Read by Michael Flamel

It was shaping up to be the Summer I always dreamed of—my garden was bursting with tomatoes in every shade of red, yellow, and even a suspicious shade of purple. My green thumb had outdone itself. Heirlooms the size of small planets hung from the vines like ornaments, and the cherry tomatoes were practically popping off the plants. I had big plans for a neighborhood tomato tasting, which I affectionately dubbed “The First Annual Tomato Taste-Off.” (Grandiose? Maybe, but this was my moment.)

I spent days prepping. Bowls, platters, and cutting boards were lined up like soldiers awaiting battle. Each one had a special destiny—to showcase my juicy garden treasures. I even polished the good cheese knife. As the big day approached, I had visions of my friends and neighbors marveling at my tomato prowess, swapping stories, and nibbling on bruschetta. It was going to be the garden party of the year—or at least of the week.

But Mother Nature, being the prankster that she is, had other plans. The night before my glorious tomato soiree, the skies opened up. Not with a gentle drizzle, mind you, but with the kind of storm that makes you think maybe you should have built that ark after all. The wind howled, the rain came down in sheets, and somewhere, I’m pretty sure I heard thunder laughing.

The next morning, I sprinted to the garden, rain boots half on, fully expecting to find my tomato dreams squashed—literally. To my surprise, the plants were still standing, though they looked a bit worse for wear. One had fallen over in a dramatic faint, another had wrapped itself around a rogue yellow squash (like a clingy friend who doesn’t want to let go), but the tomatoes were intact. Phew.

Determined not to let a little storm rain on my parade, I harvested as many tomatoes as I could carry (Seriously, I looked like I was preparing for a tomato apocalypse.) and hurriedly set up a makeshift festival in my soggy backyard. Would it be the sophisticated tasting event I had envisioned? Probably not. But hey, tomatoes are resilient, and so was I.

To my delight, my friends and neighbors started arriving—some wearing rain ponchos, others laughing about the storm. It didn’t take long for the tasting to turn into a full-on tomato festival. We played ridiculous games like “Tomato Toss,” (It was as messy as it sounds.) shared our favorite tomato disasters (because every gardener has them), and tasted every tomato concoction imaginable. There was salsa, tomato jam, grilled tomatoes, tomato popsicles (Yes, that’s a thing.) and someone even brought a tomato hat—because, why not?

As the sun finally made an appearance, casting a rosy glow over the chaotic scene, I realized something important: it wasn’t the tomatoes that made the day special (though they were delicious). It was the laughter, the community, and the spontaneous joy of embracing the unexpected. Sometimes, the best parties are the ones that don’t go according to plan. And as I watched my neighbor chase a runaway tomato down the lawn, I thought, “Maybe next year we’ll have a watermelon festival. What could possibly go wrong?” ❖

About the Author: Chadi Chami is a passionate gardener who finds joy in every plant and story. Living in a small town, I love experimenting with different vegetables and sharing my experiences with friends and family. My garden is a place of laughter, learning, and connection to nature.