If there’s a Holy Grail of vegetable gardening… it has to be the tomato.
Armies of fervent gardeners fight to grow this succulent fruit. Seed catalogs devote multiple pages to exotic varieties ranging from black-fleshed beefsteaks to tart yellow Romas. Home improvement stores roll out racks of rich green young seedlings in perfect six-packs…
Yet, tomatoes are not for me. Here I am… a garden teacher… writer… genius.
And a failure at tomatoes. At least in this climate.
From the fringe of outer darkness I stare inwards, picturing happy gardeners fondling supple fruits hanging in golden sunshine; lush tomatoes, untouched by stinkbugs… plump and sweet without a hint of blossom end rot…
The temptation to try again is overwhelming.
But… the pain… oh… the pain.
I know. This is supposed to be an article where I teach you about gardening, not a column where I weep over my shortcomings and drag you down into plant purgatory.
Ave Solanum, Solanum lycopersicum…
It wasn’t always like this, you know.
There was a year where tomatoes grew well for me… unfortunately, I was in Tennessee at the time. Tomatoes loved the rich clay and deep mulch of my beds (though they still rejected much of my trellising efforts, preferring to twine about on the ground like overzealous revelers ejected from a Bacchanal) and rewarded me for my efforts by producing enough fruit for us to eat fresh and even jar up some homemade tomato sauce on the side. Look! Here’s proof!
That’s just one of many baskets my wife picked from our garden outside Nashville.
Sadly, now I live in North Florida… and have proven again and again that gardening methods that work in one place don’t necessarily carry over to another.
BUT!
Wait a minute!
I do have one friend that grows great tomatoes down here. And if you’re dealing with tomato issues, I bet her advice might help you as well.
My friend? Her name is Jo. She’s a Master Gardener and an organic grower.
You know what? I think I’ll stop griping about tomatoes and give her a ring.
(David scrambles through his address book… picks up the phone… then dials)
RING…
RING…
RIN – CLICK
JO: Hello?
DAVID: Hi Jo. It’s David. I’m writing an article on how I can’t grow tomatoes here and I’m whining about how it’s impossible… then I realized that you do it every year… so… I need to know… how DO you grow tomatoes?
JO: First, I grow varieties that are suited to the climate. Better Boy, Early Girl, Roma and Amish Paste do good.
DAVID: How do you start them?
JO: In January, I start them from seed in the greenhouse, then transplant them to the garden on Feb 14th. [NOTE: your local planting and pre-planting times will vary from Jo’s USDA zone 9 climate – check with your local extension office for frost-free dates]. When I transplant, I always bury half the little tomato plant’s stem in the soil so it builds extra roots. Then I put a ring of paper around the base of each plant to protect them from cutworms. Just use brown paper grocery bags. If it’s going to freeze, I protect them with cloches. I just use milk jugs with the bottoms cut off.
DAVID: I’m convinced that seed-grown plants are tougher than transplants you get from the store – it makes sense to get them started early, too, and have them adapt to your garden. What do you do about feeding them?
JO: I use composted cow manure, mushroom compost, bone meal, blood meal, eggshells, and ashes for potassium. After things warm up a bit and I don’t need the cloches, I put cages around each plant and mulch with 4-6” straw.
DAVID: I think my problem is that I’m starting too late here…
JO: Yes – you need to start early and get as much harvest in as possible before the bugs arrive.
DAVID: Anything else I should know?
JO: Well, people often ask when I give talks, “So, I have these tomato plants that look great but they aren’t blooming or setting fruit… why is that?” Usually, it’s because they’re getting too much nitrogen and not enough phosphorus and potassium. High nitrogen isn’t a good idea… if you don’t go organic, you gotta watch that first number if you’re using chemical fertilizer.
DAVID: Another thing I’ve noticed: tomatoes in part shade won’t fruit.
JO: That’s right. Full sun means 6 hours. If they don’t get that, then no tomatoes!
DAVID: Thanks, Jo. Now I can at least share a little hope with my readers…
JO: Any time.
So there you have it. It IS, apparently, possible to grow great tomatoes, even in Florida… it just takes planning and some work.
It also doesn’t hurt to have at least two green thumbs… like Jo.
Of course, it’s probably too late for me to try tomatoes this year. Guess I just need to give up and plant zucchini. Now there’s an easy crop.
Too bad it’s disgusting.
A big thanks to Jo Leyte-Vidal for her help with this post.