Casey O’Neill is a farmer and owner of Happy Day Farms in Laytonville, Calif. The opinions expressed in this column do not necessarily reflect the views of The Mendocino Voice. If you’d like to write your own column for The Mendocino Voice, send your idea to info@mendovoice.com.
I love the sweet consonances in life, the times when funny alignments happen like a clue on the path. Yesterday we were planting tomatoes in the beds in the orchard down at Pops’. He asked me what varieties, and upon hearing that one of them was Beefsteak he commented that Grandpa Bob used to grow Beefsteak. I responded that I remembered this and that was part of the reason for growing them this year.
Pops looked at me with kind of a funny look and asked “You’re planting Beefsteaks, did you know it’s Robert’s birthday today?” I had been unaware of that fact, but with the reminder I felt a deep joy, along with a flash of memories; helping Grandpa in his garden when I was a kid, him telling me about plants and cracking jokes. “I think he’d be pretty pleased” Pops closed with as he headed back into the house.
I returned to planting with thoughts of family, gardening, farming, generational knowledge, all rolling around in my head. I thought about seeds, about the magic of spring, the magic of growth, of soil and water and life. So much summed up in the simplicity of planting Beefsteak tomatoes, like a fractal of my past, the past of our family.
The family moved from Southern California to Bell Springs in the late 70’s and early 80’s, first uncles and aunties, then grandparents, then my folks. They built cabins, gardens, installed water tanks and water systems, and learned how to work with the landscape here. There was very little water in the summers for the first 25 years until we put in the irrigation ponds. Every drop was precious, and the gardens were small but bountiful.
The story goes that the first time the boys convinced Robert to grow some cannabis plants he had them in his little greenhouse, but they got too big and he had to take the cover off. By the end of the season the rangy sativas towered above the little greenhouse frame, just like they did in the manzanita groves. I was too young to remember those days, my earliest memories are of the shorter, stockier indica plants of the mid 80’s, right before the bust.
After the choppers came, things were different. Pops didn’t grow herb anymore for a long time, so he channeled that energy into growing tomatoes in the backyard garden. He loved those plants, and he relished the first tomato of the season. I remember him slicing it up, putting it on a plate with salt and pepper and offering it to me with great ceremony. I took a bite and announced immediately “I don’t like that.”
He was stunned, muttering “maybe it just needs some more salt”. A second sprinkling didn’t change the result for me, even though I could see he was disappointed. To this day I don’t care for raw tomatoes, though I’ll eat them in sauces and salsas. There’s a funny irony to me, loving to grow them, loving to sell them, but not particularly liking to eat them.
The last few years our varietal choices have been pretty much set. Coeur de Boeuf (Oxheart) for the two greenhouse rows, Striped German for a big, mild heirloom, a few Sungold Cherries, and Heinz canning tomatoes. We’ve pared back the number of rows of tomatoes we grow, from as many as a dozen rows in the neighborhood of 400 plants a few years ago to five rows and less than 200 plants. This means less of a heavy lift during the crunch of spring setup, and I’m relishing the downsize. Combined with cutting peppers from 6 greenhouse rows to 2, I have more space for other crops and less stress.
This year I didn’t have any Heinz seed at planting time, but I had a couple of packets of Beefsteak that I had gotten without any clear plan to grow them but just out of nostalgia for Grandpa and his garden. I thought, “what the hell” and sowed them along with the rest.
I expected to grow some tomato plants, harvest red slicing tomatoes for market, with some nice reminiscing about Robert and his saying “let us be happy in our work”, which is one of our farm mantras. What I didn’t expect was the force of the memories, or the happy consonance of happening to plant them on his birthday. As I sit on the porch, writing this newsletter and looking out over the garden, I think about my ancestors, my relatives, my relations. I am grateful to have the opportunity to tend land, and to have the memories of my childhood. As always, much love and great success to you on your journey!
I am looking for 3 lugs of canning tomatoes. I live in Willits