Three deer chomped on the tomato plants and petunias just outside our back door while Dave and I stood watching.
Truth is the tomatoes didn’t do well this year, probably because I didn’t plant my small garden until early July. Within a week we had a hard rain and hail that shredded the geraniums. It didn’t faze the tomato plants; they took off like Jack’s beanstalk. It reminded me of a piece of gardening lore I picked up as a kid–if the tomato plants stalled out in the heat of the summer, slap them with a flyswatter to get them going.
One of my plants sprawled; the other grew and grew until it was taller than I. A purple basil plant and my favorite lobelia withered in their shade. Both put out a profusion of flowers and then fruit, but most never ripened.
Last week we had a salad with six cherry tomatoes, my harvest for the year.
Torn between shooing the deer away or running to get my camera, I did neither. After eating their fill they sauntered off into the pines.
I had about the same luck with my garden, only I didn’t get six cherry tomatoes. Zippo