tomato day
Due to a cool start to the summer, our tomatoes took a while to come in. It was mid-June before we had more than a handful to send to market. But they're definitely in now. We have three plantings of tomatoes. The first planting was three 200' beds of hybrids (regular, round, red tomatoes like the ones you see in grocery stores) and a bed of cherry tomatoes. The cherry tomatoes are already finished, and though we're still harvesting the hybrids, it's mostly small fruit now. The second planting of tomatoes is nearing its peak (I hope). It's nine 400' beds total, with one bed of cherries, about three of heirlooms, and about five of hybrids. The third planting is not ready to harvest yet. We harvest large tomatoes on Tuesday and Friday, and cherry tomatoes on Wednesday and Saturday. Today I brought my camera along to document a typical tomato-picking day.
X and I start down the trail to the farm at 5:50 am. It's still quite dark, so I lead the way with my spiderweb stick, waving at any invisible webs that might have been constructed at the height of my face. Down at the farm, we don rainboots and rainpants. Even though it hasn't rained, there is enough dew on the tomato plants to soak our pants and socks. We haven't seen Heinz yet this morning, but it doesn't matter because tomato days always start the same way. We each grab a cart and a stack of ponies (green baskets that hold about 5/8 of a bushel), and head out to the second planting of tomatoes.
X heads to one side of the field to start harvesting the hybrids, while I start with the heirlooms. In spite of all the time spent staking and stringing these plants, the rows are like jungles, with vines underfoot and arching overhead. (my camera seemed to have some issues with bright light this morning)
We harvest and harvest and harvest. The long rows are broken up by several walkouts, so when we've filled a pony, we carry it to the nearest walkout and line it up along the relatively shady west side of the field.
In the photo below, the two ponies on the left are heirlooms, and the one on the right is full of hybrids. Hybrids can stand up to a lot more handling, so we pick them riper and can pile them higher in the ponies. The heirlooms are incredibly delicate when ripe, with skin that can tear if you rub it wrong, so we harvest heirlooms as soon as they begin to change color, and we don't fill the ponies as much.
In the past I've been known to describd heirloom tomatoes as looking somewhat like tumors. I'd like to amend that description. There's a French term that apparently means something like "beautiful-ugly, une jolie-laide, which I think is apt here.
After we finish harvesting, Heinz brings around the tractor and wagon, and loads all of the ponies.
Today in addition to a full wagon, we had three full cartloads with six ponies each. Our most tomatoes yet this summer. It's now 12:30, six and a half hours since we started, and it's time for lunch. I never realized this when growing tomatoes on my back deck, but tomato leaves and stems are covered in some substance that coats your skin. After picking tomatoes, my arm hairs are pale green, and my hands are blackish green with a layer of scum so thick that it cracks around my fingertips. It's hard to wash off, too, requiring several soakings and washings. At lunch, the youngest child looked at me holding my water glass and said, "Seewah, you hans is ditty." But this is about as clean as they get these days:
After lunch, X and I start washing other vegetables while waiting for G to put H down for a nap. When she joins us, we head over to the tomato-sorting room. Here's how it's set up when we sort the hybrids:
At the end of the machine that's back by the wagon, Heinz empties ponies of tomatoes onto a series of rollers covered in brushes, which carry the tomatoes under a spray of water and onto another set of rollers. The furthest tomatoes in this photo are the ones that have just emerged from the washing section. They then pass over the sizing belt, which is the white section with dark holes. Small tomatoes fall through and roll onto the table barely visible to the left. The rest proceed onto the round table where they are sorted into boxes of red and orange (sometimes we have two additional categories: green and extra-ripe). There are ponies on the ground to hold compost and kitchen seconds.
The stacks:
At every step in the process, tomatoes with soft spots or bug bites are discarded and composted. When you add up all the tomatoes we leave in the pathways while harvesting, the ones we pull out when washing and sorting, the ones Heinz pulls out when he re-sorts the boxes on Saturday night, and the ones that are pulled out by the market staff on Sunday, that's a lot of compost.
