The smell of tomatoes

I adore fresh, home-grown tomatoes. They rank right up there with Utah peaches and B&J ice cream. Probably the main reason I garden is to enjoy my tomatoes. They are one of nature's finest gifts.

I've noticed something about my tomatoes. When I am trimming or caring for them, touching the leaves and branches, the smell of tomatoes gets on my hands. It's a very persistent smell. It can last for hours, even after a good hand-washing. I can be doing some other activity later in the day, and if my hands come close to my nose, I smell my tomatoes. That brings me joy. It's not a joy equal to eating a tomato, but it's the reminder of tomatoes to come - an anticipatory joy, I suppose.

No one looking at me sniffing my fingers can share the joy I feel. They would have no idea what is going through my mind. It's a very private and personal thing.

Many joys are like that - we probably all have some of them. Many sorrows are like that, too. Many memories, many experiences or interactions from our pasts. We all carry a lot inside ourselves.

I think a blessing of having a true friend or a close trusted relationship is that someone can share a portion of that emotion. It's as if someone sees me sniffing my fingers as I come in from the garden, and knowing of my appreciation, is able to feel some of the joy because they know how I feel. Or understand a sadness and bear some of the burden. There's an old Hebrew saying about two people who are so close that when one cries, the other tastes salt. That's the kind of blessed unity that we all hope for.

I #GiveThanks for lingering odors of tomatoes and how they effect me, and for the invitation to share both the burdens and the joys of others.