Flying Tomato Farms

I grew five varieties of little tomatoes this year.  As much labor as they are to pick, they’re so lovely and fun that I can’t help but try new varieties as well as keeping around the old varieties.

My number one criteria, as always, is flavor. After that, I look for a nice mix of colors and sizes to make a mixed box look as tempting as can be.

Black Cherry (top basket, big and purple):  This variety is also called “Brown Berry”  or “Chocolate Cherry,” and it is a sort of brownish-reddish-purple.  It’s the largest cherry tomato I grow–still a single bite, but quite mouth-filling and definitely one you have to be careful of when biting down on to avoid that embarrassing tomato juice squirt.

This is the second year I’ve grown this variety, and I like the color, size, and relative ease of picking.  It was pretty beat up by disease this year (and overwhelmed by its neighboring Coyote plant), and didn’t yield that well.  It definitely adds color and size interest to the mixed boxes of little tomatoes.

Red Pear (also top basket): this is a pretty standard heirloom that dries really nicely.  While it doesn’t have the greatest flavor fresh, drying concentrates its flavor.  It is much better tasting, to my mind, than Yellow Pear, which I’ve also grown.

I am developing a thicker-necked strain that isn’t as prone to cracking along the neck, which is a problem with both yellow and red varieties I’ve grown.  Red Pear adds a nice contrast of shape from the other round cherry tomatoes in my mix.

Coyote (bottom left): It’s quicker to say what I don’t like about this new-to-me heirloom than what I do–it is very soft and small, and it splits like crazy when you pick it.  I worked around this by trying to pick with the stems attached, which means it’s slow going to get even a small basket full like this.  I didn’t pick anywhere near all there were on the vines today.

All that aside, there’s no way I’d skip growing this one again because the flavor is fantastic–like nothing you’d expect from a light yellow tomato.  I’ve heard people say that it’s like tomatoes and mushrooms together.  It has the most amazingly rich and deep umami flavor–certainly of any cherry tomato I’ve tasted.  I’ve got a small following now at the Elk Point market because of these beauties.

The plants are completely wild and enormous, and they’re seemingly unstoppable by disease and pests.  Yes, they are a pain to pick, but who cares?  They’re totally worth it, even if you just grow one plant to snack on while working in the garden.

Red Currant (bottom right): This is another heirloom that I tried to grow last year in a really bad place.  So, I tried again this year, and I have to say I’m disappointed.  They are really cute, and although the plants are wildly out of control and they’re a pain to pick like Coyote, the flavor isn’t worth the trouble.  They’re just not that impressive.

I wanted another little red tomato in my mix (to go along with Red Pear), but this isn’t the one.  I’m going to have to look for another (preferably heirloom) with better flavor and maybe that’s less of a pain to pick.

One helpful hint if you do grow these is that when all the fruits underneath the “fountain of foliage” start to ripen, just hack off the top layer of plant to get at them (really–hack it off with a machete).  It doesn’t seem to bother the plant, and then you don’t have to fight the vines so much to get at the fruit.

Sungold Cherry (bottom right): This is the only hybrid tomato I grow, and I’ll keep growing it while I can get the seeds.  I haven’t found another tomato that combines the glowing orange color and fruity flavor that Sungold has.  It’s very tropical on the tongue in contrast with Coyote’s depth and richness.

I’ve been growing Sungold for five years now, and although I’ve had volunteers from the previous season’s dropped fruits–even some that shared its color–they either had bland flavor or slighty tough or mealy texture.

Sungold is a fresh market tomato–it doesn’t store or ship well, and it has a tendency to split when overly ripe (though not so much as Coyote).  But it’s fairly easy to pick and box the day before or day of a farmers market without too many splitting or cracking.

Seed Sources:

Black Cherry: This variety is available through Pinetree Garden Seeds.

Red Pear: I have been saving and refining seed on this variety for a number of years.  Strains of this variety, which is sometimes called “Red Fig,” are available from many seed companies.  May I suggest Seed Savers Exchange?

