Those tomatoes.  I mentioned them a bit disdainfully not long ago.  They had gotten the best I could offer them – new large pots, rich compost, and marigolds to ward off insects. We watered but took care not to flood them. When we noticed the path of the sun had changed we moved the pots across the garden.  Long leggy vines shot out of the pots, defying all attempts to brace and train.  Frankly it became an embarassingly gangly mess, but there were tiny green tomatoes clinging to those unruly limbs so it seemed wrong to abandon the effort, hopeless as it had started to appear.

I just wandered by the back garden, noting the weeds creeping among the perennials. There is much work to be done that rather snuck up on me. But while assessing those weeds I noticed something else.  The tomatoes have begun to ripen. The first thing that became apparent was that they were most definitely not the sort I was expecting. The starter plants had come with labels describing the varieties we had chosen and I had kept those tucked into the pots to reference.  What was growing were not beefsteaks in the least, not even a Roma. Turns out we have several different varieties of cherry tomatoes, some oblong, some round, all unbelievably sweet.

Not the harvest we expected.  Certainly not as neat and tidy a process as I envisioned. 

And yet, we are bearing sweet fruit.