Always learning!

I have never been much of a gardener. Strike that. I have never been able to keep any sort of plants alive, either inside or out. I can keep cut flowers (purchased from a grocery store or florist, of course, because none are growing in my yard) alive for a week or so, but anything planted in soil will wither and die sooner rather than later. The exceptions are basil (which took much experimenting to find the right spot but now thrives right in front of the house) and cherry tomatoes.

The tomatoes were a huge surprise. I only recently began enjoying tomatoes after a lifetime of avoiding them, but eventually I figured out that the only tomatoes worth eating are freshly grown rather than purchased from a store. After that discovery, I decided to try my hand at growing them, because tomato plants are widely available in the spring (and super cheap) and because hope springs eternal! I found, much to my surprise, that there is a spot on the south side of my house that is PERFECT for cherry tomato plants. Which is a great use of the space, because nothing else was growing there (see above paragraph re my lack of gardening skills). Last year I planted six tomato plants and grew literally gallons of the little gems. So what did I do this year? Planted even more, of course!

I do literally nothing to these plants beyond plunking them in the ground and occasionally trying to stake them up with tomato cages from Wal-Mart and pieces of old socks. I don’t fertilize, or water, or even harvest them as often as I should. I have learned that it’s only about a three-foot square space that has this magical effect–plants placed outside of this area will grow but not with the explosion of fruits of those within the space. And yet within that area, I have a veritable tomato forest.

There are more of these tiny gems that I could possibly eat. I have some every day, in sandwiches, salads and other random dishes. I pawn them off on friends and relatives and sometimes perfect strangers. I eat them by the handful, like candy. (I eat candy too, of course, but that’s a different post.) My production per plant is astronomical. So imagine my surprise when listening to a novel recently (during a moment of harvesting, natch) when a character said about a burgeoning relationship that she wondered whether it should be “pinched off like the first blooms of the tomato plant.” What the heck?

Curiosity aroused, I googled it (my preferred form of research). And sure enough, many gardeners recommend pinching off those early blossoms to promote healthy growth and encourage stronger root systems. Good grief. I’m not sure how much more healthy my plants could be. They’re already over four feet tall, intertwined with one another and producing dozens of tomatoes each day. Maybe the roots would be strong enough that I wouldn’t need tomato cages? I doubt it. (I actually need to look for taller cages.) Could the fruits be sweeter? Simply not possible. I don’t mean to brag, but these are the best tomatoes on the planet. Even non-tomato lovers say so. (Although my youngest still won’t eat one.) Could the plants produce longer? Again, doubtful–past experience is that I will continue to harvest buckets until the first frost.

So the lesson that I take from this lesson is that advice is just that–guidance or recommendations based on someone else’s experience. It may or may not apply to me, and I should keep that in mind when considering it. That is similar to the unsolicited advice I give to all new or about-to-become parents I know: YOU are the only person who knows what is right for your baby and your family. You can listen to what others suggest, but you make the decision based on what is right for you. That’s what I’m doing with my babies…er, tomatoes. And if you want to try out the results, let me know–I’ve got plenty!