May is Nascar month here in Darlington County. Soon there will be no shortage of mullets, wife-beater tees and trucks with #3 written in large font across the back windshield. Young and old gather for the fastest sport in town and the track is a real beauty. (Too bad those spectators aren't! Haha!)
But with this race there's no checkered flag, there's no revving the engines, and absolutely no nitro surging through these organic lines. The race is definitely on for the prize...the prize of... wait for itttttttttttttttt....
"The Early Tomato"!
Whoohoo! Take your victory lap, Le Farm!
But why? Why the rush?
I ask why mainly because I am having the argument with myself and feeling the unmistakeable tension to get that first one to market as soon as possible. Or, maybe just see that first beautiful little yellow flower to know there's some hope? It could be a hint of post traumatic stress in remembering last year's fiasco that is causing all this.
Last summer, market-goers kept asking week after week, "When will you have your heirloom tomatoes?" "Won't be long!", I'd say, knowing full well I had no actual tomatoes, only a few blooms due to torrential rains that flooded my fields, drowning in one foot of standing water for two solid weeks. Why, oh why did I have to be that engaging farmer that sells, sells, sells so customers will keep coming back by promising them the treat of juicy, tasty heirlooms? No matter what I did to try to revive my tomato plants, they never rebounded and I wound up with just a few scrawny tomatoes that I was too embarrassed to sell.
I have learned that there is an art to delivering a bad message when it comes to customer service. When it was apparent that I would never have juicy, tasty heirlooms, I just told the truth about the rain rotting them and without skipping a beat said..."But, just wait! Next year I will have beautiful heirloom tomatoes!"
Oh, the pressure...
...Start your engines.
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