GROWING FOOD

Too Many Tomatoes

But too many are never enough

Truth is, there’s no such thing as too many tomatoes. This year I actually do have too many, after several years of chilly, rainy summers here in the PNW with essentially none. Maybe there’s a positive side to global warming?

Let me start at the beginning, way back to my dad’s little hameau (small farm) in the Loire Valley, a stone’s throw from Chambord. The French consider themselves ne plus ultra when it comes to growing food, and no Americain could possibly have a clue about raising tomatoes—not even my father, the most gifted gardener this side of Eden.

Nevertheless, Monsieur Boudan from down the road took pity on my dad and his first French crop of tomatoes (unbelievably delicious, by the way), offering Dad a bottle of Armagnac and an envelope of tiny tomato seeds one fall afternoon.

Mind you, my dad could grow anything, anywhere, any time, and his gardens were fertile and prolific, no matter where in the world he dipped his trowel. But I have to say, those tomato seeds were unearthly. In a thin blue airmail envelope, Dad sent me a few of these special seeds, remarking on the inner flap of the envelope,

“These seeds are tiny, but oh so powerful.”

That was more than 30 years ago, and I’ve been growing them ever since. That is, weather permitting. These gorgeous heirlooms require a very early start in the greenhouse (or in my garage under grow lights), and they mature very late in October.

Here in the Pacific Northwest, our summer season is usually short, mild to cool, and somewhat rainy. Larger heirlooms prefer hot and dry. Undaunted, I attempt to grow them every year, saving seeds when I can get them, seeds that have proven viable for longer than 10–15 years.

Most years, I’ll have close to 50 lbs of huge green tomatoes that I have to destroy because of late blight. It’s heartbreaking. That’s why I keep a bottle of Armagnac on hand to ease the pain every October.

But some years, Nature smiles on my tomato patch and the “Boudans” weigh in at two pounds or more.

This year, my Boudans are hanging heavy and green on healthy (so far!) vines. I try to inspire them to ripen more quickly by showing them baskets of SunGolds, Romas, Oregon Early Girls, Yellow Pear, and all the other “brand X” tomatoes grown from seeds saved from hearty plants over the years.

In late summer, extending well into fall, harvest season requires my full attention and all my time. This year, because our summer has been so hot and dry, it turns out that I way over-planted tomatoes, and my kitchen and mud room are overflowing with ripe and ripening deliciousness.

Today, I’m going to can about 40 lbs of tomatoes for all our sauces, soups, and stews throughout the winter. Normally, I would just skin them and freeze them in bags, but this year there’s simply not enough room in my freezer, already stuffed with raspberries, blueberries, rhubarb, and strawberries. (That’s some complaint, huh?)

The deer fence surrounding my garden is only 50' by 50', but when the weather allows, this small space produces enough to feed the entire neighborhood.

And in those summers warm enough to produce my dad’s Boudans, it’s almost as if Dad is still here, looking over my shoulder, reminding me of the incredible dishes that will sustain me over the winter—sauces and stews that he taught me how to make.

Thanks, Dad! You are the best teacher. Glad you’re still with me and my tomato patch. ❤️

And thanks to WotWU and ScienceDuuude for providing this warm and welcoming place to ponder and play.

For a little more about how my Dad’s tomatoes become earthly delights:

And one of my all-time favorite poems, by Shadowgnosis: