I spent much of my formative years on a working farm. It was there I learned the basics of raising
various crops for food—or so I thought.
It seemed easy when my grandfathers or uncles were in charge of
things. They always knew just what to
do when things changed. And things were
always changing. Rain, wind, hot sun,
high humidity, bugs, big bugs, birds, rodents, etc., were always a problem to
face. I just didn’t realize how big the
problems were until I planted a few tomatoes last spring.
It seemed easy enough.
I had three frames for shallow raised beds laid out on the ground where
the sun would reach them about 8 to 9 hours each day. I filled them with quality soil and amendments, and covered them
with weed cloth and mulch. I cut holes into
the surface and planted eight tomato plants, two tomatillos, and eight pepper
plants. I gave them a good soaking, and
sat down to admire my garden of four-inch high green twigs. After a couple of hours I went into the
house.
The following morning I rushed out to check on my new
garden. (Actually I got dressed first,
had breakfast, worked on my computer, and did a few other things before I
remembered the garden.) My tomato
plants were already a full inch taller than the day before, but the pepper plants
were exactly the same. I was
disappointed. I expected to have
tomatoes and peppers by now. Oh, well.
It was about two weeks later before I realized the pepper
plants were not showing much improvement.
Certainly they were bigger and had more leaves, but the leaves were
wrinkled and had holes in them. I also
noticed the tomato plants were showing some leaf stress. What do I do now? My grandfathers and uncles are long ago gone from this earth, so
I turned to the internet. Oh Good
Grief!!
First I addressed the leaf stress in the tomatoes. According to the internet the causes were
not enough water, too much water, not watering often enough, watering too
often, too much sun, not enough sun, too much wind, not enough wind, humidity
too high, humidity too low, white flies, lady bugs, honey bees, aphids, birds,
squirrels, and noise from having a freeway within five miles. So I decided to look up the pepper problems.
Apparently (according to the internet) my peppers were
stunted from a lack of calcium, they had wrinkled leaves from a lack of
calcium, but they had holes in them from too much calcium. It was time to cry. When I had regained my composure, I thought
a trip to a nearby reputable nursery was in order.
I left the nursery with a car full of amendments and
fertilizers, an empty wallet, and a stunned look on my face. But I did what I was told, and in a few days
all of the plants began to show signs of improvement, and after about nine
weeks I had tomatoes and peppers forming.
I also had more bugs than I thought possible. I think an entomologist would have a field day identifying new
species in my garden. I believe there
are at least four. Maybe more.
What was I thinking when I reached back to my farmer days
and decided to plant a small garden? I
know I was remembering the taste of vine-ripened tomatoes picked and eaten out
of hand in the field. I know I was
remembering the times I picked fresh jalapenos for breakfast. I seemed to have forgotten the volume of
work it takes to bring a crop to the table.
I also forgot that I wasn’t the one making all the decisions necessary
to raise a successful crop. And I
forgot about the insects.
Well, a hot spell cooked the tomatoes and peppers. When the tomatoes and peppers are charred on
the vine, it’s just too hot to continue, but the few that ripened were worth
all the trouble. There is no substitute
for ripe tomatoes and peppers right off the vine.
Next year I’ll try again, but this time I’m adding some corn to the
planters. I may not be a good farmer,
but I can’t deny my roots.
