C'mon Inner Peace… I Don't Have All Damn Day
Never, ever, did I think I would say this, but… I’m a gardener.
I feel kind of like when my bestie started knitting. You have to know her to understand that knitting is the furthest thing from “Kelly” that I could ever imagine, likewise… I grow shit now.
Getting older is weird.
This most recent obsession began in July, when my summer in New Jersey was coming to an end. I was desperate to bring little pieces of home back to Florida for the long, Jersey-less winter. I bought two locally grown tomatoes from a roadside stand on the White Horse Pike.
I carefully scooped the seeds out and planted them in small pots with “imported” Pine Barrens dirt. My hope was to create some of the delicious red goodness down here in Florida. Before long, I had 55 seedlings, and instantly I was in love.
“These are my babies, I have to love them and take care of them, I gave them life”. Just like that I was a new mother again, and my obsession was born.
“These tomatoes deserve the best organic soil, not the GMO crap in Home Depot. They are going to be red, and juicy…”. So I poured organic Costa Rican coffee over top of the soil, and I sat with them every morning, watching them grow, with pride.
As they started to grow bigger, I tried to learn all I could about growing the perfect tomato, but my beautiful plants are more complicated than I ever imagined. Online, they talk about PH levels and throw out numbers that sound a whole lot like math..
I hate math!
Their very clear and precise calculations say that each plant needs to have a pot of at least eighteen inches deep. A twelve inch pot won’t produce good tomatoes for some dumb reason.
Six inches changes everything apparently.
So here I am… In a townhouse.
With a small porch…
…And 55 tomato plants are depending on me.
Holy crap!!! I’ve turned into the crazy tomato lady of Indian Rocks Beach, Florida.
I have visions of my porch starting to look like Sigmund the Sea monsters special lair. Letters will start to fly through the door from the Home Owners Association, like the beginning of Harry Potter.
I’m in trouble.
I heard of a solution. I can use those reusable grocery bags as planters. You know, the ones from the check-out line?
“Great… I’ll take 55 please!”
All of a sudden, Home Depot’s crappy dirt is looking mighty cheap and attractive. How many bags of dirt do I need for 55 reusable grocery bags you ask?
…And cages! “Yes, you will need cages Lady.”
55 of them!
This is the point in my story where I come to my senses and realize that I would be a better tomato mommy by giving some of my little cherubs away as gifts!
Awww…The llama at my sons school passed away? “I know… they get a tomato plant!”
My manicurist has never had an authentic Jersey tomato? She gets a tomato plant!
There is a new neighbor who just moved in… She gets a tomato plant!
EVERYONE gets a tomato plant!
Now my only problem is… I need more friends.
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