Read by Matilda Longbottom

When I was 10 years old, television was still a novelty in our home. Our family delighted in the weekly viewing of “The Jimmy Durante Show”, with its catchy signature tune, “Inka Dinka Doo.” While the exact lyrics have faded from my aging memory, I can still recall his famous “Ha, cha, cha, cha, cha, cha!” laugh and his big “Schnozzola”—a comedic feature he embraced with pride. Jimmy always closed the show with the obscure words, “Goodnight, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.” Comedy back then was different—more slapstick, cleaner, and often much funnier than what I find on TV today. Those were the days when humor was simple and pure, and we delighted in it.

Fast-forward to one Summer in my back garden, where tomatoes have always been a challenge. Despite my best efforts, they never seemed to thrive. There was too much heat and humidity, too little rain, and a plethora of bugs that made organic gardening nearly impossible. The colossal, colorful grasshoppers, some reaching a terrifying 4 inches in length, were particularly menacing. And don’t even get me started on the water—it’s so chlorinated that it leaves a white residue on everything, even altering the taste of my morning tea. Over the years, I’ve tried everything to improve my garden’s yield, including letting water sit in buckets for days to allow the chlorine to dissipate, but success was elusive.

After years of disappointing tomato harvests, I finally reached out to Louisiana State University’s Agriculture Department. They recommended a new hybrid variety, VFFF #3468, specifically bred for our challenging climate just 100 miles from the Gulf of Mexico. This tomato was supposed to be the answer to my prayers—resistant to wilt, heat, and all the other maladies that plague tomatoes in the Deep South.

When my precious packet of 15 seeds arrived, I planted them right away. They germinated quickly, producing strong, thick stems that promised a bountiful harvest. Even the horses couldn’t resist their allure, as they managed to find and devour a few I had hidden behind the barn. But the remaining plants thrived and in just 75 days, my garden was overflowing with large, juicy tomatoes. It felt like I had struck red gold!

One evening, during my usual stroll through the garden to bid everything “nite-nite,” I noticed something unusual. One of the tomatoes had grown a huge nose—a real “Schnozzola!” It was the funniest thing I’d ever seen in my garden, and I immediately named it “Mr. Durante” in honor of my favorite comedian from yesteryear. I showed it off to everyone who came by and spoke to it daily.

When the time came to harvest, it was a sad day, indeed. No photos were taken since I didn’t have a camera, and cell phones were still a distant dream. I saved all the seeds, hoping they would produce more little “Schnozzolas” in the future. And every evening, as I closed the garden gate, I found myself reopening it, just in case I might hear a faint rendition of “Inka Dinka Doo” coming from the tomato patch. With a personality that still believes in fairies and gnomes, I suppose I was half-expecting to hear Jimmy’s trademark laugh, “Ha, cha, cha, cha, cha, cha!” ❖

About the Author: Mo Pascoe-Hoyal is a published writer, songwriter, and avid gardener residing in Central Louisiana. Despite facing various challenges, including disabilities from multiple accidents, Mo remains an ardent advocate for growth and resilience. Inspired by the spirit of aloha and the beauty of nature, she continues to find solace and joy in the art of gardening.