a 56-year-old tomato plant and a family’s legacy

When I look at the old tomato plant in my backyard, I remember the story my father always told me. He was just 14 when he ordered those seeds from a Burpee catalog—back when mail-order gardening was a rite of passage, not just a click on a screen. Now, 56 years later, that same variety still grows in our soil, weathered by decades of New England winters and humid summers. Sometimes I wonder if my kids, glued to their phones, will ever understand the thrill of waiting for seeds to arrive by post, or the pride in coaxing life from the earth with your own hands. Back then, gardening was about survival and tradition—now, it’s all about aesthetics and Instagram likes. I miss the days when neighbors swapped tomatoes over the fence, not just gardening tips in online forums. But there’s tension here: our community association wants us to plant only approved varieties for a uniform look. They say it’s for curb appeal, but to me, it feels like erasing history. Should we sacrifice our family’s legacy for the sake of neighborhood rules? Or is there still room for old seeds and old stories in today’s perfectly manicured lawns? Every time I see that gnarled old tomato vine, I feel connected to my father—and to a simpler, more honest way of life. Maybe that’s worth fighting for, even if it means breaking a few rules. #gardeningmemories #familyheritage #oldvsnew #Gardening