Garden

The pole beans have sprouted, and the tomato plants are showing the little yellow flowers that signal oncoming fruit. It’s warm here in Oregon, some days hot, but not Kentucky hot, and I look forward to what kind of tomatoes I’ll get. A bunch of tomatoes, a loaf of bread, and mayonnaise will feed a man for a week, maybe more. Tomato sandwiches are one of the greatest pleasures of summer, right up there with beer pulled from an icy cooler, bikinis, and fishing from the bank. I haven’t been cursed with the short fits of depression I used to have since I’ve been in Oregon, and I don’t know why, but I’m not second-guessing it, leave well enough alone. In time, the shoots of the Kentucky Wonder pole beans – that’s right, Kentucky Wonder, you think I wouldn’t buy them when they stared me down at the co-op – will run up the trellis, and the yellow flowers will turn into green and then red fruit, and I’ll slap them on some bread with mayo and a little salt, and then I’ll smile like a god damn fool who’s got it made.