The Good Mother Stallard beans I was telling you about just a few short, hot weeks ago have climbed way over the iron structure I naively gave them to run. Likewise, I expect to come out any day now and find that the tomatoes have completely scrambled out of their cages. It amazes me every year that from such a tiny, seemingly inconsequential and often ignored seed comes such giant, fruitful, lively plants. And so the fact that my garden resembles some kind of gnarly, out of control swamp monster is a happy problem, I assure you.
In this rambly garden in the middle of Fauquier Ave, along with the runner beans, there are Yellow Indian Woman and Rio Zape shelling beans, which are (thankfully) more compact varieties, two kinds of rascally cukes which are climbing the garden fence as well as the tomato cages, some (rather well behaved) horseradish, sunflowers for the birds and marigolds to discourage aphids (though the traffic on either side of the garden may very well be serving the same purpose.)
There are 14 tomato plants in all. Most are mystery cultivars, since they were either left orphaned on my porch or purchased from the farmers market late in the season, having been shuffled back and forth so many times from farm to market and back again as to have lost their sineage. I don't care. I love all tomatoes and usually am up for an adventure or two.
At this point, the mysteries of their identities are somewhat revealed, though not necessarily named. I do know that there are Brandywines, (as their leaves are distinctly different than the rest of the lycopersicum species) red and yellow cherries, red pears and even some Romas for drying and canning. There are still one or two plants that remain a mystery, but I am sure we will appreciate them none the less. Happy high summer, y'all!