The Fink Farm Dirt

Four years ago, we grew the Godzilla of tomato vines. We couldn’t stake it up high enough or fast enough to keep up with its growth. It was a productive plant and produced fabulous tomatoes. But its branches were so thick we could barely reach in to grab the ripe ones without destroying the green ones. And we won’t even discuss the ones that were out reach inside the dark maw of this behemoth. I swore after trying to tame that plant, I would learn to prune. And now, nearly two months after planting our pony packs of cherry and Roma tomatoes, we’ve done it! We’ve pruned! Probably not enough and probably too late, but at long last I think I understand what needs to be removed: the suckers, the sprouting leaves that grow in the crotches (axils, if you want to be technical) between the leaves and the main stem. I started pinching and clipping unsure if I was getting a sucker, a branch or a flower bud. But the more hands on time I spent with the plant, the clearer the suckers were to me. ...

By August, our tomato plants are raging tyrants, tumbling out of their cages, colonizing every square foot they can reach, scrabbling for more land, more sun, more water, so dense you can barely reach in to check a cluster for ripeness. They are definitely producing; but we lose so many in the thicket of branches. We can't reach the ripe ones without knocking half a dozen off their stems. This year, we had three tomato plants: one hasn't thrived, although the bugs on it did; one bushy plant that still has colonial aspirations; and one that is well over six-feet tall and making a mockery of its bamboo tripod. Yes, I've heard of pruning -- I just don't know how it's done. With tomato plants it always seemed oxymoronic:  first, you nurture the tiny little things; then, you want all the tomatoes you can possibly get as they flower and bud; and finally, you never want to see another tomato in your life and definitely don't want to be fiddling in the brambles....