he saw him checking the tomatoes, and I add, he did so with love. Some smaller varieties were used as ammunition in cherry tomato fights with his brothers, but we had plenty of big ones left for all to enjoy. Now Stuart has been a tomato "farmer" for many summers, even ordering heirloom seeds and growing them from scratch. The seasons have been disappointing or rewarding, just like the rest of life, but still Stuart carries on a long family tradition as well as commendably carrying my favorite name.