This is how the big end starts, you think you're young and hip and before you know it you have to water your soaring tomato city twice daily from your rain barrel in between knitting projects. In other news, I have aged fifty years in the last two and I'm a tottering ancient crone. If doilies ever get involved put me out of my misery.
A year ago I had one measly tomato seedling in a hanging planter. I pitied him, and watered him, and we got two pathetic heat-stricken tomatoes before fall struck. I cursed the futile name that was tomato.
This time around things are different. Very. Very. Different. In place of the tiny little dried seeds I carefully planted in March there have grown towering redwoods.
Tomato time lapse magic view– go!
(April, May, late June, July)
My tomato babies now eclipse me at over six feet tall and soar higher by the day. They've outgrown two support towers tethered together and are now tied to each other (and in some cases nearby walls) with bits of yarn. AND I HAVE FIVE OF THEM. Only two of my plantagerie are pictured above. There are 30 or so precious greenies cooking on the vine in various sizes.
I can't help but be amazing by them. Since last year's tomato plant was such a pathetic failure I have no idea if this is normal tomato behavior. They seem quite extraordinary to me anyway. Between that and the zucchini the vegetable zone eclipses nearly everything else in our whole yard.
My secret? Pour water on them daily. Run away!
It's very complicated and technical.