I'll be making ketchup this weekend.
X and I start down the trail to the farm at 5:50 am. It's still quite dark, so I lead the way with my spiderweb stick, waving at any invisible webs that might have been constructed at the height of my face. Down at the farm, we don rainboots and rainpants. Even though it hasn't rained, there is enough dew on the tomato plants to soak our pants and socks. We haven't seen Heinz yet this morning, but it doesn't matter because tomato days always start the same way. We each grab a cart and a stack of ponies (green baskets that hold about 5/8 of a bushel), and head out to the second planting of tomatoes.
X heads to one side of the field to start harvesting the hybrids, while I start with the heirlooms. In spite of all the time spent staking and stringing these plants, the rows are like jungles, with vines underfoot and arching overhead. (my camera seemed to have some issues with bright light this morning)
We harvest and harvest and harvest. The long rows are broken up by several walkouts, so when we've filled a pony, we carry it to the nearest walkout and line it up along the relatively shady west side of the field.
In the photo below, the two ponies on the left are heirlooms, and the one on the right is full of hybrids. Hybrids can stand up to a lot more handling, so we pick them riper and can pile them higher in the ponies. The heirlooms are incredibly delicate when ripe, with skin that can tear if you rub it wrong, so we harvest heirlooms as soon as they begin to change color, and we don't fill the ponies as much.
In the past I've been known to describd heirloom tomatoes as looking somewhat like tumors. I'd like to amend that description. There's a French term that apparently means something like "beautiful-ugly, une jolie-laide, which I think is apt here.
After we finish harvesting, Heinz brings around the tractor and wagon, and loads all of the ponies.
Today in addition to a full wagon, we had three full cartloads with six ponies each. Our most tomatoes yet this summer. It's now 12:30, six and a half hours since we started, and it's time for lunch. I never realized this when growing tomatoes on my back deck, but tomato leaves and stems are covered in some substance that coats your skin. After picking tomatoes, my arm hairs are pale green, and my hands are blackish green with a layer of scum so thick that it cracks around my fingertips. It's hard to wash off, too, requiring several soakings and washings. At lunch, the youngest child looked at me holding my water glass and said, "Seewah, you hans is ditty." But this is about as clean as they get these days:
After lunch, X and I start washing other vegetables while waiting for G to put H down for a nap. When she joins us, we head over to the tomato-sorting room. Here's how it's set up when we sort the hybrids:
At the end of the machine that's back by the wagon, Heinz empties ponies of tomatoes onto a series of rollers covered in brushes, which carry the tomatoes under a spray of water and onto another set of rollers. The furthest tomatoes in this photo are the ones that have just emerged from the washing section. They then pass over the sizing belt, which is the white section with dark holes. Small tomatoes fall through and roll onto the table barely visible to the left. The rest proceed onto the round table where they are sorted into boxes of red and orange (sometimes we have two additional categories: green and extra-ripe). There are ponies on the ground to hold compost and kitchen seconds.
The stacks:
At every step in the process, tomatoes with soft spots or bug bites are discarded and composted. When you add up all the tomatoes we leave in the pathways while harvesting, the ones we pull out when washing and sorting, the ones Heinz pulls out when he re-sorts the boxes on Saturday night, and the ones that are pulled out by the market staff on Sunday, that's a lot of compost.
I'll be making ketchup this weekend.
Comments
I was starting to worry about you, and then realized you must be crazy busy this time of year. This is amazing. And your photos are beautiful. And your tomatoes are lovely.
There is a soap called Fells Naphtha (sp?) that might help with your hands. On the other hand, there might not be too much point in washing them raw...at least the dirt and callouses protect them.
I'll never forget when I discovered that peach trees are coated in the same fuzz as peaches, except coarser and more irritating...M broke out in hives when I took her. So, I guess it's good that your skin doesn't react to the tomato slime...
What happens to the little tomatoes?