Thursday, July 12, 2012

That dirty hippie in my yard

How rude of me to totally not give you the moment by moment account of your Adopted Crop of 2012: the dirty hippie Berkeley Tie Dye tomatoes.


I'm rude.

Meanwhile, also, I'm successfully growing these dirty hippie tomatoes in their weird spot in the landscaping and for whatever reason, their leaves are very lime green.


Lime Greenness.

Almost, mesmerizing and hypnotic in an inexplicable way.


OK, I won't go off on that tangent again, but the color of the plant surprised me. Definitely not all dark green like my other plants.

Oh, and speaking of my *other* plants, The Finny Farm plants that are out in the wild are totally wild.

Like, hey we already have ripe tomatoes on us, wild.

Ingrid's Early Girl
IMQTPI's Stupice

Not sure why all of MY tomatoes that I selfishly kept in my own yard to grow and lord over others have not yet produced a ripe tomato (they inherited their rudeness from moi, apparently), but at least I can take solace in other people's ripening tomatoes.

Sort of.

I'm not real good at that - being happy for other people's ripening tomatoes when I have none. I'm selfish like that.

And also I'm selfish of how muther effing big everyone's tomatoes are getting.

Let us hope that the plants don't decide to turn on the puppy.
In this case, they're just reaching for a beer. Understood.
Monsters, I tell you.
I believe we now call these, Tomato Trees.
It's all very impressive out there. Outside of my garden. Whereas at my house, the situation is pretty good, but not quite as impressive, tomato-wise, which I find to guessed it...rude.

Do not mistake the sunflowers for tomatoes. Even though I like to.
At least these won't EVER be red. Thanks Green Giants for making me feel better about myself.
The Brandywines are painfully slow and also rude.

Thankfully, the cucumbers are really coming to the table this year. Perhaps they can feel my woe with the tomatoes.

Let us console you.

They're even climbing the trellis. Kind of them, really.
So, while I wait super patiently for the tomatoes to come around or at least show the faintest orange tint as a hint that they may ripen this CENTURY GOD COME ON, I've been making pickles.

Not a bad consolation prize.
 Also, salsa verde.

Those who can not be consoled with salsa verde just want to hate.
And I've also been working on a lot of stuff that I'll explain soon under the header, Why Finny's Been So Distant and un-Bloggy This Summer/Year Which Is Super Rude When We Know The Garden Is Totally Growing.

I know.

I've been a bit...distracted. Like I said before, something big is on the horizon and that horizon is getting ever closer.

Soon my friends. And then WATCH THE EFF OUT because WHOA.


  1. You're not pregnant, are you? Cuz that could get in the way of your drinking.

    1. Uh, no. I seriously doubt that I'll ever make *that* announcement. My drinking habits are safe! Hooray! Because I'm going to need them...

  2. If you're having a baby, I'm going to flip my shit! That's totally going to cut into the consumption of liquor. Go ahead, ask me how I know.

    But, if it's not a baby, then it had better be something really new, really shiny, or really expensive (or some combination thereof). Just sayin'.

    1. Your shit is safely unflipped - no babies. However, it's also not really shiny, but I suppose it could be considered really expensive, but not in the HEY I GOT A FERRARI way.

  3. So, my tomatoes don't even have flowers yet. My cucumbers hate me and their own lives because I swear they've committed suicide. Even the BEETS for the love of all things holy have all but stopped growing. Now, do you still want to trash talk your garden?

    I guess I should expect this, given that I live across a body of water from Canada. Zone 4 can eat my shorts.

    1. Oh your poor Zone 4 garden. I see you're not experiencing the massive heat wave shriveling the plants across the continental US.

      It was 100 degrees here the other day. NO ZONE IS SAFE IN THE US NOW.


      Are you greenhousing those tomatoes yet to get some heat going?

  4. You're too funny -- just reading your comments is entertaining. A baby didn't even occur to me, but....

    Anyhoo, that garden looks AWESOME. You're amazing! Can't wait to hear about the next big thing!!!

    1. It didn't occur to you because you know me too well, Anna. Soon...

  5. Finny I am so jealous of your beautiful garden and bounty. PICKLES! SALSA VERDE! TOTALLY ADORABLE PUPPY! Did you trade in Jada? ;)

    P.S. Take the stupid word verification thing off. It always takes me like five tries to get the bleeping thing right.

    1. Bite your tongue missy! Trade in Jada...pfffffffft. This is her neighbor buddy. At the neighbor's house. In front of their giant grown-from-seed-by-moi tomato plants. He is there for scale and cuteness.

      Meanwhile, your wish is my command. I have removed said bleeping captcha. If I'm bombarded with bullshit comments, I'll add it back in, but until then, you are captcha-free.

  6. Jealous of your garden as is, even if others have bigger tomatoes; finally got something out of the garden other than turnip greens today, the first peas of the year. Just for comparison, our cucumber plants are maybe 4 inches tall. Zone 5 kind of sucks too.

  7. Did you get a puppy? Where is Jada?


[2013 update: You can't comment as an anonymous person anymore. Too many douchebags were leaving bullshit SPAM comments and my inbox was getting flooded, but if you're here to comment in a real way like a real person, go to it.]

Look at you commenting, that's fun.

So, here's the thing with commenting, unless you have an email address associated with your own profile, your comment will still post, but I won't have an email address with which to reply to you personally.

Sucks, right?

Anyway, to remedy this, I usually come back to my posts and post replies in the comment field with you.

But, if you ever want to email me directly to talk about pumpkins or shoes or what it's like to spend a good part of your day Swiffering - shoot me an email to finnyknitsATgmailDOTcom.