A few mornings ago when I looked down from my bedroom window I saw two male goldfinches clinging to the spikes of tiny, pale lavender flowers in the catnip patch below, daintily pecking at the blossoms. I grew the catnip plants from seed last year and they got a couple of feet tall. This year they are almost four feet tall and when their flowers blossomed they became one of the busiest parts of the garden for bumblebees and butterflies.

This evening I went out to check on the patty pans squashes, which are next to my flower patch where I planted zinnias I grew from seed this year. A little golden flash darted up from a purple blossom to perch on a forsythia branch. Then I saw his friend — life partner? — another male goldfinch clinging to the blossom of a Burpee Purple Prince zinnia. I don’t have close-ups of these flowers because none of them have looked good enough to bother photographing, since they were missing petals. And then, as the goldfinch hung onto the zinnia stalk and worked over the blossom, I was delighted to see why my flowers look so tattered — he was pulling off the petals! I couldn’t tell whether he was eating them or flushing out bugs for his dinner. After awhile he spotted me and then he and his friend darted off to a hickory tree in the backyard.

As for the patty pans squashes, their broad leaves droop a bit when the sun is bright and hot but they perked up as the sun was setting.

Most of the heirloom tomato plants are doing well and I picked some of the first ripe cherry tomatoes this morning from Wild Cherry and Galina’s Yellow Cherry. Berkeley Tie-Dye is not going to make it — I think tomorrow I will replace it with a pot of marigolds that have been looking for a home. Dr. Wyche, one of the Galina’s and Virginia Sweets all have suffered chompage from the deer. When it rains and the ground gets soft, I’ll be able to drive the stakes in my deer fence more firmly into the ground and then I can make the tape taut again, the way it’s supposed to be. Until then, I’ll have to use anti-deer spray.

Late this afternoon I planted seven kinds of basil: Genovese basil aka basil, large leaf Italian basil, mammoth basil, Siam Queen (Thai) basil, cinnamon basil, lemon basil and lime basil. What? I like basil. And it is particularly scrumptious with heirloom tomatoes.

I remember the first time I saw herb plants could come in so many variations was on a class trip from my high school to the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. They had a shop with basils and mints in several flavors and somehow that electrified me. In my senior year — 1971 — I begged my father to take me and a friend to the Flower Mart in Baltimore. I saw more varieties of basils and mints there, which interested me more than the flowers, although I would not get to grow them myself until 37 years later.

Another memory I have of Baltimore’s Flower Mart is a distinctive treat they sold — lemons with one end cut off and a thick, porous peppermint stick inserted so you could suck out the lemon juice through its vertical holes. I had to try one to see what the fuss was all about and found that peppermint sticks, however porous, are frustrating straws and don’t really sweeten the lemon juice that much.

BTW, the friend who went with me to the Flower Mart was Joan Ellis, who beat me for the role of Aldonza in our senior musical, Man of La Mancha, after I told her, like an idiot, to lose the Spanish accent for her second audition. In 1978 Joan created the role of Shy in Best Little Whorehouse in Texas for which she was nominated for a Tony.

I also planted parsley and coriander this afternoon. A few days ago I planted six patty pans squashes, which are my father’s favorite squash. I’ve gotten my 15-gallon tomato containers lined up on the lawn and labeled, with a corresponding map of what is going where on an 11 x 17 pad of graph paper. The next step is to test the soil, add the necessary amendments — which will be a combination of calcium, Miracle Gro potting mix, pine bark mulch and Perlite (the latter two are to ensure the tomato plant roots get enough air) — and then I will put up my deer fence.

The deer fence is black plastic ribbon about 5/8-inch wide that I wrap around stakes that are about six-to-eight feet apart at a height of about 30 inches. I put two sturdy stakes a few feet apart to act as a door — the ribbon there can be tied and untied. It works pretty well because I can spray the tape with anti-deer spray so they tend to move on to better-smelling plants and if the smell doesn’t work, they can’t see it very well in the dark so it freaks them out when they walk into it. The most delicate time for my tomato garden, deer-wise, is when I first put the plants in the containers because if they eat the growing tip of the plant, it can’t grow or won’t recover very fast, depending on how much it was chomped, so I’ve learned to replace it immediately with one of my back-up plants.

When the soil in the containers is ready and the deer fence is up, then I will plant all the tomato plants. The planting goes quickly — it’s the preparation that takes time.

I’ll take photos tomorrow and post some of them to show my progress. After I finished planting the basil and parsley, it was so breezy and cool just before sunset that I had Dad come out and sit on the porch for awhile just to enjoy seeing the wind in the trees and how everything looked crisp and sparkling after the rain this afternoon. Beauregard and Remington also came out to inspect their catnip patch near the front porch. I grew the plants from seed last year and this year they are flourishing, much to the satisfaction of the puss population.

