No Hard Feelings, Just Hard Skin

On the night of the garden's demise, certain vegetables were spared destruction. Among them were two green tomatoes. We believe they were Better Boys, but we offer no guarantees.

Our dearest Jordan insisted that when placed in a sunny spot, they would eventually ripen. Tyler begged to differ and volunteered to keep them in the sunniest of sunny places until the day when they began to rot. At that point, he vowed to make a rotten green tomato goulash and Jordan would be required to eat it as punishment for wishful thinking. Though none of us know what goulash is, it certainly sounds like punishment in itself, and most certainly would be if made with rotten tomatoes.

Two months have past, and the tomatoes are ripe-ish. No goulash will be made tonight (though possibly tomorrow so that Tyler can reap the reward of his doubt).

Instead, we decided to follow through on the garden's last wish and make a peace offering to the Landlord.

This package went out today.

We made a few assumptions about Mr. Scott, including his name and initials, but I'm sure he'll be happy as soon as he sees how ripe the tomatoes are.

Also included was the following letter:

Dearest Mr. Scott,

We want to begin by saying "no hard feelings." We are well aware of everything that occurred on that bitter summer's night, and no, we're not talking about the temperature. We also are aware of our owners' zeal for the garden and their general feelings of pride in their accomplishments. We acknowledge that this pride may have clashed with that of a certain landlord, and we abstain from making any judgments.

We offer ourselves unto you as a peace offering, as the last of the joyous harvest. Though our skin is wrinkled and old, yet our hearts are warm and red. We represent a summer of labor, a summer of laughs, and a summer of love. We recognize a moment of silence for those who have fallen that we could survive, and pray that their memories and minerals will continue on in the hearts and digestive systems of princes and paupers alike.

May the pollen of Vertumnus forever grace your blossoms.

Signed,

Two ripe tomatoes, (with wishes from the parkinglotgarden)