my plant-growing heritage.

Last spring, (while it was still snowy) I planted a handful of little seeds in two yogurt cups during a elementary science methods presentation. I watered them faithfully, watching to make sure they didn't freeze in the window sill. 

My roommates laughed at me when I dug up a bag of dirt from the flower beds outside our apartment buildings when the little guys got too big for their yogurt cups and I had to put them in  little pots.

But then, sadly, I had to leave the little plants that had helped me get through the greenless winter. I figured that if I couldn't take a waterbottle on a plane, they wouldn't be too thrilled with a couple of seedlings either.

So, I entrusted my babies to an excited almost-kindergartner who promised that she would plant them in her garden and make sure they got watered. Of course, I figured that I'd never see them again, but I didn't really care. After all, I'm wasn't actually that attached to them.

But then! A week ago I was suddenly handed a bucket of cherry tomatoes that were "mine" and that I had to eat. I was told that a bunny came and ate off all of my watermelon leaves, but that the tomato plant had "a million green tomatoes on it!"

So now, I'm left with this every week. And I can't even think of enough ways to eat them. All from my little yogurt cup seed that no one believed would live.