Election Section

Finally, we come to tomatoes. We know they will not do well in Berkeley. Tomatoes are simply the breath of summer, inevitable, irreplaceable, and so each year, we plant them like visionaries and reap them like sinners.  

What after all would we do without this most gorgeous of fruits? Pizza would be unrecognizable, the Bloody Mary a thing of the past, or the future. Can one imagine the BL without the T? Tomatoes are an addiction, an unrequited love, a chimera leading us down the garden path in all ways. 

It is probably too late in June to sow tomatoes from seed. We are never in the mood in April, the best month for this, because it is not yet summer. Never mind, by June there are hordes of varietal seedlings in nurseries and farmers’ markets to feed our delusions. If these are labeled determinate or indeterminate, this simply means sturdy bush-type, or a vine needing support. We are bound to plant too many and space them too closely. However tenderly we care for them, however early we plant them, we still will not see ripe fruit until August in Berkeley. Unless one lives in a banana belt with a brick patio, there just is not enough heat. 

Tomatoes do best in plain soil, with moderate, regular watering. Enriching the ground with compost and giving lavish supplies of water will produce large healthy plants with an abundance of green leaves and no apparent intention to produce flowers or set fruit. Be mean to your tomatoes and you might be able to bite them back, too. 

When (not if) you do plant, be careful to refrain from planting in the same place as in the previous year. A four-year rotation plan is ideal, intercropping with peas and beans whenever possible.  

Gardeners who enjoy composting their kitchen trimmings often come across tiny seedlings in the garden in June, with leaflets like little propellers. These junior tomatoes are worth cultivating, because they have chosen their environment, and even if they appear late in the season, will often catch up with store-bought plants, and produce interesting fruits. One such unknown variety in my garden a few years ago looked barely edible, misshapen in form and with deep fissures radiating from the stem, definitely not supermarket perfect. It was, however, juicy, tender and richly flavored, with an excellent balance of sweet and tart. 

Sometimes it is worthwhile to dry seeds of an especially good tomato, by placing them on a paper towel in a sunny window for a few days. Cut apart and kept in an envelope, labeled, they can be sown in small pots the following April, paper and all. By April, though, not only will we not be in the mood, we will have forgotten where we put the seeds, if we remember them at all. 

Such is the tomato, fata morgana. 

Tomatoes rarely suffer from pests. I once came eye to eye with a well-fed horn worm, Manduca sexta, which gave me a jolt. That was before I knew better than to fertilize the plants, so there were plenty of leaves to spare. Its destiny at the end of the usual stages of metamorphosis was another surprise, a colossal hawk moth. I was privileged to watch its maiden flight. Starting at one end of a brick it revved up its wings and trundled along to the other end like an overloaded jet, barely achieving take-off. Insects are harbingers of summer and add a special, indeed an important, dimension to gardening. According to Powell and Hogue in their California Insects, its wing span would have been at least 10 centimeters, and it would have repaid its debt to the garden by being a pollinator. 

We have come finally to the tomato because in Berkeley, June is the last month of the vegetable grower’s year. Not until late August or September does the cycle of cultivation begin with the sowing of winter greens. In July one waters the garden early and then one goes off to the beach. The Mediterranean Salad dish above can readily accompany the picnic chicken, the sunscreen, and the latest Sue Grafton. 

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