Amy Sander Montanez is a writer, teacher, therapist, retreat leader, and spiritual director who attends Trinity Cathedral, Columbia. She is the winner of two 2008 Polly Bond Awards for Devotional / Inspirational Writing from Episcopal Communicators You can access an archive with her award-winning reflections on the diocesan Web site at www.edusc.org/ArchiveElectronic/.
In the Moment—One Pilgrim's Attempt to Be Present
By Amy Sander Montanez, D. Min.
You say tomato . . .
With the grocery stores and restaurants
taking tomatoes off the shelves due to the salmonella outbreak,
it
seems like a perfect time to recount this story and enjoy the
blessings of home-grown food.
Paul Watson and his wife were our “across Highway 14” neighbors when
we lived in Simpsonville 24 years ago. We were one of the first
residents in some new condos which I thought were “out in the
boonies.” Mostly farmland and a golf course covered the countryside
then. Too many cows for my taste.
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Photo: Arekmalang / Dreamstime |
When he got up to leave he said to me, “Now Miss Amy, you make some tomato sandwiches with those big ones. They’re perfect for that.”
“How do you make a tomato sandwich?” I countered. It really didn’t sound very appealing to me.
His eyebrows raised. “You ain’t never had a tomato sandwich?”
“No, Sir. I guess that’s not Yankee fare.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow and I’ll show you how to make a tomato sandwich.”
“Do I need any special ingredients?”
“You’ll need bread,” he said, and I pointed to my wheat berry bread in the basket on the counter.
“White would be better,” he mumbled.
My mother stopped serving me white bread in 1969. “I can buy some tomorrow,” I offered.
“Mayonnaise, salt and pepper, cheese if you want it. Some people like bacon, too, but that’s not a pure tomato sandwich.”
“Well if we’re going to do this, I want pure,” and we agreed he’d come back the next day around 5 p.m.
Paul Watson was right on time, and he laid out the white bread on a cutting board and spread mayonnaise on both sides. Then he washed and carefully sliced a large, perfectly red tomato into quarter-inch slices. His large, worn farm hands delicately placed them on one piece of the bread, layered them a bit, added a generous amount of salt and pepper, and put the second slice of bread on top. He cut the sandwiches in half, placed them on a plate, and we carried them out to the deck for the taste test.
This was gourmet eating for sure. I could hardly believe the flavor in my mouth. The well-seasoned, juicy tomato, accompanied by the flavorless white bread was near perfection. I mostly oooed and ahhhed and cooed and licked my lips. “Wow! You Southerners know how to make a tomato sandwich!” I said through the white bread that was sticking to the roof of my mouth. He just smiled, and took a sip of the tea he had brought himself in a thermos. I sipped my water. He watched me with an air of confidence, knowing he was sharing one of those simple pleasures of life.
This memory comes back to me every year when the fresh tomatoes come in. Yesterday my office manager’s husband sent me some out of his garden. I sliced one for lunch and added salt and pepper, making a mental note to buy white bread on the way home. It’s time for tomato sandwiches, Southern style, with tomatoes right out of the garden. And it’s time, once again, to thank Paul Watson for being a good neighbor, for sharing a part of himself, and for taking a chance on this Yankee girl.
© 2008 Amy Sander Montanez