Groundhog Day

The signs were there.  Half-eaten tomatoes still hanging from the vines.  I knew you were back.  Still, I was optimistic there might be a few left for me.  Alas, after being away for a week almost all of my tomatoes were wiped out.  All that remains are the cherry tomatoes, which apparently you aren’t interested in, and a few small beefsteak tomatoes too high for you to reach.  And this morning you didn’t even try to hide your face, but looked right at me as if to say “What are you gonna do about it?”  Yeah, I know that look buddy.  At least your chipmunk friend looked a little afraid as he skittered off with a cherry tomato, dropped it in horror when he saw me, then timidly ran back and picked it up before running away.  Not you.  You just stand there, as if waiting for me to plant more tomatoes for you.

This is my version of Groundhog Day.  Plant tomatoes, leave them unfenced for aesthetic reasons.  Lose most of the crop to mocking mammals.  Repeat.  It’s what I get for sticking vegetables in a flower garden and leaving them to fate.  I swear I’ll learn from this next spring.  Next year will be different.