The Rookie

Farming can be the most satisfying profession on earth; it can also be the most frustrating. Take my orchard, for instance, where we are growing fruit trees and tomatoes. After all, tomatoes are a fruit and fruit grows on trees, so it seems appropriate to lump the two together. 

In the orchard we have an ideal south-facing slope, an abundance of direct sunshine, and vast quantities of enthusiasm all going for us; we also have water issues, gophers and inexperience working against us. If I were to evaluate the process of growing tomatoes in the orchard up until two weeks ago, I would have quoted the venerable Herb Caen, “Fergeddit!” 

Now I am feeling much more optimistic.

For ten thousand years, give or take, farmers have had water issues. When they arise we do our best to solve them. Then they arise again. Ditto with gophers. And the only cure known for inexperience, is time in the trenches, both metaphorically and literally.

From the beginning my tomatoes in the orchard have not kept up with fellow cousins, no matter where they might call home. The sixty Ace tomatoes and the dozen Evitas that are behind my house are infinitely better, and the ones up at HeadSodBuster’s spot are like the ones I imagined I would have.

I have known from the outset that there was not enough water being delivered, but except for acknowledging the bad news, I was powerless to do anything about it. The farm infrastructure is complex, sophisticated and way beyond my ken.

As I approach my 65th birthday, my desire to possess this knowledge has receded faster than the average hairline, because if I had this knowledge, I would then have to act on it. For pushing thirty years, I was the go-to guy when the water stopped running. I went-to a lot. 

Pin-pointing the issue and solving it are two entirely different matters, The usual methodology includes two steps forward, three steps backwards, then repeat ad infinitum. The intricacies of trying to distribute water to such a vast number of destinations defies comprehension. Pressure, temperature, foreign objects in the line, elevation, gravity, dirty filters, and Buster Posey’s batting average, all factor into whether or not I get adequate water to the orchard.

Fine, I was lying: Buster’s team-leading average (.321/.410/.488/.887) cannot have an impact on my tomatoes.

That being said, HeadSodBuster has already outlined a plan for next year that centers on the acquisition of a second three-thousand-gallon water tank, to match the existing one. The second tank will feed my spot exclusively, which means that many of the problems outlined above, will be either eliminated or helped considerably.

Two weeks ago HeadSodBuster descended upon the orchard like a man on a mission. The first thing he did was change the timers from going off once a day for 30 minutes, to going off twice a day, for 25 minutes, each time. Zounds! From 30 to 50 minutes per day, and delivered twice? 

Be still my throbbing heart!

The second thing he suggested was to hit them up with some fertilizer, little pellets that I was to distribute beneath each emitter, allowing them to dissipate into the soil and feed the plants. The emitters occur on six-inch intervals, which means over a fifty-foot row, a hundred emitters. Say there are three water lines in a row.

I was’t the math teacher at the middle school, but I can still tell you that that adds up to 300 little stations, beneath which I was to place between three-eighths and a quarter cup of the little pellets. As enthusiastic as I was to try and right the sinking ship, the thought of having to deliver the goods to so many deserving stations, was mind-numbing.

There are eight rows in the orchard; 8 times 3 is 24. That’s two thousand, four hundred little pit-stops I would have to make, in order to deliver the most effective remedy possible, to getting my tomato plants up to at least par.

The alternative was to apply liquid kelp to them, in five-gallon allotments. Naturally, the old no-pain/no-gain principle applied: The harder the task, the more effective the results. My thought was that if I were going to try and salvage the summer’s work, I should not pick this time to shirk.

Still, 2,400 emitters? 

I decided a trial run was in order. In addition to distributing the pellets, I was also going to make a concerted effort to make sure the emitters were as close to the tomato plants as possible, something I  had not realized was critical. I had thought that if the emitters were anywhere in the vicinity, that the roots would reach out to them.

Inexperience.

I chose the one row that had the most issues with water line placement, and decided that even if I only did this one row, I would be ahead of the game. Not being able to kneel, due to that reconstructed left knee, I had to let my back endure the brunt of the work.

Thus the job ranks among the hardest of the summer. Nonetheless, the process was simple enough and before I knew it, I had completed the first row. Nothing begets a great success, like a little one. One row down and seven to go. 

In the end I only distributed fertilizer to six rows, because the other two had cherry tomatoes, and those kids were off and running so fast, I would never be able to catch up with them anyway. I just sliced off 600 pitstops on my way to success.

The work’s done now and the immediate results are beyond what I had hoped for. There're still ten days of August, all of September and all of October to harvest tomatoes. 

Who knows? Maybe three steps forward, and only two backwards?