Noticed the first one Friday after work. About the size of a pea on the plant I named Comeback Kid. (Only 2 others have names: Bruiser, a 3-plant cluster thick as a jungle with foliage the color of a kept promise, and stumpy, a sad case whose best days might be met on the compost heap.)
As of this writing, I've counted 9. The plants themselves are growing 3 to 5 inches a day. I guess heat and humidity ain't all bad.
Beautiful thunderstorms Sunday afternoon at about 2:20. More storms Sunday night into Monday morning. We needed the rain. The plants are at that sublime stage of being impervious to too much water. I know rain can be a pain, getting caught in it, or ruining a play date. But rainfall is a blessing.
It's a wondrous time of year for tomato growers. I should be eating tomatoes already had it not been for the early spring rains and the lateness of their installation. But I don't care. Every day at lunch I walk down their rows, examine their blooms, train their vines, admire the pungency of their toxic odor. It's Zen. For me, anyway.
I miss Block Head. She was a great helper, where helping included laying down exactly in the way.
If you can believe it, as I get older and more jaded and cynical, I'm actually getting more naive. Which is to say, I'd love to think that Mom and Dad are smiling down on me in the evenings, when I walk the rows with a Miller Beer in hand, admiring 81 plants that started as seeds measuring a single millimeter. Or that it was they who sent that needed rain, with me out in it with my twine, tying up a fragile "leaner" that'd lost its way, me there just in time to let it rise back up straight.
I would love to believe that.
7 comments:
I'm going to be moving my store in the next couple of months to cut costs. After 40 years in this location, I find it depressing as shit. This morning, I spent 2 hours smashing old windows to bits and tossing the debris in the dumpster. Clutter that I won't be bringing along. About halfway through my glass smashing, I thought that my dad must be smiling down at me right now. He knows I'm doing what I have to do to survive. Maybe I'm getting naive too. (smashing plate glass picture windows can be quite envigorating. Sort of like scream therapy.)
I'm extremely sorry to hear that. My mom used to say that things may not always work out for the best, but they do work themselves out.
I'll be doing something similar this weekend. I need to clear out the hot water heater closet and figure out how to dress it up.
But I hope they are smiling. Dads are great. From what I can tell, you and I had 2 wonderful ones.
I'm rooting for Stumpy. Maybe he'll stage a late growth spurt.
Horray for your green fingers. The last thing you are is 'jaded and cynical'. Jeeze, dude.
M, sorry to read you must go to those lengths to have a smashing time.
So next summer, I'm thinking about applying my brown thumb to growing hop vines. I mean, if I can't grow tomatoes, I should have no problem at all growing sensitive plants outside their climate zone.
The bonus is, I don't have for the farmers' markets to open to ironically sit around and watch 'em turn yellow. Fine craft beer is available year round.
K
switters, you can have some of our rain. please.
glad to see you are starting to bear fruit.
@keifus, if you manage to a) grow hops and b) brew something with them, send me a sixer. then try barley the next year.
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