Coyote: The seed for this variety came from Skyfire Garden Seeds out of Kanopolis, Kansas.  They are a very friendly little mom-and-pop (literally!) operation. I have not seen this variety listed elsewhere in major catalogs.

Red Currant: This came from Pinetree Garden Seeds, which also carries a “Yellow Currant.”

Sungold Cherry (F1): This one comes from Johnny’s Selected Seeds.

When I walked out the door this morning, I thought, no way–not even close.  It seemed downright warm, though I was wearing a couple layers top and bottom in anticipation of a chilly work morning in the Community Garden.  There was not a frosty blade of grass in sight.

Then I headed out to the farm to pick up tools for the group of Vermillion High School freshmen who were coming to help pull weeds, clear paths, and turn the compost .  It was about 7 a.m., and as I drove out through the brightening morning, I started seeing the signs.

Yep–frost struck the farm last night (or rather early this morning).  It’ll be hard to tell what the total damage is until later today.  It was patchy as predicted, but it was COLD out there–much colder than in my little sheltered neighborhood in town.

I took a moment to stroll around the gardens before loading the wheelbarrow and numerous shovels, rakes, and forks into the back of the truck, and it didn’t look like anything but the squash would be completely destroyed.  I may get a few more peppers yet.

Back into town, I met my fellow coordinator, Dean, and Cindy, our Extension Horticultural Agent at the gardens and started unloading tools and discussing work plans.  Since I woke up an hour and a half before my alarm was set, I’d had some time to mentally divide the students in groups and figure out the best way to get things looking a little more spruce.

We worked those students hard!  I’ll admit my idea was to “”work ‘em while I got ‘em”–wear ‘em out and get everything done.  They were pretty game with that, but Cindy suggested a break time with doughnuts, and at that point, I’d been working myself pretty hard as well, so it sounded good.

They did an amazing job getting the incredibly weedy paths cleared and then re-mulched with paper and wood chips, the compost area cleared and neatened up, and the compost pile itself renewed and re-layered with all the good green stuff coming out of the aisles.

If you’re in the area, stop by and take a look at the Community Gardens.  Then take a look again in late October, by which time, we’ll have our new tool shed!

Well, sort of.  There’s a frost advisory tonight, and even though we’re in the Southern Paradise of the Dakotas here in Vermillion, it’d be foolish of me to disregard the forecast of lows about two degrees above freezing.  That’s just too close for comfort.

The first thing I did this morning (after reading and responding to about a million lit student postings) was to head out to my little Community Garden plot and clip all the sweet basil, bring it home, and process it into a paste with some olive oil.

Making basil cubes

This is where those old-fashionedmetal ice cube trays with the removable insert really come in handy.  They also don’t soak up flavors like plastic ones do.

While these trays aren’t the greatest for actual ice cubes, they work really well for freezing pastes of fresh herbs for use during the winter.  Once they’re frozen, I’ll take them out and store the separated cubes in a plastic freezer bag.

This afternoon I headed out to the garden and harvested a number of frost-tender crops.  I didn’t do a clean sweep–instead, I just pulled the biggest of everything–mostly sweet peppers. They can hang out in the house and turn red over the next few weeks, and if it doesn’t freeze tonight, I’ll have more.

I also picked a few hot peppers, and I pulled three of of my six cayenne pepper plants out of the ground to hang in the basement and ripen what fruits they will over the next few weeks.  Again–if it doesn’t freeze, I’ll have more; if it does, I’ll be glad I took this measure.

The beans got picked, and so did all the cukes.  Because the slicing cukes were not looking so hot anyhow, I pulled all those plants.  I left the picklers in just in case–that crock in my basement isn’t completely full, but the forty or fifty little cukes I picked today will certainly help.

For tomatoes–I did a good once-over a couple of days ago, but I did pull all the good-sized green ones just to be safe.  Of course, when I was doing that, I was thinking, why? why? Yeah, I’ve processed a lot of ‘maters this season.  But those Polish Linguisas are my favorite paste tomatoes, and they’ve been late to ripen this year.

