Cherry (tomato) jubilee

With the May long weekend comes the return of the Gabriola “farmer’s” market. I put farmer’s in quotes because, as I once explained to Morag, unless you’re making healing crystal soup or tie-die salad, the market’s selection of actual produce is underwhelming. (And, yes, for those who’ve never been to Gabriola, there is indeed a definite new age/hippie element on the island.) In late May there is, however, one stall not to be missed: Lovely Linda, the tomato queen. I don’t know what mojo this tiny Thai woman mixes with her tomatoes, but they are the best.

I faff around a bit too much this morning, playing Wordscraper and, oh, I don’t know what else. Before I know it, it’s almost noon. Yikes. The market closes at one and Linda may have already sold out. Jump in the car, drive down to market.

And there, amidst all the crystal crap is Linda, her stall still populated with tomato plants. But are any of them cherry tomatoes? (I only really like cherry tomatoes.) Yes! There are still cherry tomatoes left, some already flowering. How many do I want, she asks. Four, I say. No, bugger it, let’s have six. We load them on a tray, I hand over my cash.

“Here,” she says, picking up another, smaller tomato plant. “This is different cherry tomato, also very sweet. Only one left. You have it.” Bonus.



Come home, plant tomatoes. Clap hands in gleeful anticipation. (One of the few successes I’ve had in this project is crops of cherry tomatoes, so I’m not worried about these beauties.)



Decide I might as well plant another row of peas while I’m out here. First row planted coming along nicely (as, apparently, are beets, squash, courgette and strawberries). Hurrah for Krys and Glenn and raised bed and top soil!

Even though there’s been more than enough rain recently (really, more than enough), figure I should give cherry tomatoes a good soak. While I’m at it, might as well do the rest of the garden.

Oh, my god, what’s this I see?



The new blueberry plant – bought to replace the one that died over winter – which was bursting with fruit last week, is obviously on its last legs.

NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nothing is supposed to die this year. NOTHING. This is supposed to be THE year. How can this be? Didn’t they like one another? Did they have a fight? Is the one on the right a notorious predator?

Check labels. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Both bushes are Blue Ray, so no cross-pollination. (What an idiot. Why didn’t I check this before?) But is this really enough to lead to such immediate fratricide? Or, perhaps more appropriately, sororicide? Sadly, I hope so, as the only other answer to the mystery is that I am some sort of homicidal (botanicidal?) maniac gardener and that solution simply will not do.

Perhaps a gin and tonic in the anti-gravity chair to recover?