Touching God

I'm not a normal gardener. A tingling warmth radiated through my whole body. As the seeds were separated and anchored to the moist soil with a toothpick, the sensations increased. Touching the seeds and all of their glorious potential was like touching God.

The seeds were from 2013, salvaged from the summer before we sold our house in Portland and moved to Bend. Tomatoes had been cut. A few of their juicy seeds had been spread on a swatch of paper towel and left to dry. The tomato names were marked on the corner. These precious seeds of my most favorite tomatoes were now in my hand. A dozen or so seeds were torn off the scrap of towel (saving a few) and the extra layer of paper was removed. With the towel folded seeds-inward, they would be protected for the next step: nine minutes under my tongue. The seeds hydrated with my saliva. They are gathering my DNA information. Nine minutes is enough time to remember the beauty and bounty of their last harvest, the zinging flavor, the vibrant color, the magnificent blessing of the Divine in tomato form. And I prayed. After the allotted time, I stood outside, seeds now in my hands and held up to the sky to receive their time/date stamp. Two more notes for the seeds as they launch into their life: my breath and being cupped in the energy of my hands. These seeds now know more about me than I do about myself, and they are ready to be planted and to grow to be of superb service to my body. (Will not water the seeds for three days, giving them time to completely absorb my information.)

Waiting now for the seeds to stretch out their knowing into leaves and roots.

It has been several long years since I've partnered with the Divine in planting my tomatoes. When I was finished, I could barely speak, having felt the hand of God moving through me and blessing the harvest to come.

This is an experiment recommended for you to try at home! May you be blessed!

(The above planting ideas came from Ringing Cedars of Russia  by Vladamir Megre'.)

Tomatoes on the Water

Not from my Bend garden, but a gift!

Scripture says cast your bread.  I know what it means. But all these many years when my garden was plump with a variety of ripe tomatoes, I've been giving them away to friends--casting them on the water, so to speak.  Tomato plants went as well.

Loading up

So when asked the other day about where all the bounty of tomatoes came from, I had to say it was a long story.  The shortest version is that a friend had too many and was willing and able to drive three hours to Bend where I live.  The fact that she was coming anyway does not discount the gift.  It merely reinforces the perfection of the timing.

The first seven out of the hot-water bath.

To have nearly 80 pounds of lovely tomatoes delivered to your tomatoless household is bliss beyond words.  

Forget the bread.  Just give whatever it is you'd like to received. It will come back to you when you are in want of it.

Ratatouille

Tooth marks and the tit bit off

No skins in ratatouille

They don't like the peelings. Bet you never knew that. When the little rats (read "big, well-fed with sleek coats"), decided to take on my tomato patch, they taught me a thing or two. No skins, and the Rapreco Paste tomatoes are first choice. Galina, a pretty, little yellow cherry is least preferred. Jeune Flamme', a medium orange lovely, is somewhere in between.

Garden "udder" of juicy goodness

While the furry little critters are "adorable" in a Pixar movie, my fondness for any sort of rat is rapidly slipping away.  But when I think of the food view these rodents have in the garden, I do have to chuckle.  Rapreco Paste tomatoes grow a very pointed end.  From down under, it must look like a giant red udder with dozens of tempting red tits hanging down, begging for a nip from critters with elegant and discerning taste.

Tempting titters

Checking the eggplant was part of the harvesting Things I get to do today.  No tooth marks there or on the garlic, onions, basil, peppers or parsley.  This low-class band of thieves must be working on a one-ingredient version of the dish.

All Gone

The tomatoes are gone.  Out of respect, Things I get to do today will include observing a moment of silence and reflection for their magnificent presence this past summer and fall.











Here is the photo documentation of the last two, before they were sliced in half and put on the top of our Salmon Salad for dinner last night.

Picked green when the weather turned cold several months ago,
these two plucky little tomatoes were able to produce color and flavor
by December 13.  Good work, Jaune Flamme'

Until next summer:  Thanks for the delicious memories, the extravagant flavors, and all the sensuous, warm orbs gathered in the afternoon sun.  I love you.

Start with a Pink Bucket

1.  Equipment: Potting soil, newspaper,
wine bottle with straight sides.

It's been going on for days.  When the seedlings from the indoor nursery have moved to the outdoor greenhouse play pen and begin to get their legs, it's time for their own pot.

2. Take a section of the newspaper, cut off the fold (paper cutter
is great), cut the sheet in half vertically so your resulting
sheets are about 5 1/2 x 23".  Wrap paper around the bottom
end of the wine bottle covering about 3" of the bottle.

I'm such a tender-hearted fool.  Not one of all the seeds stuffed into one tomato-seed hole failed to take hold.  And who am I to cut them off after such valiant effort?  Not me.

3. You want enough paper hanging over to fold/moosh into the
center cavity to "secure" the bottom.  Gently slide out the bottle.

The arithmetic tells the story: planning on 9 Oregon Spring Bush tomato plants--9 holes times 4 seeds equals 36.  And that is the way it went for nearly all the seeds I started. So I've been potting up tomatoes, cucumbers, zinnias, eggplant and peppers--114 all together--I just counted them.  It's taken days to settle them all in.

