Another Lisa who's no farmer

Let me tell you about my year as a farmer, thus far.

Last year, as some of you know, I tried to grow tomato plants from seeds. The seeds sprouted quickly and I became extremely excited and optimistic. But shortly after growing their first two tiny leaves the sprouts died, and I felt sad.

I did feel a bit consoled when I heard that tomatoes are especially hard to grow from seed. This year I decided to start a couple of easy squash plants from seed and plant a small tomato vine that a professional had already nurtured through it's difficult first weeks.

I sat my squash seeds in mulch pots right in front of my kitchen sink. Because this is where mommy spends much of her "quality time" I thought there was no way the little seedlings could be neglected. After waiting more than a month, I finally made up my mind that my little pots of dirt were never going to amount to anything and gave them up.

The worst story of my farm failures is the story of my poor tomato plant. The tomato I chose was one guaranteed to do well in a pot. My thought was, "If the plant does well in a pot and doesn't grow terribly big, maybe it won't need a tomato basket." The plant grew and grew and soon it had flowers. Eventually, the flowers became tiny tomatoes and those tomatoes grew and grew weighing down the little plant, which soon reminded me of Charlie Brown's Christmas tree.

Yesterday I looked for a tomato basket at Target, but all the baskets they had were at least four foot tall. I wasn't sure my 12 inch plant needed such a big scaffold and decided to wait. Then, this morning, I saw my tomato plant lying near the ground. I picked it up and gently leaned the plant against a pillar in the backyard vowing to buy a tomato cage that same afternoon. Within a few minutes, the wind blew the plant over a second time; I sat it up again.

All of this took place with under the watchful eyes of my daughters, who were very interested in my small, green tomatoes. Then all of the sudden, my tomato plant fell over completely, snapping off at the base. The poor thing looked like it had been attacked by a tiny beaver.

Feeling terrible about my plant I pretended to weep and complained about the tomatoes that would never ripen. Amelia, who felt bad for me, picked the plant back up, put it in the pot, and said, "It's okay. See, there's nothing to worry about." Her optimism is certainly one of her sweetest and most endearing traits.
On a positive note, most of my flowers are doing very well. The tulip trees look a little brown, but I think they're suffering from our recent heat wave. My gardenia looks very bad, but it's hard to give up on a gardenia. A full-grown gardenia is so beautiful and so fragrant I hate to think it will fail in my garden.

Looking for heartier plants I made up my mind to buy a hydrangea. These flowers remind me of my grandmothers' homes in the San Joaquin valley. If they can take the summer heat of the valley, then surely they can handle the heat here. (Keep your fingers crossed.)

So the bottom line is that if we all had to subsist on whatever food I could grow, we'd be a hungry family. Too bad you can't live off flowers.

Lisa