Tomatoes

 I have a long history of growing tomatoes.  I started in Rochester, planting them in mid-April, losing them to frost in late April.  The next year, I waited until mid-June to plant them, losing them to frost in September just as beautiful tomatoes were ripening.  Then, I asked for advice and planted them on Memorial Day and had beautiful tomatoes in late summer.

My tomatoes in Mooresville (Lake Norman) were beautiful until my neighbor’s Crepe Myrtle trees blocked the sun.  They were still worth planting.

My first attempts in Cary didn’t work out.  Two years in a row, the deer ate the plants before the first bloom.  In the third year, I planted tomatoes in pots on the patio.  The deer came on the patio and ate them.  I finally learned to keep deer away by using a spray, Liquid Fence.  We had tomatoes, but they were mediocre, worth eating, but not as good as tomatoes from the supermarket.

Last year, I bought a special container that came with fertilizer and instructions.  I planted two tomato plants in the special grow system and two outside of it in the ground as a control.  We got some fair tomatoes, but most came from the ones outside the grow box.

This year, I developed my own soil mix and fertilizer.  I planted some healthy plants in early May that were guaranteed to produce large and juicy tomatoes and waited to be delighted and to be the envy of the neighborhood.  See photograph below. The tomatoes on the right are from Publix.  The other two are mine.

I’m already thinking about how to get it right next year.

Seasoned Man

stevelem117@gmal.com

Dog House

 I’m in the dog house--Big Time.

I was on my way to an early doctor’s appointment when I spotted Aloma on the patio.  She was barefoot, dressed in her nightgown, and checking her I-phone.  I went out to tell her goodbye, left, and without thinking, locked the door to the patio.

She sat on the patio for about 30 minutes, checking her messages, enjoying looking at our plants.  Then she got up to go inside and found the door locked.  She called me, not happy with me.  I was already in the doctor’s office so I told her to go to the front of the house and use the code for our garage door.

My next call came from our neighbor across the street.  “Steve, Aloma is in our house.  You locked her out and the garage door won’t open.”

My appointment was over, so I said, “I’m on my way home.”

When I got back, Mickey and Janet had left for an appointment.  I knocked on their door, and Aloma came out sputtering, “The garage door didn’t work, and I was wandering around the neighborhood, barefoot and in a flimsy nightgown.  I thought the police would show up and take me away.”

The garage keypad didn’t work for me either.  I used the remote to let us in.  Aloma didn’t yell at me about her experience, and she handled it well.

But she said, “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Seasoned Man

stevelem117@gmail.com