Advent 2021 Day 20

Early in summer, when more and more tomatoes were changing from shades of green to shades of red, My grandpa and I set out first thing one morning to check on the ripening fruit. 

When you’re a farmer, there’s a thankfulness deep inside of you when the growing is almost done and the harvesting is about to begin. 

You are in the crop, and the crop is in you.

I came across a tomato that was developing a dark, soft spot on it's skin. 

This tomato was much smaller than the other tomatoes on the vine. 

It was at the bottom of the vine and very nearly touched the ground.

“I'm gonna pick this one and throw it out. It has the blight on it,” I said.

“Don't pick that tomato, T,” he said. “Listen, I want to teach you something about the world. Follow me.”

I followed him. 

We walked out of the garden and into the work shed at the back of the yard. 

That place was a place of wonder for me. 

Inside of it were mason jars filled with nuts, bolts, screws and nails. 

There were all sorts of tools hanging on the walls. 

And at the center of it all were the things I will always remember him by - Duck Tape, baling wire, WD 40 and aloe. 

Not only could these four things be used to fix the stalled engine of a tractor, the sputtering faucet in a sink, or the dangling clothes line on a pole, but they could also create a basketball rim (he wove one out of baling wire and hung it above the door of the shed for me), assuage arthritic knees (he used to spray WD 40 on his knees in the early morning to help him get around), and cure the common cold (he would drop a mixture of aloe and water into my nose to sooth my scratchy throat). 

If you’re looking for a miracle, find a farmer with those four things and you’ll find one.

“Hey, that tomato is small, broken and at the bottom,” he said, “But you know what? It could grow into something beautiful if we care for it. Who knows, it might become the tastiest tomato we've ever grown. Let’s be the ones who DON’T throw it out. Let's be the ones who take it in. Let's be the ones who care for it.”

He carefully cut out a square and two rectangles from some old plastic pieces he stored in the corner of the building. 

He bound them together with some Duck Tape. 

He sprayed the edges with WD 40. 

We made our way back to the garden and to the small, broken, lowly tomato.

He held the tomato in his calloused hands and ever so gently spread aloe over the blighted part.

Skillfully and lovingly, he attached the hand made shelter around the tomato with baling wire.

“This will protect it from the heat of the sun and keep it off of the ground,” he said. “This will give it a fighting chance.”

I learned something about the world that day. 

The small, the broken and the lowly have intrinsic worth and beauty. 

We can throw them away.

 Or we can care for them. 

Thatckind of care can mend a broken world.