Tomatoes are supposed to grow on small bush-like plants, but our tomato plants are some sort of mutants. The plants are so far over my head, I’ll need a ladder to pick
them. Maybe it’s because we mixed in well-composted manure, or because I planted the tomatoes with my Grandfather’s secret fertilizer formula – but whatever the cause – our plants are out of control. They are taking over, and I’ve given up on chopping them back.
The tomatoes ripen from the bottom of the plant, moving higher each week with more ripening fruit. Right now, I can comfortably pick the produce of the week – but in another week or so, they will be out of my reach. And maybe that’s a good thing.
I’m about at the point that we have enough jars of tomato sauce for a weekly spaghetti supper, enough dried cherry tomatoes to toss into many a pot of stew or soup, and enough roasted tomatoes with olive oil, oregano and basil to use for Friday night pizzas. So, other than those delicious summer-time bacon and tomato sandwiches – I’m about done with tomatoes.