Tomato Love

A garden is always a series of losses set against a few triumphs, like life itself.

May Sarton

Through the years I have written about my tomato woes -- how each year I plant them in great anticipation -- accompanied by trepidation. I don't have much luck. Some years my plants just sit there all summer, same size as when I planted them. Some years in our drought, I can't keep up with the watering and they just plain give up. Some years we reach above 90 degrees very early and the blossoms won't set. It's always something.

You might recall these lovelies from previous posts. 

Scorched

A bountiful harvest

Hopeful beginning, but just didn't go anywhere.

Never one to give up completely, this year I tried again. The early spring rains in Texas were most helpful in getting things going. I planted my tomatoes in another place in the garden and no kidding, they began to thrive.

My cages hopeful for fulfillment.

I tried something new here - sort of an instant caprese salad. Basil on top and the tomato coming out of the bottom.

I watered, I fertilized. I begged my husband, my daughter-in-law, anyone to water if I was out of town.  Progress.

Now, every tale must have conflict. Right? RIGHT? That must explain why when I returned from the lake this past weekend, some little #@$%^%$%^$%!!!!! animal had stolen that large tomato growing out in the garden.  Never ceases to amaze me what can make me sad, mad, and glad as there are a few hopefuls still out there on another plant ---

And I did get to observe some monarch caterpillars devouring my fennel (gladly I'll sacrifice my fennel froths for monarchs.)

I'm going to be away from my garden for a couple weeks. During that time, my green beans will produce a massive crop.

Wait, that's the morning glories combined with some green beans.

The Turk's Cap will bloom along with the petunias and a few other beauties.

Send good vibes that my middle son will water my only orange on my orange tree.

Alas a happy ending. Although I'm certain the Texas heat will totally debilitate my garden in my absence, I take comfort in the fact that I will eat this beauty before I leave. 

Between the cost of water in Texas, the fertilizer, the initial plant and every one's watering time and attention, that little nugget probably only cost about $500. 

Happy Gardening Everyone.

Progress on My List?

Tomatoes purchased and planted,

toes painted.

Excited for vacation. Will figure out the rest while lounging - maybe.

Those that say you can't take it with you never saw a car packed for a vacation trip.
Author Unknown

Coming Up For Sun

Often the hands will solve a mystery that the intellect has struggled with in vain.

Carl G. Jung

In my late 20's, my husband and I lived in Salt Lake City, Utah. For one year, two months and five days. Yes, it wasn't my favorite place to live. Beautiful, though. Recreational haven summer and winter and my oldest son was born there, but not quite my cup of tea for various reasons that are unimportant to this tale.

For Salt Lake's role in this post is to merely provide a metaphor utilizing their temperature inversion that occurs each winter. That time of year when the ban goes up on wood burning fireplaces and the fog moved in. For months one would awake not only to not see across the street, but no view past the front door as well.

I worked for an oil and gas company and had finally attained an office with a window. Excited at the prospect of having my own place and view, I had to wait months for the air to clear and the view of the Salt Palace across the street to come into focus. Living in this blur became normal, I suppose. Wasn't like you arose each day, noses pushed to the window in anticipation of some one's arrival or the first snowflakes of winter. For you knew out there was just the norm. Life in the fog.

On weekends, my husband and I would drive the 20 miles up Little Cottonwood Canyon to ski at Alta or Snowbird. As we began our ascent up the mountain, the fog abated and above the black cloud cloaking our entire city, the sun shone intensely. I'd ride the ski lift to the top of the mountain and see all the way down to the hidden valley, as though a tent cover kept it isolated from the rest of the world. Like Truman's world in The Truman Show. (Probably some metaphor for my stint in Salt Lake in that as well, but another time.)

If we flew to Denver to visit family during the inversions, the return trip to Salt Lake took longer than scheduled. Often we circled above the city, waiting for a break in the clouds so the plane could dip into the abyss and land safely.

I doubt I need to tell you that happiness was Salt Lake City in my rear view mirror. Although 24 years have passed, seems I've returned to living in that fog most of this past year. Only this time the visual effects of Salt Lakes' inversion coveted my brain.

Time has offered a chance for the mist to begin its evaporation process. Lately, I often yearn for a schedule. Substitute teaching doesn't quite provide that as other than Thursdays and Fridays, I'm never certain what days I might work. Or when I may fall into a longer gig for a teacher with a sick child. Most of my sub work is based on request by the teachers, so simply saying I will work these three days and do such and such on the others is not a viable choice right now.

However, the work has provided an easy escape while biding this passage of time. There is no homework so my day is done when the school bell rings. With my youngest son gone, I don't have to keep my energy up to attend baseball games or school events. I can sink into my chair at home and watch Jeopardy and then decide what frozen entree we will eat for dinner.

I do feel that with the promise of spring, the haze is beginning to lessen. I feel certain things awakening in my brain that I haven't felt in some time -- a yearning to put my pen in hand and write something. Anything. My half finished novel has begun a slow chug in my thoughts. Poor Lily, my main character that has been stuck in a wheat field in South Dakota suffering a panic attack most certainly deserves a change of scenery.

For whatever reason, perhaps time is what it takes to find a clearing for oneself when the fogs of life brings a burdensome weight. As this fog dissipates, the heaviness seems to lessen also. I see a few rays of sun seeping through the clouds.

Provides hope in this search for new beginnings. I'm starting a list--a list of things I want to do in my life. Nothing too grand, at first.

