About a month and a half ago, I was visiting my family down at the farm. While I was talking to my mom, somehow (I seriously don’t know how, being on a farm) the idea of agriculture came up, and I said with some annoyance that despite my rural roots, I’ve never grown anything in my life.
Fast forward to present day and I find myself watering tomato plants before work each morning. Mom had two extra in the greenhouse that she didn’t have space near the house to plant. I’ve always liked pulling weeds from flowerbeds — it reminds me of grinding in an MMORPG, another pointless repetitive task you have to keep on top of every day or else you fall behind the curve — but growing a crop, even something as easy as tomatoes, is incredibly fun for me. Every day, I get to see them grow, tend them, and water them. In exchange, they provide me with food in a couple months. I enjoy our tacit agreement, care for fruit.
There’s no such agreement between the lawn and I, the lawn pretty much sits there and says “Hey, mow me.” I hate mowing the lawn. It’s not a matter of laziness, I’ll gladly jump at the chance at overtime, or weeding a flowerbed (see above), or any number of other tedious repetitive tasks. It’s the principle of the thing. I’m not a cow. Why should I tend grass? That and I could swear the lawn is talking shit about me.
“Yeah, mow me,” I hear it say.
“That’s right, I’m getting a little long again, time for a trim. Chop chop.” It’s so smug about it too, like I’m obligated. My face fur is less smug.
But anyways, the tomatoes. At first I was afraid that I wouldn’t take care of them properly, but I soon discovered that tomato plant greens have an addictive smell. That’s right. A smell that comes off on your hands and smells kind of pungent, kind of earthy, kind of… green. Imaginative description, I know. But the smell is amazing. I look forward to going out and watering them each morning, and adjusting them in their little metal guides, simply so that I can smell my hands afterwards.
The smaller tomato bush has had two tomatoes for a while, and just today the bigger of the two just got its second fruit. Both are loaded with little yellow blossoms that promise me even more fruit if I only tend it. Growing tomatoes is highly rewarding, and the vine-ripened fruit is well worth it, at least what I’ve gotten from living at my parents’ farm… and I doubt they’re keeping secret growth tips from me. The ease is what makes it particularly enjoyable though, since tomatoes are hardy and grow in a variety of soils. A simple list of what’s needed is as follows:
1) A sunny patch of flowerbed, preferably in the backyard, so your neighbors won’t think you’re a nutjob.
2) A couple tomato plants, or seeds for the same. (Inquiring at farmer’s markets about tomato plants might get you some decently started ones, starts can be troublesome for beginners like me.)
3) Some liquid fertilizer to prime the soil. (Or if you’re a hippy, go without and have less fruit.)
4) A gallon jug to water them with.
5) Oh, and some wire supports, easily gotten at a farm store (I think)
What to do:
1) Make really sure that the spot you think is sunny actually is. I felt really stupid when I planted them where I thought it was sunny and it was actually shady most of the day. Take a Saturday to watch the spot and really see how the sun hits it, just peek out every 30m or so and note the sun.
2) Plant the tomato plants (consult a real expert if you go with the seeds) and put those silly wire supports around them.
3) Water the tomato plants. I do a quarter gallon of water on each plant, or about a liter if these tomatoes are destined to grow on metric soil.
4) Use some of the liquid fertilizer (cut with water as per the friendly instructions that they should have), about half as much as the water you feed the plants, until you’ve put about a half gallon on per plant.
5) Watch them grow, and continually try to move the shoots up to support on a higher ring of the support wires.
The best time to start them is as early as possible in the year without risking a freeze. Heaven help you if your tomatoes freeze, because I won’t risk it. This is what it looked like last time my mom’s tomatoes froze:
But then again, my mom’s fruit has always been just a little bit… evil.
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