Gardening sorrow and joy

Yesterday, we had a line of storms blow through Houston. They were nothing like the severe weather that has been repeatedly pounding the midwest U.S., or other areas of the globe, for that matter, but it was bad enough. But it could have been much, much worse. We dodged yet another bullet.

It was the first real chance at rain we'd had in weeks. A line of storms from the south and a bigger line from the north were converging on downtown. Classic summer pattern. Made for tornadoes or floods. Parts of the city lost power. The radar was full of angry orange, yellow and red images, growing and swirling. Severe thunderstorm warnings were issued. Nickel-sized hail was reported in some areas.

The southbound system raced through town and the skies were totally clear by 2pm. And it was sweltering again. Rather typical Houston weather, actually.

Upon arriving home after work and getting upstairs to water the plants, it looked like we'd had a tornado. Ten plants were blown over, a couple were upside-down, spilling their plants and soil all around. It was a real mess, but it could have been worse. Much worse.

One of our very healthy plumerias was just destroyed. It was close to blooming. It was really painful to see. As bad as this was, it is only the slightest taste of what farmers must go through now and then, nurturing their fields until close to harvest, and BOOM! A tornado comes along and just rips everything to shit.

On the other hand, the Early Girl tomato bushes were not harmed, tied as they were to the wrought-iron table. Good thing we had the foresight to bind their cage to the table, or we would not have been able to harvest these two beauties.

And there are many more to come. It was just like a tornado. Over there, ripped to shreds, over here, untouched.

The tomatoes off this plant are the most wonderful we've ever tasted. So, amidst all the destruction and sorrow, there is still joy. There is still joy.