Friday, June 22, 2012


Photo courtesy of Ohio State University
Last night as I lovingly tucked my green friends into their beds, I noticed that the jungle-like backyard tomato plants were producing HOMEGROWN TOMATOES! This, my friends, is the American dream come true.

I reached through the supportive cage and grabbed for one of the luscious orbs of vitamin-y goodness--and my hands went right through the first tomato with a "sploosh" that made my stomach turn. It was that moment after the child vomits before sympathy sets in when the only reaction is ewwwww. But then you look at that sad, pinched little face that has just spewed all over the crib, the mothering instincts kick in, and you just want your baby to feel better.

My tomatoes are diseased, and I want them to feel better.

Closer inspection revealed that all of the ripest specimens had black spots on their bottoms, and a couple of green ones were exhibiting a similar affliction. As I did when any of the Boys started exhibiting weird symptoms ("So just when did you notice that you couldn't turn your head to the left?") I consulted the highest authority. Dr. Google isn't just for people, you know.

According to the internet, my plants are suffering from Blossom End Rot. See the picture I found on the Ohio State University site? Looks exactly like my poor babies. After all the care I took in preparing the soil for planting (I incorporated love as well as nitrogen, folks) I apparently did not incorporate enough calcium. Today I will be visiting the garden center to purchase the proper remedy.

I went to bed last night feeling sad for the effort my four plants are exerting. They are gorgeous and make me smile every time I fill their high-tech wicking reservoir.

But don't push it, plants. Small Town has a farmer's market and my job description doesn't include cleaning up plant vomit.

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