It’s bone-dry out in the gardens, and I haven’t been watering because this time of year, it’s just not worth the resource except for fall greens.  I did water the mustard greens, and I also watered the parsnips and celeriac (before unscrewing the hose from the well-head just in case).

Er, well, guess you're glad you had that removed, eh?

This ugly thing (that looks to me like something out of a T. Coraghessan Boyle story–you know the one) is a celery root, or celeriac.  I only dug one because they could use a little extra time (they’re a 110-day crop–like the Blue Solaise leeks).

But I’m pretty stoked at the looks of the crop so far.  They aren’t huge, but I was feeling a little uncertain that I’d get roots at all–especially after reading Steve Solomon’s Gardening When It Counts, wherein Mr. Solomon says it’s impossible to grow either celery or celeriac without a very deep, loose loam.

Well, I was giving Mr, Solomon a big ol’ Opus-like PFFFFT! when I pulled this beauty.  I guess I shouldn’t celebrate too much until I cut it open to make sure it doesn’t have hollow heart or something.  But I’m just sayin’.

Anywho, I’ll feel pretty good if we do get nipped tonight, and I won’t feel like I jumped the gun if we don’t.  We’ve got a few more days of nice weather after tonight’s dip, and some much-needed rain coming this weekend.

Tomorrow morning at about 8:30 a.m. I’m leading a team of about eleven Vermillion High School students in a Community Garden path clearing and mulching project.

I’ll hop up at about seven-ish or before and head out to the gardens to pick up a few more tools (now that all the veggies are unloaded), so I’ll be able to see pretty quickly and clearly whether we frosted or not.

I hope those kids dress warmly!

Last night at a party, a friend confided to me that she was so sick of canning and preserving, she just wanted to die.  I thought that might be a little dramatic until this morning, when I started going through the tomatoes in the house and realized I have about 3/4 of a box that needs to be dealt with.

Forthwith, I laid myself down on my bed and moaned.  The dog came over and made it clear that she thought it was awfully decadant of me to be lying in bed at 10 o’ clock in the morning, and that she’d had nowhere near her full ration of exercise lately.

“OK,” I said.  “We’ll go to Spirit Mound.”

I don’t usually hike Spirit Mound unless M is here–considering it a good way to give both the dog and the boy a good run.  My native Vermonter friends would snort at the idea that Spirit Mound is a “hike” at all–more like a leisurely walk to a slightly higher elevation.  But beggars can’t be choosers on the prairie.

The only part of the walk that could remotely be considered a hike is the final few feet up the backside of this chalky mound.

Then, once you hit the summit, you can look out over a vastly modified view of what Lewis and Clark saw when they ascended the mound in late August of 1804–no vast herds of buffalo, for instance, and the addition of numerous farmsteads, towns, and the shining hardtop of the Dakota Dome.

You can also see the Nebraska Territory–that dark line along the horizon that marks the bluffs on the south side of the Missouri River.  Lewis, Clark, and crew had a nine-mile hike from the Vermillion River to the summit, but we only have a 3/4 mile walk from the parking lot.

Big Bluestem--Spirit Mound Historic Prairie

As such, my dog suffered none of the ill effects of the journey that Lewis’ Newfoundland dog Seaman did.  And I always let her get a drink from the creek on the way back.

Hat tip to Cory at Madville Times.

I can’t help but display a little snar-casm at the headlines about Tea schools going into lockdown over a guy getting ready for hunting season.

The man unknowingly caused the lockdown. He was apparently holding a gun while on his property, which is located by the school, preparing for duck hunting and that’s when someone called police. ["Tea Area Schools Experience Friday Lockdown." KSFY.com. 25 September 2009.]

Note to Tea: Yes, we should protect our children.  And yes, it’s important to have a policy in place to do so.  But please note that even though you are pretty close to being swallowed up by Sioux Falls, you’re still a part of South Dakota. And South Dakota is still largely a rural state with an extensive hunting tradition.

