The 2020 shitshow has extended to my tomato plants. My harvest is deeply underwhelming. I ate my first ones this past week. In September. Everyone else is getting tomatoes at the end of July. I get them in September.
Also – small. Very small. All three plants. And I don’t think it’s just the fact that I’m in a race with the bastard squirrel to harvest them, so I tend to pick as soon as they show any sign of changing color rather than leaving them on the plant to ripen – which would be ideal. I’ve only got 3 tomatoes of normal size. Most are slightly bigger than a cherry when they turn red. Some are cherry size. None are beefsteak size.
The plants seemed to thrive, despite being in a less than ideal sun location. Of the three plants, the volunteer definitely did the best. And honestly has amazeball tasting tomatoes. It’s too bad I don’t know what it is. But I will be saving seed. But even though the plants grew and seem healthy, I think it’s the lack of sufficient sun that is making the harvest so weak.
Despite all of that, I am honestly delighted in my misfits. Eating tomatoes you grow yourself is lovely. They did not live up to my dreams of their harvest, but I have a long record of dreaming one thing and experiencing another, so – not really surprising.