I have high hopes for this year's lot of tomato plants. Last year, I attempted to grow some from seed and had them in a plastic growhouse that heated up like the surface of the sun on hot afternoons and the little seedlings fried. The year before that, I bought six Early Girl plants. Five of them died from mysterious causes, and the one that survived produced fruit but none of it ripened.
This year is going to be different. I've got about eight grosse lisse and four sweet 100 toms that I have nurtured, possibly more than I did my own baby, from seed. They are all still alive, and sit on the windowsill in our lounge. They've survived being pricked out and repotted and now all I have to do is harden them off by putting them outside during the day and in again at night time before I finally transplant them to their new home in the front flower garden on Labour Weekend.
There is just something about home grown tomatoes. I love walking around the garden at Postie's parents place in Auckland pinching out the laterals, the smell of tomato plants on my fingers. The smell is absolutely divine, and like cut grass, really evokes summer for me.
So please pray for the health of my tomato plants. I am hoping that they will escape disease, survive the wind, evade pests and not smell good to the chooks.