I love growing tomatoes. I was raised in a place where growing tomatoes was both a gardener’s imperative and fetish, and the unspoken race for the first ripe tomato began every year as soon as the soil was warm enough. I haven’t always grown them as an adult, but here we have the luxury of the space and the time to make a garden, and every proper garden must include tomatoes.
We started ours from seed this year, a first since we moved to Berkeley.
We planted them outside yesterday. This is earlier than we usually plant here, but we used floating row cover to protect them from the cool nights. Karl built hoops for our bed and we ordered the cover online. I had never messed with the stuff before, but apparently it is giant dryer sheets.
We planted 6 of our beloved ‘dattero ibrido’ and 4 of a big pink heirloom we’ve been saving seed from for a few years. We have no name for it other than ‘daddy’s favorite”, because it is Karl’s favorite. We don’t have the space for many more, but in the back we placed a couple of Cherokee Purples and a Sungold for the kids. We will slice them, make sauce from them, turn them into salsa, and eat so many fresh that we can’t eat one more. I also hope to dry some this year.
I am happier when I keep a garden, but several times a year I let the garden lapse and I forget.