By The more I work in my little vegetable garden, the more I respect farmers. I grew more respectful as I roto-tilled virgin ground this spring. Granted, I had an undersized tiller, which made the work much harder, but it still illustrated the kind of toil farmers suffer. And they suffer it again and again. Must be pretty tough people.
Then there is the risk part. I planted bush beans for the first time this year. The first row produced one plant. I planted another row, and the plants almost jumped out of the ground. I planted another row, and the plants were as hesitant as first graders going on stage. The difference? Probably temperature. Whatever it was, it was out of my control.
Oh, and let’s not dwell on late frost. Not being a farmer, I resent tucking plants in with wrappings of newspaper to protect them from the cold. It’s not something I want to worry about. For a farmer, tuning in the weather channel is mandatory.
And bugs…I had my first case of cutworms this year, which cost me a tomato plant. I learned that you can wrap the stem at planting time to prevent this.
Bugs would also include the large, green, greedy tomato worms that eat so much of the leaves you can tell their presence by their trail of poop. I’ve overcome my skittishness about handling them. I just grip their plump backs, pull their swollen, reluctant selves from the plants and step on them, whereupon they disappear in a squirt of liquid, leaving behind an unimpressive little smear. I mentioned this phenomena to a farm lady, and she explained, ‘that’s why you make soup with them,’. I like to share that little story just before lunch.
I’m self-educating when it comes to gardening. A lesson I’ve learned is to limit experiments to a portion of the garden. That way, if you screw up, you won’t ruin the entire plot. A farmer would know this. I learned it the hard way. It was the way I watered. See, I’d been reading over and over that tomatoes like warmth. I realized that I had been using cold water directly from the well. I would draw a bucket and unthinkingly chill their poor little roots each evening. That couldn’t be good, I thought.
What did this compassionate tomato gardener do? Why, I went to a lot of trouble finding food-grade plastic barrels, which I went to a lot of trouble outfitting with spigots and building cradles for. I’d fill the barrels with well water and wait a few days for the sun to warm the water. What a splendid system! The barrels were convenient to the garden, so I didn’t need to carry the water far, and the tomatoes got a nice, warm foot bath each night.
What happened? Something I’ve never had trouble from before. The plants developed extensive blight, with yellowing leaves and branches that had to be removed periodically (and sent to the garbage, not the compost). I removed so much foliage that the fruit was in danger of failing through lack-of-support.
Why did this happen? I suspect that the barrels provided a nice, warm environment for bad-guy microbes. They flourished in their protected paradise, and happily attacked my tomato plants when I ignorantly doused the poor dears.
Did I learn a lesson? Yeah. Do I respect farmers? Darn right, and so should more of us.
One more point: A father told his son to be a farmer when he grew up. Why? So he would always be outstanding in his field.
