This spring, my tomatoes fell into anarchy. Normally, I'm known as a relentless pruner when it comes to taming that New World beast. But after allowing them to know such freedom, I couldn't bear to give them the mid-summer hacking. Practically speaking, they'd invested so much energy into those skinny, desperate tendrils. I feared cutting into their yield. So, I met them halfway.
The illusion of control.
I strung up what I could, leaving a dense, tangled mass at the bottom of the trellises. And it's a mess in there. Older leaves, yellowed with age, shading out young healthy leaves. None of the air flow I like in my tomato bushes, so I suppose they're more vulnerable to blight. But I've decided to show them a little more respect this year. Let them dream big.
I'm feeling generous after harvesting this very ripe tomato.