The Fink Farm Dirt

Another spring, another hand-knit tomato trellis. It certainly is a California rainbow over the garden plot! Unlike past tomato trellises, this one is made of bulky acrylic yarn, knit on US 19 knitting needles. It's super easy to make. Cast on 82 stitches -- or more if you want and your needles are long enough. Knit it in stockinette stitch: knit the first row, purl the second, and repeat until the piece is as long as you like.  On the last row, bind off four stitches, then drop a stitch. Repeat this, keeping the first stitch that you bind off after a dropped stitch loose, until you come to the end of row. Thread yarn through the last stitch and weave in the end. Voilá, a tomato trellis. I experimented with dropping off more than a single stitch, but it seemed to make the trellis too loose.  I also stitched on fabric casings for the poles that support the trellis.  There are about four, evenly spaced casings. It makes it easier and more stable to string up the trellis. Th...

I annually write the date for Tomatomania! in my calendar. Something always comes up that keeps me from going. But this year was different. Karen and I drove over to Tapia Brothers and checked out the riches. According to the website, Tomatomania! is what the New York Times calls "the tomato freaks' Woodstock." It started in the early 90s at Hortus, a trend-setting nursery in Pasadena, CA, which regretfully closed in 2001, with classes, sales, "tomato tasting and impromptu social gatherings at nurseries and garden destinations across the state." So instead of buying our usual pony pack of tomato plants from a standard chain nursery, we wandered the aisles looking at the wild and wonderful heirlooms -- Mortgage Lifters, Black Krims, Cherokee Purples, yellow ones, striped ones, deep purple nearly black ones.   We selected three indeterminate tomatoes and a couple of determinate ones. By the end of the weekend, we had the tomato trellis hung and the tomatoes plant...

Gardeners are always talking about heirloom plants: grown year after year by generation after generation from seeds taken from each year's harvest . I think heirloom recipes are just as important and just as much fun. The first bite of my mother's strawberry shortcake recipe, takes me back years to the lingering light of a summer day in northeastern Oklahoma with the family around the dining room table enjoying strawberries with whipped cream and flaky, barely sweet biscuits.  So, in that spirit, I'm offering some heirloom recipes. Some are made from plants we grow at Fink Farms, and some not.  Some are old recipes from friends and family. Some are simply good recipes enjoyed summer after summer.  Green Tomato Pie by Jo Ann (Floerke) Morrison (1931-1996) This recipe was contributed by my friend Cliff Morrison, whose mother made this pie. 1 cup brown sugar ¼ c white sugar 4 tablespoons flour 3 tablespoons butter 6 to 8 small green tomatoes, thinly sliced 1 lemon, quartered...

When Karen and I planted our 2020 garden, we made the one mistake you never want to make with tomatoes: we didn't check whether the plants we bought were determinant or indeterminate. Our assumption that the cherry tomato plants would be small (small tomatoes means small plant, right?) and the romas would be big, was 180 degrees wrong. The Great Green Goddess of Gardening was on our side, however. Karen has been able to stake up the indeterminate cherry tomatoes -- and the determinate romas have plenty of string fencing to grow on. I've been asked to write more about the differences between indeterminate and determinant tomato plants. Since I clearly needed to review, I'm glad to do so. In simple terms, determinate plants are like bushes or shrubs; indeterminate plants are like trees. Determinate plants are genetically set to grow to a certain size and stop. Indeterminate plants will keep producing stems, leaves and fruit as long as they get enough water, light and warmth. ...

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. ...

It hasn't been easy during the coronavirus shut-down to know what is open and what is not. The Fink farmers were certain that nurseries were closed. We shook our heads and murmured about how it looked like it was going to be a fallow year for the garden. Then -- overhearing gossip -- we learned that nurseries were open to those who wear masks and keep appropriate social distancing. Farmer Karen leapt into action and bought pony packs of tomatoes (Romas and cherry), marigolds, Italian basil and assorted lettuces. We're overstocked with tomatoes for the space we have -- and understocked with marigolds to keep the tomatoes free of bugs. We've taken a cross-your-heart, pinky-wrap vow to prune the tomato vines as the summer unfolds and to keep the suckers plucked.   We're also experimenting with growing a tomato plant in a pot with a Rube Goldberg arrangement to climb on. (One day we'll get around to putting masonry screws on the cinder block wall that ...

An August garden is pregnant with expectations. The garden I share with my friends Karen and Kate has a tomato jungle.  The three plants have over run three concentric layers of “cages.” They’re now trying to colonize the carrots. Unrelenting weeks of sun and heat have battered our 10 by 14 foot plot in Karen’s backyard. LA’s water rationing has taken its toll as well.  No matter. The tomatoes seem to ripen from pearl green to bloody red as you watch. The vines are heavy with fruit. We know that soon – very soon – we’ll be overrun with ripe tomatoes. We wait. We watch. We talk about canning, tomato sauce and ratatouille.