The freak-out was reported (trumpeted?)on KELO’s website as a great practice for locking down the school, with the following quote from Superintendent Jerry Shutz:

What we did, just how we prevented them from getting in, that’s very important. Actually, what I saw this morning just reinforces my comfort that we have security measures in place….[Johnson, Eric. "Tea Schools Get Practice in Lockdown Policy" 25 September 2009.]

Whom did you prevent from getting in, Mr. Superintendent? And why was it necessary, after making sure you prevented “them” from getting in, to have the police then sweep all three schools to “look for anything suspicious”?

Was it really necessary, I wonder, to scare the bejeebers out of a whole bunch of students and parents by locking down the schools and checking IDs and continuing to limit access to the building after the lockdown expired, and after it became clear the reports were nothing to be concerned about?

I’m a parent, and I’m concerned about my child’s safety.  I’m also concerned about people who are in positions of authority freaking out instead of remaining calm when there’s a possibility of something amiss.

Now, I wouldn’t do this or recommend doing this to anyone else.  But is there anyone else who feels at least a little temptation to call the Tea Schools hotline and report a guy with a fishing pole?

In tribute to the BlogHerFood 2009 convention in San Fran (which I am missing here in SoDak), I’m whipping up a late-summer casserole of thin-sliced zukes, tomatoes, sweet red peppers, and shavings of yellow onion.

It’s a pretty simple prep and a lovely dish: oil the casserole with EVOO, then start slicing–grating a bit of Asiago between every few layers–a little salt and pepper, some rubbed-between-the-fingers dried oregano. I started the bottom layer with zukes, as they’re the most stable.

You can use your food processor to make it quick n’ easy, but tomatoes don’t tend to survive that process well and peppers are kind of ungainly to go through the chute, so I just did it all by hand.  It’d be worth breaking out (and cleaning) the food processor just for the zukes if I was doing more than one.

Once it was all layered and lovely (I did three layers–could’ve done twice that), I drizzled a bit more EVOO over the top, covered with foil, and am baking at 350 for 30 minutes or so (I turned on the oven when I put it in).  Once the timer shouts, I’ll pull it out of the oven, pull off the foil, and heat up the broiler.

The topping will go on then–a mixture of fresh sourdough breadcrumbs, grated cheese (I had to switch to Parmesan–out of Asiago), and a little EVOO and back into the oven it’ll go to brown on top.  Yum!

The gardens are starting to fade, and it’s time to start cleaning up and practicing good field sanitation.

I’m going to burn all the nightshade family residues this year–the tomato vines, pepper and eggplant, potatoes.  There are a few trellises of tomatoes that are far enough gone from a variety of fungal diseases that the process of tear-down can start anytime.

Yesterday I went out and harvested as many still-ripening tomatoes as I could and pulled a few pepper plants that weren’t looking so hot.  I’m tempted to go after the eggplant, but they’re still producing–albeit very slowly.

The black ones will go soon though–I’ll pull all the decent-looking fruits for market next week and consign the plants to the burn pile.  I won’t be growing that heirloom variety again–so many of the fruits had rotten bottoms.

I also took a brush knife to the blooming-and-diminishing broccoli plants.  Since the bees are still enjoying some of the fresher flowers, I only took a few–hacking them up into the smallest pieces practical to spread onto the compost pile.

Last year, I waited until spring to break down the broccoli, and by that time, the stalks were so woody that some of them are still not broken down entirely, so I’m trying to go at them in a greener stage this time around. I may sift through the compost and give H a pile of woody stalks for the chipper-shredder next time I turn the pile.

I also started hacking away at the Red Currant tomato plant, which has not had a problem with disease (so can be composted), and is still growing at an alarming rate.  The removal of the outer layer of vines should also help me harvest the ripe fruits without being swallowed up by the tomato-that-ate-Vermillion.

The problem with compost at this time of year is that the quality and amount of nitrogen-rich green materials is going downhill.  Since I don’t try to haul my kitchen scraps back out to the farm and the grasses are getting woody-stemmed and carbonaceous, it’s harder to get that nice hot pile with vegetable matter alone.

