Tomato Sandwhiches**

I can’t remember if it was the middle of the week or the end, but it didn’t quite matter because I was with my mom. From the living room I could see her standing at the kitchen sink. She was dressed in cut off blue jean shorts, a washed out tank, and not-so-white tennis shoes. Her back was towards me, her brown wavy locks blowing gracefully about because of the breeze the window was letting in. I scampered into the kitchen with the 50’s chic black and white checkered tiles. She turned right around to the sound of the pitter-patter of my feet. She threw her arms up and around, her mouth hung wide open, and her eyes were about to rupture,
“Are you ready?” I beamed, my sneak attack hadn’t gone as planned even though she tried to fake it,
“Yes! Let’s Go!” I began tugging at her arm trying to get there as fast as possible.
Before I let go she was opening the glass-windowed door, letting the beautiful outdoors inside. The sun was dazzling, and the heat intense. We were thankful for the small gusts of wind that passed by. Holding my hand we pranced along the sidewalk that lead to our quaint garden. We were going to do the daily upkeep, to pick all that the sun had ripened.
This was an ordinary task, but I knew what was going to come after we were finished. I hurried over to the juicy heirloom tomatoes. I picked the most gorgeous sun-kiss one, and held it high above my head for my mom to admire. I rushed through the rest of the rows, not giving them half the attention I showed the great tomatoes, grabbing up everything that happened to be ready. Even through the whirlwind I wasn’t able to resist those tiny tomatoes, and popped a few in my mouth. Not soon enough were we on our way back to the house, and more importantly to the kitchen.
Walking in from the heat to the airy kitchen, we unloaded our home-grown goods. Not allowing myself a second to breathe, I grabbed my precious and tomato an whisked it away to the sink. I could barely reach the spout, standing of my tip of my toes, biting my tongue and grunting the whole time, I washed it with caution. Meanwhile, my mom had fetched her favorite knife, the one with the weathered-wooden handle. When I was finished rinsing it off she sliced it across in thin slivers. I then went to the refrigerator which let out a breath of pleasing cold air. I reached way in to get the bowl of butter. I sat it on the table next to the loaf of bread a midst all the other vegetables.
I watched my mom in great anticipation create my favorite sandwich. She layered the succulent tomato pieces on to a pedestal of fluffy bread. On the other slice she put a coat of silky butter, and placed it atop the tomatoes. We had taken our lunch outside to the picnic table to treasure. We ate our sandwiches, and sipped our sweet tea while laughing and enjoying each others company.
It was one of my perfect summer days, spending time with my mom in our garden, and creating something delicious from all our hard work. Helping in the garden always gave me a feeling of importance. She instilled a sense of significance in me, like no one else could do a better job of helping her. I would kneel, examine, and pick right along side her. If she would have let me, I would have lived in that damp soil to watch our plants, and report their progress to her.
My mom has always made it known that while she was pregnant with me, she would have severe cravings for garden-fresh tomatoes. Most of the time not even making it back to the house without eating at least one. That must be the reason why I always found it effortless to pick the perfect tomato, because I had had a great deal of practice.
My papaw had always planted a substantial garden, extending as far as you could see. He had taught my mom to love the land. It was the only friend that could give her exactly what she needs and plenty of it. While Papaw was alive we all had our share of going and picking through his gardens. While others fussed about it, considering it a chore, I adored every moment of it. Whether I was next to my mom, papaw, or by myself, I always felt like home in the garden.
Through my mom and papaw I have developed a fondness for the outdoors. I often think about the summer days I spent along side my mom in our garden, wishing it were the present. I also like to think she does the same about the memories with her father. One day I hope sit with my own children the middle of a familiar place, creating memories that they will cherish forever.