By Michael Nolan
This is my first tomato growing season in my current home and I am still learning the idiosyncrasies of the property.
Before I moved in, the house belonged to the paternal grandparents of my beloved, and let’s just say that the green thumb they had is not hereditary.
One of the happier moments of my outdoor exploration was the discovery of what was once a respectable (if modest) tomato growing enclosure in the back yard.
It shows the telltale signs of many years of neglect, but the bones are good, and a quick glance at the soil underneath the growth revealed that it was still incredibly rich. I can tell these people knew tomatoes and my old regret is that I was unable to know them.
While I was in the process of clearing out the debris from the area, I received an urgent message from Mother Nature. She said in a loud, clear voice: STOP, YOU IDIOT! When I pulled away a thick, ropey cluster of honeysuckle vine from atop the tomato enclosure, I could just make out the shape of a small bird’s nest, cleverly hidden among the tree limbs and other growth that I was so industriously removing.
As I took a few steps back I noticed a rather nervous mockingbird tentatively approach the nest from her perch in the tree above. Relieved that I hadn’t disturbed her nursery, I gathered my tools and moved on to tending the seedlings in my front yard so mamma could rest.
What does this possibly have to do with growing tomatoes, other than the prior use of the location? Everything.
This story reminded me of a lesson I learned years ago from the master tomato gardener in my family, my dear grandmother. When a particularly hungry nighttime visitor all but destroyed her entire heirloom tomato crop just a week after she’d planted them, her response was a simple and matter-of-fact, “Maybe Mother Nature has other plans.”
We then returned to her kitchen where she would calmly start another set of tomato seeds. While the tomato yield started a bit later than expected, we canned and froze nearly 50% more than the previous year. My grandmother told me it was Mother Nature’s way of thanking us for understanding that sometimes other things are more important than what we want.
My tomato garden plan has changed this year, but I have no doubt I’ll be rewarded for paying attention.