But yesterday, on my way to a dinner party downstreet, I ran into a couple of guys mowing and piling the clippings from an unsprayed neighborhood lawn into the back of their truck.  They happily agreed to dump them in my backyard, and I will haul some of those out for a better nitrogen ratio for the farm pile.

Closer to home, I started working a bit more on the town gardens yesterday afternoon.  I’d kept hearing this announcement in Jones’ that “Fall if the perfect time for planting,” and I’d think–yes!  and the leftover perennials are cheap!–and then I’d go out to their greenhouse, and it’d be locked up.

So when I stopped there on the way home from the farm, I walked into the hardware store and asked what was up with the teasing.  Well, turns out all the gallon perennials are $2.50 and you just need to ask them to unlock the greenhouse for you–it’s like a private tour (albeit of leftovers).

I bought six plants to fill in where things had been killed by the tromping of the paint project.  I’m kind of re-thinking my home garden color strategy now because of the big color change on the house–no more yellows and oranges–I’m going for blues, purples and pinks: hyssop, pink salvia, dianthus, creeping phlox, New England aster.

I’m a sucker for rescuing plants, and although these weren’t too far gone, they were bone-dry and pulling away from their pots, so I soaked them in a tub of fish-emulsioned water while I prepped the bed.

Let me tell you that compacted clay soil is a real b*tch to work with.  After scraping up as much of the paint chips as I could, I levered up and hacked apart the chunky clay the best I was able without killing the plants still surviving in the area. Then, I mixed in some dried-and-crumbly maple leaves and what was left of the potting mix I had in the basement.

While I have a ton of cottonwood leaves already peppering the backyard, I don’t use those in bed prep because they don’t break down like maple leaves do.  Their waxy coating needs special treatment; this is where some of those grass clippings will come in handy to burn them up.  But cottonwood (and aspen) leaves have a special place in my heart–their sandy, acidic scent is the very aroma of autumn in my mind.

Today, besides an afternoon birthday party for a certain law professor who is turning sixty, and besides working a bit more on responding to student proposal essay ideas, I’ll try to get the second half of those rescued perennials in the ground.

I’ll also start a layering of cottonwood leaves and grass clippings in the raised bed here at home–trying to avoid burning the volunteer buttercup squash that started on one end of that bed and has turned the corner, headed uphill, and is now tickling the top of my sage plant in the herb garden about fifteen feet away.

It seems even with the pitfalls of the season–the disease and the compaction and the bugs and the critters, plants just want to grow–want to produce their flowers and their fruits and their tempting seeds that are the hope for a next generation.

Is it just me, or do you hear, amidst the fruition–the ripening and the decay–the whisperings promises of next year, next year…

Back from the farmers market and all unpacked.  The sun was setting as I headed home at about quarter after seven, having torn down and packed up what was left of a pretty good day of sales.

The produce left over was only enough to pile a small basket full, and now it’s on my kitchen table to go into meals and maybe a few more canning projects.  That went next to the other basket of produce on the table–mostly sweet peppers that started turning red in the field, and are finishing up in the safety of the house.

It’s now pitch dark at just a few minutes to eight, and I’m waiting for H to arrive, so we can decide what supper looks like.  Despite the day full of fresh produce, most Thursday nights are for eating out.

I’m not overly exhausted tonight and could probably cook, but Raziel’s has live music under the courtyard lights–there won’t be too many more Open Mics before the weather turns frosty to enjoy Ed, Michelle, and all the other locals who come to play.

While I don’t do it every week, I passed along a fair amount of my sales money to other vendors today–Patti was selling her certified organic red onions for a buck a pound, and I bought eight pounds.  They’re a bit small this year (last year they were gargantuan), but that’s OK–they’ll roast a bit faster under the balsamic glaze at this size.

I also got my usual ten bucks worth of garlic–some for planting but most for eating.  The stoneware bowl on top of the fridge is getting full, but I don’t doubt that’ll be gone far before the green garlic shows up at market next spring.