Note: I started writing this post late on Sunday, June 6, so “today” means June 6, even though I didn’t publish the post until almost 1 am on June 7.

Sliced heirloom beefsteak tomatoes and a bowl of heirloom cherry tomatoes, all from the container garden of Cynthia Yockey from 2007.

The little red cherry tomatoes are called Wild Cherry, or Matt’s Wild Cherry — they are one of my must-grows. The lone yellow cherry is my other cherry must-grow, Galina’s Yellow Cherry. The dusky ones are Black Cherry. The yellow-orange ones that look like cat’s eye sapphires are Isis Candy.

In the plate of sliced tomatoes, the green ones on both sides are Aunt Ruby’s German Green. The red ones on the left with the pink tag are Stump of the World (a religious reference to Jesus). The pink ones on the left with the yellow tag are Prudens Purple. The red ones on the left are both categorized as black tomatoes: Carbon in the front and Cuban Black in the back with the green tag.

Beefsteak heirloom tomatoes from the garden of Cynthia Yockey: Brandywine Platfoot strain (orange), Cuostralee (red, ruffled, center front), Off the Vine Brandywine (red baseball-size, front and center), Carbon (second from right), Brandwine Sudduth's strain (pink, far right -- my favorite), Pruden's Purple (above the Brandywine Sudduth's strain), and I think the purple ones at the top right with the spiral cracking are all Cherokee Purple. I think the green and yellow ones are Aunt Ruby's German Green. The yellow one on the right is probably Spark's Yellow.

The average time from planting to ripe tomatoes for the varieties I choose is 80 days. Thanks to you, gentle readers, I was able to buy the supplies I need to plant my heirloom tomatoes this year — so you will be rewarded with lots of heirloom tomato pr0n. In a few minutes, I’ll go outside to bring the rest of my containers to the front yard. The next step is to create my deer fence, if the ground is soft enough to drive in the stakes. If not, I’ll start getting the soil in the containers mixed.

Last summer was the first my tomatoes didn’t prosper. The weather then was not good for tomatoes — too cloudy — but I did some research last week and I think the real problem is that the soil had compacted in the containers and the plants couldn’t thrive because they weren’t getting enough air. I unwittingly did the same thing to my transplanted seedlings, some of which were put into potting mix from last year that was very compacted. I could not figure out why those seedlings were pale and not growing like the others — but as soon as I squished the cups they were in to loosen the potting mix, they began to send out leaves and thrive. I’ll show pictures sometime this week. The garden supplies I was able to purchase thanks to the donations of my dear gentle readers should ensure that this year the tomatoes will have the air and nutrition they need to thrive — I thank you, and the plants thank you!

This is my heirloom tomato seed-starting set-up -- the photo is from 2008. The plant light that adjusts using two posts at either end is in front. Behind it is the shop light hanging from a chain over two garment racks.

I finished transplanting my heirloom tomato seedlings yesterday — 130 plants, 16 varieties. Tomato plants do better when they are transplanted to bigger cups once or twice before they are finally planted in the garden.

I was surprised I had not paid enough attention to how leggy my tomato seedlings were. “Leggy” means the stalk is very thin and tall with lots of distance between the sets of leave. It happens when the plant is reaching for light because it’s not getting enough. I finally realized that the plants that didn’t do well were under a special plant light I purchased from an online seed company because it had a stand that made it easy to raise and lower the four-foot-long fluorescent fixture. The plants I had under a shop light jury-rigged with chains adjusted by S-hooks over a couple of cheap garment racks did much better. Both fixtures had full-spectrum fluorescent tubes in them. The bottom line is that the 72-cell seed-starting kits I use need four full-spectrum bulbs, which I can get with two shop lights, instead of the two bulbs in the special plant light, which is the same width as the kits.

I’m also growing flowers and herbs. I have Burpee Purple Prince zinnias, which are lovely, and a mix of yellow and red zinnias. With room under the plant lights now the tomato plants are in their new cups — I use tall plastic drinking cups from the grocery store and cut a drainage cross in the bottom — I’ll start some yellow marigolds and bachelor’s buttons, which are blue, next. Let’s just say the front yard will be both eccentric — from the tomato plants and herbs in containers — and colorful — from the flowers — for the next six months.

Oh, yes, and the herbs! The oregano I had in a 15-gallon container came back and is thriving. I planted more  this year, but I may give those plants away since the other ones are doing so well. Oregano has lovely little purple flowers and is a pretty plant. I also have more catnip seedlings for the kitties, although the ones I planted last year also are doing very well. And there’s parsley — the curly-leaf type is a showy plant that lasts well into the fall.

