Along toward August, the tomato plants were thick with ripening fruit. Wire cages surrounded the plants so heavy with maters, they looked like they wanted to lay down and rest. Neighbors would often come over to check the progress of my dad's plants.
(pause for drama)
"You'll never guess."
(another pause for drama)
Then a lengthy discussion would ensue about the amount of Epsom Salts to use and where to sprinkle it. My dad would then commence to selecting the nicest tomatoes to fill a sack for the admiring neighbor. My mom would look relieved every time a sackful left. That meant one less jar of stewed tomatoes, ketchup, or tomato sauce she would have to can.
The tomatoes were delicious; never mealy or sandy tasting. The first summer I realized my tomato love, I ate so many, I broke out in hives. My dad couldn't have been prouder. The next summer, he grew a low acid variety just for me.