Just Pickin'

For most of her life, Tiffany has hated tomatoes. Once when we were in college (before we were dating), I bought her a t-shirt that says: "You Say Tomato, I Say F*ck You." She loves that t-shirt.

So, yesterday, when we were standing knee-deep in a sea of tomato plants, lifting the heavy vines and twisting the warm red fruits off their stems, I knew how much Tiffany loves me.

I love tomatoes. My mom and I can eat them like apples with a little sprinkle of salt on each bite. We never grew them ourselves, but occasionally, in different places we lived, we had "tomato-men or -women. Mr. Arnold was the first tomato-man I remember. He was retired, about 75-years old, and used to fix our lawn mowers and cars for next to nothing, clanking around in his driveway. He had a Siberian husky with blue eyes named Cody. Mr. Arnold grew his tomatoes in his backyard and every time we went to pick up our car or lawn mower, he'd say, "Now, hold on a minute, let me get some tomatoes for you." And he'd come back with a cardboard box full of them, warm and dirt-spotted, fresh from his garden.

On Saturday, Tiffany and I became our own tomato-women, just for the day. We haven't seen the sun for weeks in San Francisco, so we got in the car and went to find it. When we finally broke out of the fog about 20 miles outside the city, we high-fived each other and relaxed into the warmth. We went for a trail run. We spent 30 minutes at the gas station filling up, putting air in the tires and washing the car. We went to Target and bought big things we can't get or carry in the city. And, in between all that, we drove out to a family farm, following the U-Pick signs and parking on a dusty road next to a gigantic tractor.

I'd never picked my own fruit. I have a vague memory of picking a live Christmas tree once in Mississippi but never fruit or vegetables. We ate a lot of them in my family, of course. My mom and I went to the farmer's market in downtown Kansas City every weekend. But everything we bought was already picked.

Tiffany grew up picking berries in the Northeast, so she knew what she was doing. She handed me a gigantic red bucket and we traipsed into the crops. First, we went for the tomatoes. There were rows and rows of different kinds: Juliet, Black Russian, Roma, funky-shaped, green. We filled my bucket. The man in the tractor told us to taste at any time, but I was still nervous to try any. Tiffany prodded me, laughing. She tossed me a skinny tubular tomato she'd just picked. I looked around for the man and then bit into it. It was perfect--even without salt--warm and juicy. I threw it back to Tiffany. She wants to learn to like tomatoes and is being very brave about it: she braced herself for a minute and then bit in really quick.

"It's really not bad," she said, trying to keep her face neutral. She had dirt on her forehead.

After the tomatoes, we made our way to the plums and then to the peaches and nectarines. Each time we went to a new row, I picked up my red bucket and limped along with it awkwardly, resting it against my left shin.

"Where are you?" Tiffany kept calling, as she moved from tree to tree, touching the fruit, finding the ones that were just right.

"Here," I called back. "Just looking at my tomatoes."

I put my bucket down and followed her into the rows, watching her bite into a peach here, a nectarine there.

"Did you see these?" she called.

"No," I smiled, chasing after her voice to find her reaching up for a cling peach.

Everything we picked was $1 a pound. We had ten pounds of plums, peaches and nectarines and 13 pounds of tomatoes. We have plans for every pound. Tomato sauce for pasta and pizza. Salsa. Our first attempt at preserves.

On our way back home, the car smelled like all our fruit at once. We drove the whole way with our sun roof open and the windows down, savoring the summer weather. When the city came into view, so did the fog, sitting heavy, dark grey and white swirls on top of the buildings.

But we were sunburned and happy. At home, while Tiffany showered, I opened up the box of tomatoes and picked out two green ones to fry.