Turning 67

Jack Deatherage

(7/2021) Gran'paw Cool was 67 years old when I first remember him. He always had a hoe in hand when he was moving from the house to the garden, or tractor shed, or chicken coop, or outhouse, or his watermelon patch across the farmyard behind the Quonset hut. His movements were usually slow and deliberate, especially when navigating the concrete steps that led from the yard down the bank to the road and the mail box.

The only time I can remember him walking fast was the day he came after me and Cousin Ronnie as we were eating one of the watermelons he grew for his market garden customers. Gran'paw was 70 then, waving the hoe over his head as he threatened to beat us good for stealing his melons! (Fourteen year old Ronnie outran 6 year old me. I outran Gran'paw.)

Two things brought Gran'paw Cool to mind this spring. I'm shy of turning 67 (Mother of the laughing gods!) and beginning to think carrying a hoe around might not be a bad idea. How that old man dealt with the pain he must have been in until he died at age 92 - without me, or any of my brothers and sisters ever hearing him mention it - is amazing.

As far as I know, he didn't drink alcohol so that relief wasn't there. Nor did I ever hear he swallowed more than aspirin for pain, and I can't say I ever saw him do that. I'd like to claim I'm of a similar attitudinal construction, but I'm a whiny baby in comparison. And though I no longer drink alcohol for pleasure, or pain relief, I keep a couple of bottles of 189 proof against the day I can't take the pain any longer.

Tomatoes are the other thing that has me thinking of the old man. He grew the best tasting tomatoes I've ever eaten. Rows upon rows of the red fruits laid out on plywood; waiting for customers, or Grandmother's canning jars, or a small boy's grubby hands. I ate those sun warmed, sweet, tart, juicy fruits until I ruined my appetite for supper. Given as much as I loved Grandmother Cool's meals, I loved those tomatoes more! With the possible exception of her sausages! But thinking of those skillet-black skinned marvels only leads me to despair! Their like cannot be had today.

So I'm left with tomatoes on my mind. If 67-year-old Gran'paw could grow such tomatoes, soon to be 67 years old monkey-man should be able to do so as well. And I have sources for the varieties Gran'paw probably grew that weren't around in his day. Amy Goldman's book ‘The Heirloom Tomato.’ Miss Amy not only lists varieties, she includes flavor profiles, sugar content (Brix values), average fruit weights and personal observations along with brief histories - including the breeders and dates of introduction to the public. I'm looking for tomatoes released prior to the mid 1960s, that have a "good to excellent" flavor rating, and range between 4 oz, and a pound and a half - weight wise.

The one problem I have with the tomato book is it's ‘sources’ section. Not only is it confusing - small print and it possibly has a few typos - some of the sources are either out of business, or no longer carry the cultivars she listed. (Cultivars being dropped over time is not unexpected, but finding seed catalogs have gone belly up is a tad depressing.) But the interwebs come to the rescue! Or add to the DW's burden of dealing with my garden wants.

Anyhow, Tomato Fest has seeds of over 600 heirloom tomatoes for sale! Using Miss Amy's critiques, and alternative cultivar names, I can find every tomato I'm thinking of trialing, and dozens more that she doesn't mention!

A quick note to the mad-eyed DW: I have almost everything I need for next year's tomato trials so I won't be spending $500 on buckets and potting mixes! With the exception of a small (collapsible) greenhouse, an elevated rain barrel, at least four 50' hoses, a drip irrigation kit that can handle 30 grow buckets, at least two more 150-gallon stock tanks to hold rain water and a small submersible pump to move tank water into the rain barrel which gravity will then feed water through the drip system to the grow buckets at the bottom of the yard - we're good to go. Oh, and four weed trees need removed from the yard. Probably shouldn't cost more than several thousand dollars - all told?

I've the entire summer to study what's going on with the growing method I'm trialing this year. So far the tomatoes planted in the plastic buckets are faring better than those in the cloth buckets. Which may have several factors involved in the difference. Cloth doesn't hold the water. Though I've recently seen plastic saucers for sale that keep some of the water and fertilizers from just running through the cloth and into the ground. Tack the cost of those onto the thousands of dollars the DW doesn't want to spend-ever.

I also have to consider the potting soils. The two types I'm using are very different- the cloth buckets are holding a new mix that doesn't hold water well. The cloth buckets are also likely 3-gallon capacities rather than the 5-gallon the seller claimed. Tomatoes need at least 5 gallon buckets from all I've read. Which reminds me- I need to buy a book on cloth bag growing. And, while it's unlikely I ever think of the simplest solution- perhaps the tomatoes that get more sun are doing better and I just need to move some buckets out of the partial shade they're in?

I hesitate to turn my mind to a possible harvest of more tomatoes than I can get rid of this season. There have been years when I accidentally grew more fruit than I could consume. Though such seasons are so rare I long ago gave away my canning jars. Buying freezer bags is the least expensive option given the freezer only has a few bags of bones and flour in it. Still, I'd like to relearn how to can tomatoes as Mom used to do it. Which would require a food mill we don't have. (Quick glance in the DW's direction and it's freezer bags all the way! This year anyhow.)

Unwanted, practical voices keep intruding in my thoughts. "Stay focused on the garden you currently have monkey-man. Given the way your clan is moving on to the next turn of the Wheel you might not have a garden to turn 68 in."

With the DW's desperately hysterical laughter mingling with that of the laughing gods, I set about planning next year's garden - on a much smaller, and less expensive course than I had in mind as I began this column.