attack of the killer tomatoes

I men­tioned com­ing back from vaca­tion and almost imme­di­ately going after one of the tomato plants that had taken over its spot in the new orna­men­tal bed.

My killer tomatoes

Just one week later and it seems like I’m con­tin­u­ing to relive scenes from that 1970s schlock­buster, Attack of the Killer Toma­toes. (It was a movie so awful you had to love it, and it had the added bonus of being filmed right here, in San Diego, much of it in Mis­sion Val­ley, not more than 3–4 miles from my house. Imag­ine a hor­ror flick where the evil ele­ments are lit­tle toma­toes that jump up and go after the jugu­lar of the per­son prepar­ing to put them in his salad. Lots of tomato juice was spilled in that flick but all in the name of a ridicu­lous plot line. Unfor­tu­nately, all that seems a lit­tle sickly pre­scient these days when peo­ple are being advised against eat­ing toma­toes for fear of sal­mo­nella poisoning…)

My tomato prob­lem began with two plants from the gar­den cen­ter, the heir­loom Mr. Stripey, show in the back of the photo, and the ubiq­ui­tous mod­ern hybrid Early Girl, which is shown in the front, a week after I’d already chopped a third of the plant. Both are inde­ter­mi­nate vines, which means they keep grow­ing and grow­ing through­out their short life spans. The good con­se­quence of that is that they con­tinue to bear fruit for months. The bad is that they can grow out of control–I mea­sured Mr. Stripey and he’s already eight feet across and four high, and this at the start of only June! There are tomato cages in that pic­ture, but can you seem them?

One les­son learned out of all this is that toma­toes can respond to too much water by grow­ing like crazy, while not nec­es­sar­ily pro­duc­ing any more fruit. These two mon­sters were planted in the “guilty plea­sure” flower bed, where some higher water-use trop­i­cal neces­si­tate water­ing more fre­quently than I would in a veg­etable gar­den. You can restrict size of the plants some­what by reduc­ing the watering–or by prun­ing shears.

A cou­ple months ago I’d writ­ten about sav­ing seeds from Chero­kee Pur­ple, that ugli­est and most tasty of tomato vari­eties. Those trans­plants so far are a lot bet­ter behaved. The one below is only about four­teen inches tall and two feet across, and it’s been bloom­ing for three weeks–But then again small and well behaved is how the killer pair in the orna­men­tal bed started. At least Chero­kee Pur­ple has a rep­u­ta­tion for bal­anc­ing plant size with pro­duc­tiv­ity and high fruit quality.

Cherokee Purple tomato plant

If the plants don’t over­run the gar­den this should be a ban­ner tomato year, and I’m already get­ting ready to whip up salsa, cap­rese sal­ads and plates of fresh toma­toes dressed lightly with basil and olive oil and a lit­tle salt. In the mean­time I’ll be stand­ing guard with the shears.

June 13 2008 12:34 pm | Categories: my garden | Tags:

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