Tomato Tales

Once upon a time, there was a very brave and very beautiful maiden named Kristin who grew tomatoes. She lovingly planted and cared for the seeds, transplanting the tender seedlings to her garden when the weather warmed, protecting her helpless seedlings from the cruel world with Walls o' Water, all in preparation for the day when she would have a delicious tomato all her own to eat.

That day finally came, and there was much rejoicing in the land when the brave and beautiful maiden Kristin ate the first tomato from her garden. And the rejoicing continued as the tomatoes proved fruitful and produced many more tomatoes for salads and sauces and soups. But soon, there was fear, as the tomatoes came in greater and greater numbers, and the maiden Kristin (who is, let us not forget, very brave and beautiful) despaired of finding a use for all those tomatoes.

But the maiden Kristin, being a practical sort, rolled up her velvet sleeves and got to work. She peeled and cored and canned tomatoes for days and days and days. Her hands became weary from the paring knife and she suffered great pain from the acidic tomato juices in the many cuts on her hands from that very same paring knife. At times, she felt she couldn't go on. But the maiden Kristin was very brave (and beautiful! especially when canning), and she pressed on until she had canned all the tomatoes there were to can.

And then the brave and beautiful maiden Kristin heaved a great sigh of relief that she had vanquished the great numbers of tomatoes at last. Until the night of the first predicted frost, when the maiden Kristin gathered all the tomatoes that were yet green on the vine. And those tomatoes proved stubborn, sitting in bowls on the counter, slowly turning red, it is true, but yet mocking the maiden Kristin for thinking she could ever, ever win in her contest of wills against such a mighty foe as the tomato. But the very brave and very beautiful maiden Kristin is also very patient, and she knows that the tomatoes must surrender before she. And so she waits, in a stand-off with the tomatoes, that are still sitting in the kitchen in mid-November.

Well-fought, sirs, but I shall prevail in the end.

The End (almost)