Aside from flowers, whose death I can blame on drought or heat, I rarely plant much in the way of gardens. I am unwilling to fail via neglect.
This year, I decided to adopt a tomato plant and a basil sprout to provide the foundation for caprese salads or BLTs. It was not ambitious, I know, but it pleased me to envision myself filling my apron pockets with salad fixens'.
The accompanying photo is the harvest I shook off the dead limbs yesterday after I became too tired of looking at my epic failure. See that teeny tiny cherry tomato looking thing? That is my only full-on red fruit. It has a 3/4 inch diameter. The one that looks orangeish is really brown on the bottom. Still, I just may eat it. Or bread it and fry it...
These damn tomatoes would never ripen on the vine. Ever. If I left them on the vine, they rotted. If I brought them in to the windowsill, they sat there, stubbornly. Like paperweights. Not like food.
The basil was better. But really, how much basil can a person eat? I know I should get the old food processor out and make pesto. I left those plants outside, because they smell delicious even as they get brownish and leggy.
Maybe I could find success with cherry tomatoes. Caprese on a skewer is very cute and tasty. But I think the bib overalls will be retired. I have a black thumb.
I am officially off of suburban vegetable gardening. That is the reason God made Farmer's Markets.