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Below are selected previous messages:
 Personal Growth of Each Student
12 Lessons
On the Basketball Court
At the Ice Pond
Why We Should Teach Students about World
Religions
Tomato Plants or Less is More
It all started when Jamie was five years old. He was playing in the small field behind his house one day when his father came home from work.
"How'd you like turn this field into a little garden?" Dad asked.
Jamie's eyes brightened. He loved plants and flowers. He had already learned the names of friends that that inhabited the field he so often played in: the thistle, the daisy, the buttercup, the milkweed and his favorite the wild asparagus.
"That'd be great dad!" Jamie said.
" Alright," Dad replied, "Î'll start turning it over tomorrow."
Jamie wasn't sure at the time what "turning it over," meant exactly, but he knew it meant he would soon be growing vegetables like the ones he had seen the previous summer at his Aunt Zlota's country house.
Jamie sprang out of bed early the next morning and quickly gulped down his bowl of cereal so he could run outside to the field before his father came outside. He wanted to have one last look at the flowers and plants he had come to know so well before the transformation - which he could not quite envision - took place.
Suddenly Jamie heard a loud deep gurgling sound. He looked across the field and saw a green tractor coming toward him from the farm next door. Jamie didnÎéÎ÷t understand at first. He saw the plumes of the tractor's smoke coming closer. Soon he could see the ribs of the huge rear tires - which were taller than he was - as the tractor rolled past him.
"That's farmer Dave," Dad said putting a warm hand on Jamie's shoulder.
Jamie was in awe. He watched the tractor's plow churn up large clumps of moist black earth, out of which dazed worms hung precariously. In spite of the acrid tractor smoke, Jamie could smell the organic aroma of the freshly turned soil. He reached down and took some of it into his hand, and an inner thrill surged through his body. Never before had he experienced such a visceral connection with the earth. There it was - the earth. It was like it was alive. It was so dark and so rich. So beautiful.
As Jamie knelt at this earthen shrine, he felt his knees getting wet, and he watched steam rise up like incense into the crisp morning air.
Over his shoulder Jamie heard Dad say, "If we spend some time breaking it up this morning we can put our tomato plants in this afternoon."
Jamie was still transfixed by the soil. Some of it was a different color and of a finer texture. He saw himself sifting the sand in his old sandbox. He remembered the darker, thicker soil where the grass grew around it. His earliest memories were of that sandbox. The soil he was now holding made him feel as if he were back there.
"Whaddya think?" Dad persisted, as the tractor came by for another pass.
"Sure." Jamie finally replied. "When can we start?"
"Right after Dave's done plowing, if you want," Dad said.
Jamie and his father spent that morning breaking apart the heavy clods of earth with shovels and hoes. It seemed to Jamie like he must have shaken the soil off of hundreds of clumps of field grass. Dad had said, "Save all of that good soil." They smoothed the soil with iron rakes almost too heavy for Jamie to lift. He helped remove all the stones that turned up in the final raking.
At lunch Jamie's mother said, "There's a surprise waiting for you outside when you get done."
"The tomato plants?" Jamie asked.
"Maybe," his mother replied coyly, "but you've got to finish your sandwich and drink all of your milk before you leave the table. And you and your father have to wait for me to show you how Aunt Zlota says the tomatoes should go in," his mother said.
As Jamie bounded outside he found his mother's surprise sitting next to the garage: two little black plastic boxes with six fragile looking plants in each box. Jamie knelt down and bent over to smell them. They smelled so good!
"I think they're my favorite smelling plants - except for lilacs," Jamie said as Mom and Dad came outside.
Jamie's mother was carrying a pile of newspapers under her arm. As Dad began to gently separate the plants from each other with a butter knife, Mom started cutting long strips of newspaper. Dad handed her each plant, carefully cupping his hand to keep the soil and the roots intact. Mom took each plant in her palm and carefully wrapped the newspaper strip around the bottom two inches of the stem.
"This is how Zlota plants them," mother said. Ît's a trick form the old country."
"Why?" Jamie asked.
"To keep the cut worms from eating them," mother replied. "They love to get 'em when the stalks are still tender."
Jamie had never seen a cut worm and he wouldn't know one if he saw it. But it sounded ominous, so he watched very carefully how his mother held the newspaper strip securely around the plants stem as she put each plant into the little holes Dad had made.
"Want to try putting one in?" Mom asked.
"O.K.," Jamie said, a bit unsure of himself.
Jamie took the roots of the plant in the palm of his right hand while he held the wrapped newspaper strip in place with his left hand. Nervously he moved both hands simultaneously downward and inserted the plant in to its hole. Then he pushed some soil up around the stem and pressed firmly downward to make the plant secure in its new home. The newspaper was still wrapped tightly around the base of the stem, held in place by the firm soil.