4. Quickly add a generous scoop of soil before the paper
changes its mind and decides to be flat again.

A meditative process, it is, scooping out the little clump of plants, talking to them sweetly and tugging gently to separate them from each other, then tucking them snugly into their new homes.  And that is where the rub comes: new homes for 114 plants!  Don't think I've ever had that many little pots to reuse--maybe if I'd saved them for ten years, but I haven't.

5. Add your seedling, more soil to snuggle it in.  Press it down
to remove air cavities around the roots.  Water lightly.

Here's where the straight wine bottle is a huge help.  First you drink whatever is left in the bottle.  Then, if you are able, follow the rest of the instructions--the pictures will help no matter what state you are now in.

6. These lettuce boxes hold six plants nicely and help keep the
sides of the pots moist.  WARNING:  this type of pot dries out
 rather quickly.  Keep an eye on them and water as needed.

 You really must begin with a pink bucket.

From Nursery to Play Pen

Cucumbers stretching out their second set of leaves

My, my! Don't they grow up fast! Every parent has probably thought their babies matured faster than average at some point.  No exceptions here.

"Galina" tomatoes headed toward 5th & 6th leaves

I was away for the weekend visiting my real baby who is now 27.  And while I was not looking, the plant nursery exploded.  It turns out that the first of the Things I get to do today now that I'm back at home is move the babies from the nursery into the play pen.

Baby pale-yellow sunflower--can you see its shining face?

There is a bit of high overcast sun today so their first day exposed to its light is soft and gentle.  Nervous first-time-this-spring mother that I am, all the rest of the things I get to do today will come between checking and rechecking on how the little ones are liking their baby steps.

Playpen with happy babies airing in the sun

Making Babies: The Blessed Event

Still, still, my beating heart.  After waiting nearly a week, I sneak into the nursery to see if any babies have yet peeked out of their compost beds.  And there, there are tomatoes coming up--slender leaves tied at the top with the seed husk, pointy green leaves spread wide.

This sunflower sprout knows everything about
becoming a pale yellow beauty

A juicy, tender cucumber in its early stages

These seeds were not too old, of course, just last year's packet.  And for several days nearly all the Things I get to do today revolve around checking for yet one more healthy baby to pop out of the soil in its own way: slender, thread-necked tomatoes, chunky-necked cucumbers, plump-necked sunflowers.

Righteous Red Zinnia

Seeds that are six-years old are showing green leaves and white necks, and I am thrilled.  So much life is still in that little brown speck--the wisdom to make a huge plant with dozens of tomatoes.














My heart beats in appreciation for this miracle--the miracle of birth and resurrection.

Making Babies: Planting

You have to have seeds if you are going to plant them.  Duh!  Well, maybe you could have figured that out, but it certainly caught me by surprise.  Things I get to do today said, "plant warmth-needing seeds," and I had not bothered to buy any.  I didn't even really know for sure what types I wanted to start.

In a bit of a dither, I shuffled through the stack of seed catalogs until the most familiar name appeared.  Page after page were filled with mouth-watering descriptions of the finest growies on earth.  I circled and checked far more than my garden could hold.  Finally, my wits crept back to me, and I thought of checking my left-over seeds from last season.



Amazing!  There in my hands were several packets of certainly-cannot-live-without-this-one seeds I had just circled in the catalog--even the same company.  Now this mama was really excited.  Rummaging through the backlog of seed packets produced everything I needed for the nursery starts: tomatoes (7 kinds), eggplant, sweet peppers, cucumbers (3 types), basil, a pale yellow sunflower and zinnias (big, brilliant red ones).

Little cribs in a nursery row

I planted all my old seeds--some from as far back as 2006--in sifted compost that I sterilized in our outdoor gas grill. Don't even think about doing it in your oven.

Lids to my baby "cribs" had labels that would shade
the young starts.  Pour very warm water over the plastic
underside of the label to soften the adhesive.
Makes removal quite easy.

Seed cribs with soft, compost mattresses and cozy, clear covers promise to grow very happy, healthy babies.  Now we wait (continued tomorrow).

Chicken Tomatoes

My hens don't lay tomatoes.  They lay just the regular yellow-yoke and clear-white eggs.  The yokes are actually orange because they eat so much green grass, but that's another story.

We had our first real frosty night on Halloween.  Costumes on the skimpy side had blue people inside no matter what the theme of the outfit.  It seems to happen that way every year.

Sad looking tomatoes gone over the hill

 Mini candy bars and Halloween aside, the frost means that I'm late in taking care of the tomato vines and the remaining red, cracked, orange, pale-yellow and green tomatoes.  So my helpers in the hen pen are thrilled about the Things I get to do today.  As I clean up the beds and make a collection of tomatoes that may ripen in the house, I'm also filling a bucket with all the others for the sweet-singing gals.   The best treat for the sweeties in the feather outfits is "chicken tomatoes."

Trick-or-treaters who showed up at my place.

Cozy, stunning costume with a pink chicken inside

Chicken Candy