I Carry A Pitchfork

The month is May, the weather is spring-perfect, I work at HappyDay Farms  (https://happydayfarmscsa.com/), and the boss is BossLady. I work the Tomato Division down in the orchard; my name is Mark; I carry a pitchfork.

The one on the right,  please. Please!

Contrary to popular belief, there is more to excitement around here, than watching seeds germinate. You probably think it’s all about hunting down and killing rogue weeds, and sure, some perks warrant headlines, but the real thrill around here-for this farmer-comes in being able to sneak an extra thirty days into the growing season.

Conventional wisdom mandates waiting until June 1st up here on the mountain, before planting the fruit of the gods, in order to avoid a late-spring freeze, which would decimate a crop. Telling me not to do something is like telling a middle schooler no: I’m going to do the opposite of what I’m told frequently enough that you can’t make any rash assumptions. 

I started planting on May 2nd this year and I am at 156 in the ground.

One year ago, I did not even begin planting my close-to-200 plants until June 5th, due to a certain remodeling project I was engaged in. According to the norm, I was only five days behind schedule. The net result, however, was that by the time our tomatoes hit the market, everyone else’s had already flooded it.

Not to worry. HeadSodBuster took every tomato I sent his way, and between market and the CSA (Community Sponsored Agriculture), found happy homes for them all, 1,500 pounds in all. Being a benevolent fellow, I was dazzled, and determined that I would like more tomatoes to find happy homes. The most effective means of accomplishing this is to get them to market earlier in the summer.

You can see remay, top left.

Now, if there is a danger of a May frost, why would I take such a risky course of action as putting them into the ground so early? The answer is because if cold weather were forecast, I could drape remay, a lightweight, cloth-like material over the plants. This would protect them from a freeze, assuming the freeze did not take on arctic proportions. 

Being able to monitor the weather via internet, gives me up-to-date information, allowing me to go ahead and install the remay in a timely manner, should the need arise. On the other hand, the weather since the third week in April has been stellar, with the fourteen-day forecast calling for more of the same, putting us at the 22nd of May. The later into May we get, the better the chances become for no frost.

I’d like to see ripe tomatoes in July, something accomplished here only once in the last 37 years. What GlutenFreeMama and I did was to put the tomatoes in the ground on May 1st, placing giant pickle jars over a dozen or so plants at night, to see if we could promote an early crop. It worked and we got tomatoes by the third week in July.

How risky is it, exactly? With still more than a hundred tomato starts in my greenhouse, which are well protected from the cold, I would just be back to square one should a disaster occur, my own labor the only price extracted from me in the exchange.

Living on the edge is part of the game, here on-farm, and I’m not talking sandals and pitchforks. I’m talking about food for the soul and bringing it to table thirty days early. Thirty days in tomato years is ten years, based on a seven-month growing season (May through November). What more can I say?

I’d walk the extra mile for an additional ten years of summer tomatoes, wouldn’t you?