"Wow," Mom said. "Aunt Zlota would be proud of you."
"You're an expert already," said Dad.
After the planting was finished and the watering was done, Jamie did not go far from his tomato plants all afternoon. After playing for a short time under the apple tree or out on his lawn, he would come over to the garden to check on the plants. He couldn't wait to see them grow and each time he went to see them he half expected them to be a little higher and bushier. But they seemed pretty much the same each time he came, except a little more wilted from the midday sun, which he quickly remedied by taking out the hose.
In the coming weeks, however, Jamie's plants did grow. So vigorously in fact that they were about two feet tall with branches full of bushy leaves and yellow blossoms. Each day after school Jamie ran to the garden to check on his plants. The first thing he did was bend over and smell one of them. Then he would inspect each one carefully, pulling weeds out in the process. When he came to the empty spot where one plant had fallen prey to cut worms - in spite of their precautions - he said a silent little prayer. ÎéÎíGod, please protect my plants from the cutworms,ÎéÎí Jamie said, holding the stricken plant between his folded hands. Then, with trepidation, he went to check on his cucumbers, squash and green beans.
Jamie was ecstatic his plants were doing so well. Each day brought new joys and surprises, it seemed.
Then at dinner one Friday evening, mother said, "Well Jamie, Aunt Zlota is coming to see your garden tomorrow. She's heard so much about it, she wants to see it for herself."
Indeed just last week Jamie and mother had visited Zlota's garden. As always, when he saw it, Jamie was in awe of its size, vigor and beauty. Mother had started telling Zlota about Jamie's garden and about how he had learned to plant the tomatoes with the newspaper strips to protect them from the cut worms. Then mother had gone on to tell how the tomato plants were doing and how big and bushy they had become.
"Hmmm," Zlota had said. "Well Jamie I'll just have to come and visit this wonderful garden of yours," Zlota had said looking down with her huge blue eyes.
Now Jamie looked up at mother and said, "What time is she coming?"
"I'm going to go pick her up first thing in the morning. We'll be here around eleven," mother replied.
"O.k. good," said Jamie. "I'm going to do some hoeing and weeding to make everything look nice when she gets here."
Jamie was in his garden earlier than ever the next morning. He hoed fresh earth around his plants, pulled up weeds, and did some watering. He wanted everything to be just right when Zlota arrived. He even picked up some small stones that have turned up during his hoeing and tossed them into the pile by the garage. Jamie was measuring how high his tomato plants were with his measuring stick when he heard car doors slam.
Mother and Zlota came around the corner and Jamie ran up to give her a hug. Zlota was a large, stocky, woman, whose vitality and strength belied her advanced years. She wore a grey woolen skirt, a flowered white blouse that did its best to contain her enormous bosom, and her trademark black shoes. As always she wore tight, knee high, nylon stockings which mother had explained helped with Zlota's circulation in her varicose veins.
Zlota greeted Jamie with a warm smile and a wet kiss. He could smell garlic on her breath as her powerful arms squeezed him so tightly that he became momentarily dizzy.
"How are you good boy?" Zlota asked with her Polish accent. "Let me see this garden of yours!"
With her unique waddling walk, Zlota made her way toward Jamie's garden. He was brimming with anticipation. Zlota had always been his favorite aunt, and he had had dreams of her garden long before he imagined having his own. Now he waited for her to give her blessing to his blossoming plants, which he had nurtured with so much care.
"Beautiful! Wonderful!" Zlota exclaimed. "Green beans, cucumbers, squashes and look at these tomatoes. So high and bushy they are...but no little tomatoes yet..."
Zlota stayed bent at the waist after uttering these words. Jamie could see Zlota's thick gnarled fingers holding one of the leaves and then pulling one of the branches to the side as if she were measuring its thickness. She knelt down on one knee and seemed to be assessing something.
Finally Zlota, without looking up and in a serious tone, said, "These tomato plants need to be pruned. Otherwise they'll end up all leaves and branches with a few very poor tomatoes." She looked up at mother with an air of deep concern. Mother answered her glance by saying, "Whatever you think is best Zlota." Then with that sixth sense about impending danger that mothers have, Mom said to Jamie, "Zlota's going to help your tomato plants grow better."
Jamie nodded silently. He was confused by what it all meant. The only thing he knew about the word "prune" was that it was a shrunken black fruit which made him sick to his stomach. He didn't know what it meant to prune tomato plants, but he was about to find out.
