But now my grandfather has trained them with food. He calls out and shakes the box of seed. They land on the stand he built to keep them safe from my mother's cats. If he's late for dinner, they scope the neighborhood looking for him and gently swoop over his bald head when they find him across the street helping with someone's yard work.
The garden has changed but the tomatoes are just the same. Nothing makes better soup than the tomatoes my grandfather grows.