Last summer’s tumbling tower of tomatoes has made me rethink the standard tomato cage.  They are great for determinate tomatoes that grow like shrubs. They are useless for indeterminant tomatoes that spread out like a thoroughbred on the home stretch. A search for alternatives led me to discover these ideas: Los Angeles landscape architect Rhett Beavers takes standard tomato cages and stacks them wide-end to wide-end with a central bamboo support. He then plants the seedlings deep in a layer of compost so they develop deep roots along the stem to support the plant.   Ivette Soler, author of The Edible Front Yard and blogger at thegerminatrix.com , makes her own tomato cages out of rebar and concrete reinforcing mesh. For those not so willing to do creative construction, she recommends tomato ladders from Gardener’s Supply. These are three upright stakes connected at seven points with a rounded, v-shaped horizontal form that protects the plant’s main stem. Each ladde...

Our great tomato plant -- great in productivity, great in flavor, great in height -- has succumbed to gravity. Fortunately, it appears to have been a gentle collapse of the bamboo supports rather than a stem-snapping disaster. We're still harvesting tomatoes from it. During the week, we harvested enough to make another batch of L.A.  DWP-dried tomatoes. But we also got a great tip from Dorothy Reinhold, the shockingly talented creator of Shockingly Delicious about roasting and preserving tomatoes using a recipe from heartbeetkitchen.com.   Trying that recipe is definitely in our future -- if we can squeeze enough tomatoes out before our prize plant curls up its roots and dies. This weekend harvesting required reaching deep into the dark unknown between the stems. Tomato vines have prickles! And who knows what might be lurking down in there . . . I'm becoming more and more convinced that fences are the best way to go with tomatoes, but obviously they'll have to be w...

With our tomato harvest coming in fast, we were faced with the need to: Cultivate an untiring passion for tomato-centric meals; Distribute the harvest to friends; or Find a preservation method. This usually means canning (or cooking and canning, if you want tomato sauce or stewed tomatoes), which doesn't have a lot of appeal on hot days. Several years ago we did try canning. Tomato canning is a good starting place for a beginner because the acid in the tomatoes helps prevent botulism, so you don't have to worry quite so much about wiping out a dinner party with home-canned tomatoes. As I recall, a neighbor had a bumper crop of San Marzanos. They did their own canning and distributed the overflow to friends.  I loved the name. "San Marzano" just rolls off your tongue -- like, well like Italian with a really good accent.  It's just such a pasta-ready name. Until then, the tomatoes I knew were anonymous as soon as the Magic Marker washed off the ...

One day we were congratulating ourselves on our tomato harvest, and it seemed like the next minute the plants were turning brown and dying. To the best of our ability to discern (with the help of the Google Extension Service) , we have aphids. We noticed some dark colored insects flying around initially.   From Natural Living , I learned that of the more than 4,000 species of aphids, about 250 are a danger to crops. Sometimes called plant lice, these pests pierce the stems of plants to suck out nutrient-rich sap. In the process, they spread viruses and secrete a fluid that attracts sooty molds that can cover a plant's leaves and block the sun. The viruses they carry can kill potatoes, citrus fruits and grains. There was some good news in this article -- and some bad news. There are a number of things you can do to deter or get rid of them -- but some don't work in a water-starved area and others we've tried and we still have an infestation. Here were the suggestions:...

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....

Our first green tomato is visible under the leaves inside the tomato cage. It always amazes me how quickly and dramatically a gardener can go from impatient waiting to an avalanche of harvest. Tomatoes especially arrive as genteel newcomers and grow into sprawling monsters. When the first crop of tomatoes start greening up, it seems almost scandalous to pick them for fried green tomatoes (or baked, which we discovered we preferred last year.  When they start turning red, there's no end to them. Until you start trying to can them or turn them into sauce.  Then it seems as if we should have just plowed up the entire backyard and planted "Fink Tomato Farms." This year, I've promised myself that I'm going to scout out the perfect tomato sauce recipe.

Kate can't resist a garden center. A trip to CostCo. to use a coupon for printer toner for me ended up with a sharp left into the garden center. Before I could say, "Whoaaaaaa . . . " Kate was cradling a pack of three gallons of heirloom tomatoes and crooning to it. Last year we planted the common tomatoes that I remember from the Oklahoma summers of my childhood -- round, regular and red. Better Boy, Big Beef -- who knows what the plants' marketing names were. The tomatoes that Kate fell in love with are labeled heirlooms* -- Shady Lady, Bobcat and Monica. I've always loved the concept of heirlooms.  These are tomatoes that have pollinated in a natural way in an open garden. The gardeners who originally grew them, selected their seeds for specific desirable characteristics -- color of the fruit, flavor, disease resistance, productivity, etc. They often share the seeds with others. An heirloom tomato seed can easily have a documented provenance, just l...