Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven ...

I’ve been working away through my Sweet 100s. I started back in July, when I popped the first of these cherry tomatoes in my mouth as I walked by one morning. Then it began.

I tried to keep up as they ripened but within a few days I had to begin daily picking to stay ahead. After picking the ripe ones, 10 minutes later there were a dozen more. They were ripening faster than I could pick them, turning red faster than a yellow light. It became a disposal problem. I had to begin sharing with friends and neighbours. After a few offerings, they began to appear less enthusiastic when asked to take more.

Meanwhile, the Mortgage Lifter tomatoes have been ripening alongside the cherry tomatoes. I’ll soon be approaching strangers on the street. These tomatoes are said to have been developed in the 1920s by Willam Estler of Barboursville, West Virginia. It’s said he was so successful, he was able to pay off the mortgage by selling the plants; however, there are other claims for similar varieties of these beefsteak types developed in the Depression years, including one from M.C. “Radiator Charlie” Byles, also of West Virginia.

These monsters aren’t nearly as sweet as the cherry tomatoes, but when they reach the size of a baseball they’re perfect for hamburgers. One is enough for a family of four barbecue, and one plant will easily provide enough for a family reunion.

I’m not an aficionado. As long as they ripen and taste like a tomato, I’ll grow and eat any kind. I’ve no interest in growing all of the 3,000 varieties of heirloom or heritage types cultivated worldwide. I’d still end up with more than I can eat.

I’ve had the same problem with zucchini, relieved somewhat because one of four plants that was supposed to be a yellow variety turned out to be yellow, all right, but not zucchini. I realized something was amiss when large yellow eggs began appearing across the path in the kale section of the garden. I was unsure what they were at first, but after they rapidly expanded it was clear I’d planted a mislabelled spaghetti squash. As for the kale, they’re the size of small shrubs, and the basil alongside them decided this was the year to outrace the lettuce. It bolted ahead — literally — faster than I could pinch off the developing flowers.

Over in the root vegetable corner, carrots and parsnips have sprouted lots of lush foliage, which I’m hoping is an indication of a bountiful crop. The carrots are from a packet of mixed heirloom seeds that I discovered while pecking at seed racks back in early spring. They’re supposed to produce a range of colours — white, red, orange, yellow and purple — not all on the same carrot, of course.

I don’t have to worry about digging up the parsnips yet, or carrots. I leave them in the ground to let them sweeten. Cover them with leaves or straw, hope for a deep snow cover, and they can be harvested in winter, provided you don’t have to shovel a long path to reach them. Too far and it’s “Nah, I’ll open a can of peas.”

Despite the vagaries of summer weather — drought to deluge, depending on where your garden is — it’s been a good year in my vegetable garden. Everything has grown well, and nothing has been troubled much by insects and disease. Success, however, presents the challenge of what to do with the bounty. It has to be eaten, stored, frozen or canned, and that’s a whole other topic. I only grow the stuff.

Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred. Can I quit now? •••

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