I also have several types of basil: mammoth basil, large leaf basil, Siam Queen basil, cinnamon basil, lemon basil and lime basil. The bees love the small white basil flowers! And, yes, I know I have to pinch off the flowers to keep the plant from going to seed so I can continue to harvest the delicious leaves. But at a certain point in the summer, I just give the basil over to the bees because they love it so much!

Berkeley Tie-Dye, Black and Brown Boar, Tiacolula Ribbed, Dr. Wyche, Ernie's Plump, Earl of Edgecombe and other heirloom tomatoes from my garden in 2008.

UPDATED 3/17/2010 — scroll down for the additional material.

The seeds I ordered from Bradley Gates of Wild Boar Farms for some of the amazing and delicious varieties of open-pollinated tomatoes that he developed  arrived today! I know I called them “heirloom tomatoes” in the headline, and in 45 or so years they will be. Open-pollinated tomatoes breed true and are deemed heirloom varieties if they are at least 50 years old.

I was first attracted to Bradley Gates’s tomatoes by the name, “Berkeley Tie-Dye.” You can see it in my photo above — it’s the big tomato that looks, well, tie-dyed. The smaller one that looks tie-dyed also was developed by Brad and is called “Black and Brown Boar.” These are delicious tomatoes and I love their arresting appearance.

I don’t usually part with my heirloom tomato secrets, but I will tell you that you can now buy Berkeley Tie-Dye, Black and Brown Boar and Brad’s other rare and yummy tomatoes directly from Wild Boar Farms online if you have a PayPal account. (Brad has sold out of Brad’s Black Heart — the only other commercial source I know of is TomatoFest.)

And here is Brad himself to teach you how to plant the seeds — tomatoes are the easiest plant to grow from seed and they are ready to plant within six-to-eight weeks of sprouting:

Now take a stroll through Brad’s “tomato forest” of Brandywine tomato plants at his farm — I am in awe:

When I had a sunny bedroom and patio, I was able to start tomato seeds easily with just the seed-starting “green houses” I bought at the hardware store. I don’t have that kind of sunshine in my father’s house, so now I use a grow light and seed-starting mat.

By the way, Burpee has come out with a hybrid tomato variety it’s calling “Tye-Dye.” Do not confuse the Burpee hybrid with any of the tomatoes from Wild Boar Farms.

And for a bonus, my favorite beefsteak tomato is Brandywine, Sudduth’s strain and my favorite cherry tomatoes are Galina’s Yellow Cherry and Wild Cherry (aka Matt’s Wild Cherry). Another unusual tomato I love is Orange Russian 117, which is shaped like a giant yellow-and-orange striped strawberry. These are all available from Tomato Grower’s Supply. The only tomato I’ve found so far with a flavor that rivals Brandywine, Sudduth’s strain — and believe me, I’ve been on a mission — is Prue, which can be ordered from from Skyfire Seeds (which also has several varieties of basil) and Gleckler’s Seedsmen.

If you prefer ordering heirloom tomato plants rather than seeds, my favorite source of heirloom tomato plants is Darrel Jones at Selected Plants. He’s the best and he takes enormous care with his plants and with shipping them.

Oh, and as Obi’s Sister found out the hard way last year: Mr. Stripey is one of the most commonly available heirloom tomato plants from your local nursery or big box store, but it is more of a cruel trick/hazing ritual than a tomato. I believe it is sold to discourage the uninitiated from straying from the hybrid path forever more. The tomatoes it produces — if you get any — are large and beautiful, but usually are so bland that they don’t seem worth the effort.

P.S. Dear Attila — you can find Camp Joy tomato seeds at TomatoFest.

UPDATE, 3/17/2010, Wed.:

Today Instapundit repeats a link to a lovely post on “the inevitable canning backlash” at the cooking blog, Al Dente, by Rebekah Denn, and adds an update with “thoughts on foodie warfare,” from Nick at the blog, Dad in the House. The discussion started with a piece at Slate by Sara Dickerson, who sneers at modern home canners for being too “trendy” because few of them have to can out of necessity as people once had to do. Nick sides with Al Dente, “… I agree with Denn’s justification for wanting to preserve [home canning] essentially as an art-form and on scanty practical grounds.”

And then Nick takes the discussion to the next level, which is why I have added this update:

I am trying to start a garden in part to test some of these philosophies. I want to have it both ways: using traditional skills to get modern ROIs. Is that possible? Hopefully I’ll figure it out.

Growing heirloom varieties of vegetables, grains, fruits and flowers is like canning now because we have the luxury of doing it for reasons other than necessity. Necessity has given us very productive hybrids. But we need the genetic variety that is stored in heirloom plants. The USDA really is not in a position to store all these seeds and keep growing them to maintain seeds fresh enough to germinate.

