Setting: someplace in my imagination, sometime in the past.
Based on: not a true story.
Her graying hair was kept pinned neatly up, unyielding to the elements. She walked tall and strait and had a thin face--but not stern; it had a look of quiet happiness about it, as if she listened to a charming little song that no one else could hear. She approached the table, empty shopping bag hanging neatly from her arm. She began at the far end, chose a small basket of blueberries, and continued down the length of the stand. She eyed the tomatoes carefully before she spoke.
"Tomatoes aren't so large as most years."
"Twasn't a profitable year for tomatoes--quite enough rain, but not nearly enough sun," I answered as mother had instructed.
She smiled ever so slightly--that same quiet smile she had held since she came into my view, only stretched a bit wider. She answered after a moment. "All in all, they do look to be a good bunch of plum tomatoes." She nodded knowingly.
I answered, quietly. "Not plum, ma'am. Beefsteak."
"Oh," was all she said. She handed me the money for the blueberries, that soft smile still in place, and continued on her way.
Oh, the things I think whilst mowing the lawn.