Willow Glen Resident
Columns
Going toe to tomato with Mom is good competition
By Dave Kehmeier
I'm totally psyched. Spring is finally here. My tomatoes are in and growing like gangbusters, although I seriously doubt they could literally bust a gang, whatever that means. Who comes up with these idioms, anyway?
The point is, I've already got a commanding lead in this summer's 2nd Annual Tomato Grow-off. My mother-in-law isn't going to know what hit her. With all due respect, she's goin' down, big time. Just like last year.
Mom is the consummate gardener. Everything she touches turns green--scarily so. She raises flowers year round, and her summertime fruits and vegetables are Bunyan-esque. I suspect plant steroids or maybe some sort of genetically modified fertilizer, although I've never been able to catch her in the act.
Her passion is her orchids. They're all over her house, inside and out. To see them all, you'd think she's got a few screws up there that need tightening if you didn't know better. Occasionally, she loans us an orchid to enjoy until we kill it. We're always sheepish and apologetic, but it's no big deal to her. She just takes the orchid home and resurrects it. In her hands, the near-death experience simply builds orchid character.
In the spring, Mom plants tomatoes in every unclaimed patch of dirt in her yard. By early summer, and late into the fall, she's picking buckets of big, juicy, luscious tomatoes--many of which she ends up giving away. Her friends and neighbors love her generosity, but she's started growing zucchini, so that could change.
Enough about Mom, though. I've grown a few tomatoes in my day, too. There's an ideal spot for them where we live now in Almaden Valleysouthern exposure against the house, and sun most of the day. In fact, last summer, I raised some of my best tomatoes. Even Mom was impressed. That's when I decided to take her on in a tomato competition.
I didn't exactly tell her about it, though. If I had, she might have brought out her radioactive Miracle Gro and trounced me. Instead, I took the liberty of announcing it to everyone else, once I was pretty sure I was in the lead.
By Thanksgiving, I had clearly won, as judged impartially by me. I obliquely claimed victory during Thanksgiving dinner by casually noting that my plants were still producing. My son Will chimed in by taunting Mom with "Daddy's going to beat you, Grandma." Mom seemed to take it with equanimity, if not downright indifference.
Coincidentally, the very next day, we watched a squirrel carry off two of the tomatoes. Obviously, it's a stretch to say that Mom had anything to do with that. On the other hand, I seem to remember that she spent a few unsupervised moments in our back yard after Thanksgiving dinner. And yes, there are people who can talk to animals. Elly May Clampett of the Beverly Hillbillies comes to mind. Let's just say that the squirrel-whisperer might be motivated for this year's competition, especially because I formally announced my victory in our annual Christmas letter.
I'm ready for her though. This year, I'm going with heirlooms. It's a bold move, but if I pull it off, the win will be legendary. It could be the start of a dynasty.
I got the idea last fall at a farmers market. A couple of nice women were offering samples of the heirloom tomatoes they were selling. The samples were delicious, and the women chatted me up, so I was moved to buy some despite their exorbitant price. They told me I could save the seeds and grow my own. After all, that's what heirlooms are all about.
In early March, I planted the seeds in yogurt containers in the kitchen window. They came up a few days later all cute and perky. I babied them, talked to them and took them outside for play dates on sunny days. At the end of April, I transplanted them into special-order, 20-gallon nursery containers filled with store-bought potting soil--nothing but the best for my little Tommy-toes.
They're doing great. Even the green zebra seems to be on the road to recovery after being decapitated by the soccer ball that I was attempting to juggle in the back yard one afternoon.
So game on, Mom. You'd better show up with your best stuff.
Dave Kehmeier can be reached at kehmeier@ix.netcom.com.