The United States has the largest and most diverse community of heirloom gardeners in the world preserving these plants by continuing to grow them and save their seeds year after year. The reason other countries do not is that they have laws governing seed companies that make it prohibitively expensive to offer many different seeds. The U.S. is going in that direction with laws requiring seed dealers to pay for licenses, regulations that I think hit hard at the  heirloom hobby gardeners who sell their seeds.

By the way, coveted heirloom tomato varieties are hard to find from commercial seed companies for a number of reasons. Most of the companies selling a decent selection of heirloom seeds are very small and are run by people with a passion. It does not take much bad luck or heartbreak to kill their companies. Plus, their owners do grow old and/or sick and die. Also, growing these plants and preserving their seeds is difficult and exacting work and the results are subject to a great deal of chance. Finally, in order to maintain a competitive edge, few companies carry varieties that their competitors offer.

My grandparents on both sides of my family were farmers. I remember my mamaw’s home in Tennessee with a cast iron stove, a pump at the sink and a well with water that tasted like it came from a bucket of nails. My father, who will be 94 in April, remembers riding an old horse as a child to take water to his father and the men working the field. Their lives on the farm were hard. They farmed and gardened and canned from necessity. Now we can garden and can from love, self-expression, creativity, joy. Good.

I spent the afternoon taking down my heirloom tomato garden, which is in containers on our front yard. The garden is in containers because it would have been very expensive to landscape an in-ground garden and the soil isn’t good because when this house was built, it was the practice to scrape off the topsoil, so what we have left is yellowish and rocky. The containers go in the front yard because tomatoes need at least six-to-eight hours of direct sun every day and only the front yard gets that much sun. Plus, there are no HOA rules or zoning regulations to stop me.

I had almost 40 varieties of heirloom tomatoes this year with 80-ish plants, plus patty pans squashes, which my father loves, basil, lime basil, lemon basil, oregano and coriander. I grow my plants from seed, so I’ll have about six-or-eight weeks off until is is time, in early January, to start making my list of tomatoes for my 2010 garden. I will include lots of cherry tomatoes in a rainbow of colors for my father. I plant them by the side of the walkway and driveway so he can sample as many as he wants when he goes out to get the mail or the newspaper.

By taking down the tomato cages and pulling the plants, I am reducing the time it will take this weekend when my tomato-friendly neighbors will help me cart the containers to their winter home in the back yard, where the squirrels and deer won’t mind them. Plus, the weather today was irresistible — it was a glorious October day, everything sparkled, the sky was clear and blue and it was so warm I didn’t need a jacket and cool enough that I didn’t need a sweatband — if you need numbers, that’s around 72 F.

The weather is predicted to be glorious again tomorrow, so I will finish taking down the tomato plants and maybe pull up the zinnias and plant some pansies in their place. I should pull the marigolds, too, I gather, but their yellow blossoms are so cheerful and abundant I can’t bring myself to do it.

What this means for the blog is a few days of personal blogging about the garden, cooking and baking, the kitties, songs I like — unless something comes up that absolutely MUST be parodied, mocked or lampooned. Let me know what you think of the change of pace.

It may take me awhile to gather up all the links I want to have in this post as a tribute to Norman Borlaug — Iowahawk has the most touching description of Borlaug’s life:

Norman Borlaug died Saturday [9/12/09] at 95, leaving a humanitarian legacy equaled by few in history. By some estimates his life’s work saved over a billion human beings from starvation. That life work was farming, and it took him from a 106 acre spread outside Cresco to grain fields around the planet.

I didn’t know about Dr. Borlaug until he died. But I would like to mark his passing here for a few reasons. First, his accomplishments were noble and opposed by liberal ideologues who called themselves “progressives,” yet collectively oppose progress like the improvements in plant breeding and farming techniques that Dr. Borlaug developed that allowed Third World nations to avert famine and save their economies by becoming self-sufficient in their food production.

Second, because I want to ask if there any research has been done in the U.S. to see what the requirements are for the U.S. to be self-sufficient in food production and have food to export — is there a minimum amount of land, for example, that we need to reserve for food production and protect from development?

Third, the Democratic Congress enacted legislation a few months ago that requires so much testing for plant illnesses from seed sellers that it will run heirloom and small seed companies out of business and wipe out the U.S. as the last great repository of seed diversity in the world. (I have to look up the links for this.)

My interest in this is that my grandparents on both sides were farmers — on my father’s side, Iowa farmers — and I love to grow heirloom tomatoes, patty pans squash and herbs, such as basil, parsley and oregano. Wiping out the small seed companies, non-profits and individuals who are guarding the genetic diversity of our seed supply is a form of cultural suicide.

I will add more tributes as I find them.