Opinion > Columnists > Randy Scholfield

Posted on Fri, Aug. 29, 2008

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Sing praises of homegrown tomatoes

Ain't nothin' in the world that I like better

Than bacon and lettuce and homegrown tomatoes

Up in the mornin,' out in the garden

Get you a ripe one, don't get a hard one.

--from the song "Homegrown Tomatoes," by Guy Clark

This spring and summer, my wife and I have been tending a humble plot of earth at the Hilltop Community Garden.

And while we've harvested some carrots and spinach and whatnot, that was never the object of our garden quest.

We've now arrived at the reason for the season.

I'm talking about homegrown tomatoes.

We've been at the peak of tomato harvest for several weeks now, and I don't want it to end. Just like I don't want summer to end.

But I know it must. So I'm going to take a big bite out of these waning tomato days.

Gazing at the jumbled pile of red- and pink-hued ripening love apples now gracing our kitchen counter, I am about as close as I will ever come to knowing true fulfillment as a human being.

Let me quickly admit that I'm no green thumb. In fact, a whiff of tragedy hangs over many of my gardening pursuits, especially tomatoes.

They'll break your heart.

Despite an encouraging green start, and Early Girl promise, our tomato plants invariably turn up blotched and sickly, with end rot and yellowed skeletal arms, looking like something that should be quarantined by the Centers for Disease Control.

But this year, Mother Nature mostly gave us a pass.

I don't have to tell you that homegrown tomatoes bear no resemblance to the bland, balsa-woodlike texture of modern grocery tomatoes, imported from Mexico and who knows where.

These are juicy, pulpy, at once sweet and earthy.

We've been slicing and dicing them. Making BLTs. Making more BLTs. Throwing them into eggs and salads and popping cherry tomatoes into our mouths on the run.

To my mind, only watermelon rivals this for seasonal eating.

Plant 'em in the spring, eat 'em in the summer

All winter without 'em's a culinary bummer

I forget all about the sweatin' and diggin'

Every time I go out and pick me a big one.

The Hilltop Community Garden was once a vacant lot and dumping ground in this low-income neighborhood.

Several years back, neighborhood groups and residents reclaimed it, turning it into a community garden -- where, for a ridiculously small fee, gardeners get a nice plot and share shovels and hoes and tillers. It's a great deal.

Today, it's sustained by people not just from Hilltop but throughout the city.

They come here because it's a wonderful place, full of colorful themed plots, neighborly people and shady nooks to kick back and watch the birds and the world go by.

Our garden neighbors are two nuns from India who have transformed their once-bare plot into a lush forest of okra and climbing bean vines.

Sometimes they're working in their plot when we're there, and they smile and wave shyly. One day, when Karla and I were marveling at their long, Indian-style green beans, they picked a sackful and gave it to us. And offered to show us how to cook curry.

Sharing food, chatting with neighbors, loafing around the garden -- isn't that what summer should be about?

It's good to see other urban community gardens taking root in Wichita.

A recent Eagle article profiled a Wichita woman, Susan Schoket, who has turned an empty lot on South Main into a thriving garden. She's planted several other community gardens in neighborhoods that could use some greenery and cheap food and hope.

You grow, girl.

As someone who has worked trying to start community gardens, I know it's not easy. Some community gardens don't make it and wither away. Others thrive.

But they can be great places to grow self-sufficiency and community.

And, yes, tomatoes.

In this instant gratification society, homegrown tomatoes remind us that some of the best things in life still come only with toil, patience and in their own good time.

Amid all the economic and health jitters of late, with food prices soaring and periodic contamination scares from imported tomatoes and other garden-variety terrorists, it's reassuring to have some food that you can vouch for, give away and even sing about.

OK, all together now:

Homegrown tomatoes, homegrown tomatoes

What'd life be without homegrown tomatoes

Only two things that money can't buy

That's true love and homegrown tomatoes.

Randy Scholfield is an Eagle editorial writer. His column appears on Fridays. Reach him at 316-268-6545 or rscholfield@wichitaeagle.com.