Planets and Tomatoes
Planets and Tomatoes
Or
The Tomato Wars Continue Unabated
Dear Hank
September 8, 2006
It hard to believe summer is almost gone. There’s the smell of fall in the air and I haven’t even gotten my second swim of the season in yet. I like to get in at least two swims a year because one swim costs over 500 dollars and two drops it to $250, which I find much more reasonable.
This inevitable leads me to the subject of my tomatoes which by the current crop count divided by the amount I paid for all the plants probably drops the cost per tomato to around 25 cents which is pretty good; as long as you don’t count in indirect costs such as labor and land and taxes on the land, etc. This would inevitably show you that growing tomatoes in the shade of giant trees on land that is essentially clay is not a money making proposition.
My daughter pointed out to me that I don’t really have a garden what I have is a plant hospice. She said that this is a place plants come to die. That’s not really true. I don’t think they come here with the intention of dying. It just works out that way. I’m a naturalist when it comes to gardening. I believe that if things are meant to live they will. I try to help by remembering to water them and by taking them out of the garden packs and putting them in the ground but other than that I let nature take its course. I did talk to the plants several years ago but that didn’t seem to help much. It was my daughter who suggested that saying, “Grow! Goddammit!” was maybe not what they plant talking advocates had in mind. I tried to explain to my daughter that there are two schools of management: Theory X and Theory Y. Theory Y is the nice, kind, understanding school of thought and Theory X is the fear and intimidation school. Theory X generally gets you quick immediate results, theory Y more long term but less assured results. I’m generally a Y guy in real life but with plants I’m more the X type. It allows my natural passive aggressive dark side to come out and the plants respond accordingly by dying.
It’s not confined to natural living plants, artificial ones drop flowers and leaves too. I have a certain touch.
Like those stupid seeds from Monticello. Oh yeah, they show me these massive bushes on the ground of our third president’s estate with these wonderful names and some garden club lady in a “nice” flowing skirt and straw hat tells me more about them and when I’m leaving I go by the tent with all this overpriced garden stuff and I’m feeling like I do at Home Depot saying to myself Yeah, I can do this. So I buy a bunch of packets. A month later I plant half of each packet and they sprout! I’m overjoyed. A few grow to the point where I can recognize a two to two and a half inch leaf. Then they lie over and dye. Fuckers. I plant again in a different spot and I even remember to water them. They peak up through the soil shortly thereafter and that’s where they’ve been ever since. Little tiny green leaves, with stalk and a leaf on each side no bigger than a dime, double f—kers. I’d like to kidnap one of those garden ladies and tell her to lead a tour around these palatial grounds!
But I digress, I’m sorry; I’m so easily lead astray by my own thoughts. What I came to tell you about is the continuing tomato wars and how I’ve been coping with the downgrading of Pluto as a planet and the strange similarity to tomatoes, which without my contribution to the horticultural universe might never have been realized. Not only that but to make my blog even more appealing to folks I’m adding pictures. In this way my blog will be as exciting as an old National Geographic (sorry, no saggy bosom shots - yet.)
(image placeholder)
Take a look at this photo. Do you see the three tomatoes? (Okay so you can't see them beause the blog won't support pictures. You'll have to got to my website www.rickkinnaird.com where you won't see them either til I get around to post it.) Two of them are mine. The big huge ugly digusting looking one, the one that looks like Jupiter, is not from my garden, Farmer Alan grew it. Mine are the other two (and because you can't see the picture yet, I'll describe them: one looks like a cocktail tomato, the other looks like a minature cocktail tomato.) I like to think of the smaller of the two as being like Venus, the bright star of the evening, the goddess of love. I could imagine it as Pluto or Mercury too. The middle tomato reminds me of Earth. The only place we know for sure holds intelligent beings. Most of my tomatoes are either in the Venus or Earth size, none in the Jupiter; although, I have had one Italian tomato that maybe considered in the Neptune/Saturn category. My tomatoes have been in the best position to garnish salad plates and add festive touches to summer picnics. I mean can you imagine that ugly monstrosity being put in the center of a bed of lettuce as a festive touch? That would be like showing a giant meteor at the moment before impact; not cool, not beautiful, not like my wonderfully beautiful perfectly formed tomatoes.
So once again I have to conclude that in the ever escalating tomato wars my legumes are better than your legumes. Maybe, I should make that a cheer or a fight song.
My legumes are better than your legumes,
My legumes are better than your legumes,
Rah, rah, rah,
Fight, fight, fight,
Yeahhhhhhhh!
I looked up legume and realized it’s a bean, not a tomato. Tomatoes are really lycopersicon esculentum and yes it’s a fruit – everybody know that! Duh!
But somehow
My lycopersicons are better than your lycopersicons,
Seems a bit stiff, even driveling snotty, and it doesn’t really scan the way legume does. Maybe next year I’ll have to grow beans.
That’s all for now.
Keep in touch.