1. Buy tomato plants
2. Sign up for a writing conference this summer
3. Make a list of all the places I want to visit in my lifetime
4. Go get a pedicure
5. Get excited about the vacation coming up with my husband. Our celebration of getting all three sons to 18 and college, without any pregnancies or jail time.

Seems a good start. A fairly easy step to fumble my way into the sunshine.

Before the Next Party, I Putter

One of the most delightful things about a garden is the anticipation it provides.

W.E. Johns, The Passing Show

We're having a party on Saturday night. Imagine that - the Andersons having a party. After all, it has been about two weeks since the last one.

This next event is a high school graduation party. Held in honor of the third and last kid graduating from high school, this party is a no brainer. I can do this one with my hands tied behind my back. With the Eagle Scout Court of Honor pushed to the end of the month, this day began without a feeling of rush. I embraced that. I have accomplished nothing.

Have puttered the day away. Put my pretty silver shoes from the wedding into their box and onto the shelf in the closet. I unpacked my suitcase from the college graduation and buried it in another closet. Emptied the bag in the living room that held the wrapping paper from the 18 year old's birthday presents. Watered the new flowers I've yet to plant.



The school year is winding down so no teaching today. I could drive to the YMCA and swim 3/4 a mile, but can't muster that much effort today. I'm enjoying the quiet while anticipating a rousing houseful on Saturday night.

I have brushed my teeth, read 50 pages in a library book, ate breakfast, put some handwash items in the washer. Excited to discover I won the Peterson's Field Guide to Birds from Susan at City Girl Moves to Oz Land.

Now I think I need a nap while I ponder last night's Lost finale.

Not only have I read two books in the past few days (remember my lack of concentration for reading), I also took a look around my yard. Stopped to smell the flowers, as they say.

Remember my tomato plant wars of past years?

Look what I have growing on my five plants. I did have to squish a few green tomato worms, so I'm not home free. But, oh, my. How proud of myself, I am.

Yes, I do need to add weeding to my list of things to do - tomorrow.

What I Did on My Spring Break

Well, spring sprang. We've had our state of grace and our little gift of sanctioned madness, courtesy of Mother Nature. Thanks, Gaia. Much obliged. I guess it's time to get back to that daily routine of living we like to call normal.

David Assael

Remember this photo? And my post on my great housekeeper skills?

Tuesday, me and Ian - eight hours spent shoveling out the study where three boys have unwound and only spot cleaned for (dare I say?) years. Keep in mind, in the above picture you can't see all the junk (i.e. baseball uniforms, golf clubs, school work, old computer games and the boxes they arrived in, soda cans, underwear) lurking in the crevices beside the couch and computer - or the floor. Nor the mountains of dust on the books. I won't mention the old rug. The result?


Tell me it looks better. Please. I know it smells much better.

Also, youngest son is mad at me. After the first day of NCAA basketball playoffs, I'm 12 for 16. Ranked 143000 on ESPN. Told him when we picked our brackets not to mess with me. That I knew how to do this. He scoffed at my choices. Hmmmph. No scoffing going on today!

Also, spring has sprung in Texas. The Bradford Pears have been most beautiful.


Tomatoes once again planted, dauntless in memory of my previous thwarted attempts.
Cabbage salad soon available for dinner.

Had a pomegranate martini for lunch the other day -- and a nap in the afternoon.

With a clean study, a trip to the library, two miles swum at the YMCA, and 8 high school baseball games behind me, once more to the lake for the remaining two days of vacation, my copy of EB White's essays under my arm. Next week, back to work.

You Say Tomato, He Says Tomauto, I Say Dead, Dead, Dead

When one of my plants dies, I die a little inside, too.

Linda Solegato

I know I won't gather much sympathy from this post. That living in Zone 8 brings me a mild winter with a temp dip below 32 an occasional occurrence. That the majority of the country looks like frozen tundra and even the orange groves are at risk this evening. But I do want some advice, as I so want to grow tomatoes.

You may recall this photo from last summer when the temps surpassed 100 for weeks in a row. Where trying to keep my plants alive became the name of the game. With no hope for the fruit to set when the temp rises above 90, I had missed the window by a few weeks. My plants succumbed to dry, shriveled, ugly, ugly death. Note to self - For summer crop, plant earlier - like March.

In October, I purchased new seedlings from the store. Fresh hope. Varied varieties named Early Girl, Brandywine, Celebrity, Yellow Pear. Planted three in the garden, three in pots. Experimenting.
Results: Cold weather blows in and although plants grow large and the fruit sets, even colder weather visits bringing vicious, frigid winds. Note to Self - For winter crop, plant earlier - like September 1.


Nothing sadder than seeing a thriving plant, die, die, die. A green thumb does not live at my house when it comes to tomatoes. I know people who just stick tomato plants in the ground and they produce so much the planter can't figure out what to do with them all. I want a harvest like that. Perhaps in more things that just tomato growing.This is the big harvest for the season. With the Arctic blast coming at us like a steam engine, I covered the plants for days. Unfortunately, 16 degrees is the limit. I gave in and picked all they wrote. Think I'll eat those baby plum tomatoes tomorrow.

Meanwhile - there are sad hearts around my house tonight. The Green Bay Packer game didn't leave us in good moods. Had to go eat Mexican food to feel better. We love the Pack. Until next year.


And that there in my dining room? That's the Fragrant Liar. Click here to visit her most informational blogsite. Don't go, however, if you don't like to laugh.

My computer is operating way too slow. Signing off for now.