It was a long, hot summer. It was, in fact, a record breaker for long, hot summers and droughts.
We had planted a garden, but it was a bust. We kept the barren tomato plants alive, watering them day after day, hoping we might get a few tomatoes eventually. At the very end of summer, the heat finally broke. The tomato plants bloomed and set, but it was already late in the season. We couldn't bear to let the plants die with the first frosts in October, so we covered them at night. Every night. Night after night. We kept at it until today. Today we gave up. I brought in a bushel of green tomatoes and few almost pink ones.
And at the very bottom, under all the other plants, I found a teeny tiny miniature, fully ripe tomato, smaller than a dime. Let's call it a symbol of hope. And then let's eat it.