Or
The Tomato Wars Continue Unabated
Dear Hank
September 8, 2006
It hard to believe summer is almost gone. There’s the smell of fall in the air and I haven’t even gotten my second swim of the season in yet. I like to get in at least two swims a year because one swim costs over 500 dollars and two drops it to $250, which I find much more reasonable.
This inevitable leads me to the subject of my tomatoes which by the current crop count divided by the amount I paid for all the plants probably drops the cost per tomato to around 25 cents which is pretty good; as long as you don’t count in indirect costs such as labor and land and taxes on the land, etc. This would inevitably show you that growing tomatoes in the shade of giant trees on land that is essentially clay is not a money making proposition.
My daughter pointed out to me that I don’t really have a garden what I have is a plant hospice. She said that this is a place plants come to die. That’s not really true. I don’t think they come here with the intention of dying. It just works out that way. I’m a naturalist when it comes to gardening. I believe that if things are meant to live they will. I try to help by remembering to water them and by taking them out of the garden packs and putting them in the ground but other than that I let nature take its course. I did talk to the plants several years ago but that didn’t seem to help much. It was my daughter who suggested that saying, “Grow! Goddammit!” was maybe not what they plant talking advocates had in mind. I tried to explain to my daughter that there are two schools of management: Theory X and Theory Y. Theory Y is the nice, kind, understanding school of thought and Theory X is the fear and intimidation school. Theory X generally gets you quick immediate results, theory Y more long term but less assured results. I’m generally a Y guy in real life but with plants I’m more the X type. It allows my natural passive aggressive dark side to come out and the plants respond accordingly by dying.
It’s not confined to natural living plants, artificial ones drop flowers and leaves too. I have a certain touch.
Like those stupid seeds from Monticello. Oh yeah, they show me these massive bushes on the ground of our third president’s estate with these wonderful names and some garden club lady in a “nice” flowing skirt and straw hat tells me more about them and when I’m leaving I go by the tent with all this overpriced garden stuff and I’m feeling like I do at Home Depot saying to myself Yeah, I can do this. So I buy a bunch of packets. A month later I plant half of each packet and they sprout! I’m overjoyed. A few grow to the point where I can recognize a two to two and a half inch leaf. Then they lie over and dye. Fuckers. I plant again in a different spot and I even remember to water them. They peak up through the soil shortly thereafter and that’s where they’ve been ever since. Little tiny green leaves, with stalk and a leaf on each side no bigger than a dime, double f—kers. I’d like to kidnap one of those garden ladies and tell her to lead a tour around these palatial grounds!
But I digress, I’m sorry; I’m so easily lead astray by my own thoughts. What I came to tell you about is the continuing tomato wars and how I’ve been coping with the downgrading of Pluto as a planet and the strange similarity to tomatoes, which without my contribution to the horticultural universe might never have been realized. Not only that but to make my blog even more appealing to folks I’m adding pictures. In this way my blog will be as exciting as an old National Geographic (sorry, no saggy bosom shots - yet.)
(image placeholder)
Take a look at this photo. Do you see the three tomatoes? (Okay so you can't see them beause the blog won't support pictures. You'll have to got to my website www.rickkinnaird.com where you won't see them either til I get around to post it.) Two of them are mine. The big huge ugly digusting looking one, the one that looks like Jupiter, is not from my garden, Farmer Alan grew it. Mine are the other two (and because you can't see the picture yet, I'll describe them: one looks like a cocktail tomato, the other looks like a minature cocktail tomato.) I like to think of the smaller of the two as being like Venus, the bright star of the evening, the goddess of love. I could imagine it as Pluto or Mercury too. The middle tomato reminds me of Earth. The only place we know for sure holds intelligent beings. Most of my tomatoes are either in the Venus or Earth size, none in the Jupiter; although, I have had one Italian tomato that maybe considered in the Neptune/Saturn category. My tomatoes have been in the best position to garnish salad plates and add festive touches to summer picnics. I mean can you imagine that ugly monstrosity being put in the center of a bed of lettuce as a festive touch? That would be like showing a giant meteor at the moment before impact; not cool, not beautiful, not like my wonderfully beautiful perfectly formed tomatoes.
So once again I have to conclude that in the ever escalating tomato wars my legumes are better than your legumes. Maybe, I should make that a cheer or a fight song.
My legumes are better than your legumes,
My legumes are better than your legumes,
Rah, rah, rah,
Fight, fight, fight,
Yeahhhhhhhh!
I looked up legume and realized it’s a bean, not a tomato. Tomatoes are really lycopersicon esculentum and yes it’s a fruit – everybody know that! Duh!
But somehow
My lycopersicons are better than your lycopersicons,
Seems a bit stiff, even driveling snotty, and it doesn’t really scan the way legume does. Maybe next year I’ll have to grow beans.
That’s all for now.
Keep in touch.
posted by Rick Kinnaird at 5:56 AM
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