Zlota's powerful arms began to work feverishly as her thick fingers snapped branch after branch away from the main stem. Jamie listened to the sickening snap of each branch being torn away and watched in horror as each branch was tossed dispassionately onto a fast growing pile. He could smell the aroma of the thick vital juices of the stalks. He noticed that some of the branches even had the little yellow flowers he used to count. Jamie's eyes welled with tears.
Jamie quickly wiped his tears on his shirt sleeve. He was determined not to let anyone see his sadness. He knew Zlota was a gardening expert, and he knew she had come only to help him with his new garden. Yet what was happening was beyond his comprehension.
Jamie stood in stunned stillness as Zlota went from plant to plant. The piles of mutilated branches had multiplied and the leaves on them began wilting in the late morning sun. What was left of Jamie's once robust plants were single, bare, pillar-like stems, full of bruises, each with a few leaves on top. When Zlota finally straightened her back with a groan, Jamie could see her gnarled fingers stained green from the blood of his poor plants. Her arms were covered in dirt and sweat, and tears of sweat had gathered on her forehead.
"Well," Zlota said proudly, "Your tomato plants might need to be pruned again. But they can grow more healthy and strong now. And if you take care of them you will have fine tomatoes."
Jamie tried to muster a smile. He was thinking, "My tomatoes were healthy and strong before this. I was taking care of them until you came."
Of course Jamie did not utter a word. He walked sullenly inside, and after Zlota had washed and gotten a drink, he gave her a customary hug goodbye.
"Say thank you to Zlota," Mom said.
"Thank you aunty," Jamie said putting as much cheer as he could into his words in order to mask his broken heart.
Jamie waved as Zlota and mother drove out of the driveway. Then, shattered, he went up to his room and lied down on his bed. His mother had said he was too old for naps now, but this was one time he wanted to nap like a baby and forget about the whole world. He curled up under his favorite blanket, put his head on his pillow, and cried himself to sleep.
As the days passed the pain of Zlota's pruning experience faded little by little. Mom helped Jamie put all the dead tomato branches into trash bags, which were then removed to the garage. Jamie tried to focus on his other plants. His string bean plants were showing pink and white blossoms, and some even had tiny little beans. His cucumber and squash plants were now in full vine, daily spreading new leaves and feelers across the hot soil. For a time Jamie didn't look at this tomato plants much, because the images of Zlota prunning them would just come back to haunt him. After a couple of weeks, however, Jamie stopped by his tomato plants for a closer look.
Something strange had happened without Jamie's notice. The tomato plants had healed their stems and sprouted new branches and new leaves. Not only that, but they had blossomed many new flowers and several plants were even burgeoning small green tomatoes. He felt the leaves and gently weighed the tomatoes in his fingers. Jamie was amazed at how healthy and full of life the tomato plants had become. He was even more surprised at how many fruits each tomato plant was now generating.
In the next few weeks Jamie's pleasant surprise grew into ecstatic astonishment. His tomato plants produced more and more fruits of enormous size. Some of the green tomatoes were even beginning to turn a most beautiful orange. One day in early summer, when Jamie came home from a swim, father was waiting for him at the garden with a shaker of salt in his hand.
"Jamie, it's time to pick us a couple of your tomatoes!" Dad said.
Jamie went over to his plants and knelt down near one that had several plump fruits that were almost all red. He put his hand under one of them, and he could hardly believe how heavy it had gotten. It didn't take much of a twist to release the tomato from the vine. He repeated the process and then walked over to Dad with a precious beauty in each hand.
Dad wiped off the bits of dried mud from one to the tomatoes and then gave it a slathering with his tongue. He then sprinkled onto the wet surface some crystals of salt. Finally, after staring at it for one last admiring moment, he crunched into the tomato with an enthusiastic slurp.
"Hmm, the best tomato I've had in long while," Dad said. Jamie followed the procedure dad had just shown him. He hesitated to bite into his tomato at first. The tomato had been like an old friend. Now it was to become a piece of food. When Jamie finally did bite into it, he felt as if he were tasting a bunch of things all at once. He could taste the earth that farmer Dave had plowed, the warm sun that had turned the fruit for green to yellow to orange to red, the water from the rain and from the hose Jamie had dutifully held each evening. Jamie even could taste the strong, loving care of aunt Zlota's thick fingers, without which the tomatoes would not be the big sweet treasures they now were.
"You'll have to write your aunt Zlota a letter to thank her for showing you how to grow the best tomatoes", Dad said.
Jamie, after a brief pause during which he wiped dripping tomato juice from his chin and his shirt, said, "Yeah Dad. That's a good idea. I will. I definitely will."
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