Bob Corio at Dakota Harvest Lamb advertised that this is his next-to-last market before the final on October 22nd–so I also passed some cash his way for ground beef and lamb, summer sausage and brats.  I’m on his mailing list, too, but it just seems safer to get the freezer as full as I can while he’s right on the scene.

I always wonder why more folks don’t stock up the way I and some of our other vendors (and a few customers) do.  It’s dribs and drabs–a few peppers here, a couple tomatoes there.

When I get a customer that says, “give me all the rest of those peppers–I’m gonna stuff and freeze them,” I feel a sense of camaraderie.  They know the winter’s coming, and they’re not going to be a total slave to whatever’s shipped from the Southern hemisphere to fill the grocery store shelves that week.

I also have to laugh at the ladies (it’s usually ladies) who come to the market, walk down the row of vendors, and say, “oh, I’ve got plenty of that,” and “I’ve got more than I need in my own garden.”  Sometimes I wonder why they come when they seem to already have everything we’ve got, but I like that they do come–even just to chat.

We keep watching the forecast–all of us, and the rumors of a frost “next week,” or “in two weeks” are starting to surface.  So far, the forecast for the specifically foreseeable future doesn’t go below the mid-forties at night–we’ve got a little ways to go at least.

But the fair-weather crops of summer–the eggplant and tomatoes, at least, are dropping off in their production, and the winter squashes and pumpkins are showing up in bulk now.

It won’t be long, dear readers–it won’t be long.  Fill your pantries and your basements and keep those home fires burning.

Whether it’s a heavy winter or a mild one–winter is coming nonetheless, and there’s nothing quite so fine on a blustery, icy night than realizing there’s no need to go out in the cold–everything you need is right here at home.

Today I’ll be bringing tomatoes (mostly paste/sauce–the season is ending for tomatoes!), sweet bell peppers, relleno stuffers, and Hungarian Hot Wax peppers.  I’ve got several boxes of the little mixed cherry toms as well–and I DID pick the Coyotes today, so they’ll be in the mix.

For greens, I’ve got spicy mustards (only a couple bags!), chard, and two big bags of basil for pesto (the temps are dropping–make and freeze your winter supply soon!).  I might have one or two bags of lemon basil as well–depends on whether I get to my second patch before market.

The Marvel of Venice yellow beans will be there, and I’ve dug a few bunches of the venerable big Blue Solaise leeks for sale.

What else?  Oh, I’ve got a small basket of the little green Asian eggplants, and a big basket of young n’ tender summer squash of various varieties.  One bag of okra was all I managed out of the patch this week–but it’s a bigger bag than last week’s, and it’ll be on the table.

There’s also a good-sized basket of the Asian burpless “Summer Dance” cucumbers that are so popular this year, and there’s bound to be a few other surprises on the table as well.

For what others are bringing (as far as I’ve been told), go to the Vermillion Area Farmers Market blog.

Despite my marathon tomato-soup canning seminars of late, the point of those sessions was simply to deal with the excess of produce and to put it by for the later, colder months–not to eat on a present-day basis (though H and I did eat the last of the second batch for breakfast this morning).

But the weather is changing, and the days are cooler and overcast.  It’s time to make soup, as the kids say these days, for realz.

I’d dug a couple of leeks from the garden a few days ago, and those went simmering into butter in my stockpot.  Rummaging through my crisper drawer, I found a couple of early-dug parsnips that I thought I might try to enter in the Clay County Fair, but couldn’t find three that were uniform enough.

Add to that some carrots I got from Gary Bye at the farmers market (I haven’t dug mine yet, and I don’t think there’ll be many), a sweet pepper that has been sitting in the basket on my table, turning red, and celeriac leaves for a nice flavor.

Then the potatoes–I’ve been storing up potatoes for the last couple of months–some of my fingerlings that will have to be eaten in a short time, then Gary’s Yukon Golds for mid-term storage, and his red Pontiacs for long-term storage.

This soup got a dozen or so of the Yukons–unpeeled and chopped with just the eyes pared away.  It’s now all together and simmering on the stove–by dinnertime, the veggies will be meltingly tender and the flavors will have developed fully.