A tomato review

“It’s difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato.” -Lewis Grizzard

Although our recent cold snap didn’t kill our tomatoes, the season is definitely wrapping up. Our daytime temperatures remain warm and pleasant, but overnight lows stay steady in the low 50s, and tomatoes do not thrive in this weather; as one would expect, they start to taste refrigerated. To mark the natural conclusion of the warm-weather crops, we offer you a review of this season’s tomatoes.

Peacevine Cherry

Peacevine Cherry was a new tomato for us this season and one of our top two of the varieties we grew. This tiny heirloom cherry tomato is a prolific indeterminate producer on small, compact plants, which would make it ideal for container tomatoes. The tomato was dehybridized from the F1 Sweet 100 by Dr. Alan Kapuler; it’s called Peacevine because it contains exceptionally high amounts of gamma-aminobutyric acid (GABA), a naturally-occurring amino acid that acts as a sort of gentle tranquilizer. It’s also one of the tomato varieties highest in vitamin C. We loved its punchy sweet-tart flavor and diminutive size and will definitely plant it again.

Red Pear

Red Pear is a classic heirloom. The flavor isn’t spectacular, but its productivity somewhat makes up for what it lacks in palate fireworks. It’s a perfect snacking tomato and ideal in salads; I also like to roast trays of these tomatoes in a moderate oven with lots of olive oil and basil and garlic, then keep them in the fridge for adding to pastas and layering on toasted sourdough. Red Pear isn’t showy or flashy, but rather loyal and consistent, and the tomato garden needs some stalwart supporting players in addition to its stars.

Chadwick Cherry

This tomato is named for Alan Chadwick, a brilliant English horticulturalist and a leading innovator of many modern organic farming techniques. Chadwick Cherry was our first producer this year, and offered lots of flavorful fruits that were a bit smaller than a golf ball. The plants themselves were massive and sprawling, and will need better staking and support in future seasons. The Chadwick Cherry tomatoes we grew weren’t absolute knockouts in terms of flavor, but their early ripening and high productivity means we’ll likely grow these again.

Possibly Pink Berkeley Tie-Dye?

These tomatoes were a bit of a surprise; about seventy percent of the plants I had marked as Green Zebra actually turned out red and striped. This could be an odd cross-pollination, which is uncommon in tomatoes but not impossible, or it could simply mean that seeds were mixed up. (Remember to separate and label your seeds carefully!) No matter how they appeared in the garden, the tomatoes were delicious; I plan to save seeds from these to see if they breed true next season.

Jaune Flamme

These Jaune Flamme tomatoes, which translates from French as “yellow flame,” are making a repeat appearance. I love their bright apricot-orange color and their sweet-tart flavor. Our plants weren’t as productive this year as last, but that may be due to the odd weather we had. These tomatoes hold their color when simmered or roasted, and I made a gorgeous sauce from them last fall. I likely won’t have enough of these to repeat that this season, but we’ll certainly grow Jaune Flamme again.

Yellow Pear

Like its sister Red Pear, Yellow Pear tomatoes can be counted on to produce massive quantities of small, bright yellow fruit. Unfortunately, we found these to be rather mealy this year, and a friend who also grew these a mile up the road had the same experience. I think our elevation and cool overnight temperatures aren’t kind to this tomato; these do grow really well in the Denver area. This season’s lackluster results mean we likely won’t devote space to Yellow Pear again, despite their productivity.

Green Zebra

Though most of our Green Zebra plants turned out to be something else entirely, a few are clearly true Green Zebras. This is a stunning tomato, honestly. It can be difficult to tell when it ripens, but the bright green and yellow striping is spectacular in the garden and on the plate. We focus on smaller tomatoes because of our short and erratic growing season; this is the largest tomato we grow and its lovely coloration and tart flavor means we’ll probably keep this on as a standard.

Lucky Tiger

And finally, far and away this season’s top pick: Lucky Tiger, developed by a legendary tomato breeder named Fred Hempel. The tomato itself is an oval shape, like a Roma or San Marzano, and its coloration is a striated red and green with hints of gold. As with Green Zebra it’s challenging to tell when this tomato is fully ripe; you have to go more by the feel of the flesh rather than its color. When ready, though, the flavor is incomparable. It is a perfect blend of tart and sweet, with jolts of acidity, and it’s a tomato that demands to be appreciated on its own or with just olive oil and salt. This is a stunner of a tomato, both visually and on the palate, and will be a staple at Quiet Farm in future growing seasons.

And thus concludes our 2020 tomato season. We’d love to know what you grew this year! Was there a particular tomato you loved? Something you had high hopes for but that ultimately didn’t impress? Are you saving tomato seeds? Please share in the comments below!

Gone to seed

We’ve talked a lot about saving seeds here at FQF, and since fall is definitely underway, they’re on our minds more than ever at the moment. In addition to all of our canning and preserving projects and other preparations for winter, collecting and storing seeds is a big part of our autumn task list.

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Collect your sunflower seeds before the birds and squirrels do!

We use the idiom “go to seed” to refer to someone or something that’s let itself go. It’s become messy or unattractive or disheveled or unkempt; it no longer appears tidy and neat. It’s obviously a phrase of agricultural origin, and this is the time of year when it takes on significance in the garden, as most annuals are coming to the end of their natural lives. In their quest to reproduce, the plants have gone to seed: typically they flower first, then the flowers produce seeds, which are spread by wind, insects, animals or human intervention.

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Lettuces are one of the easiest plant families from which to save seeds.

It’s unfortunate, truly, that so many gardeners are offended by the appearance of plants gone to seed, and especially in perfectly manicured suburban settings are likely to rip plants out at the first sign of flowering. Letting plants proceed through their natural life cycle teaches you a lot about botany and helps you become a better grower. Plus, if you’re careful and diligent, you can start building your own unique seed bank, which will both save you money and improve plant diversity.

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Many of these collected onion seeds have already been replanted for a fall crop.

Saving seeds is so much easier than many people think; annuals are typically desperate to present their seeds to any creature who might help disperse them, so collecting is often simple. In most cases, know that you need to leave the plants alone long past the point of edibility for the greatest success. I always abandon a few tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, tomatillos and cucumbers on the plants for as long as possible so that these internal seeds have plenty of time to mature, no matter how big or shriveled or overripe the fruits might get. (The exception here, of course, is if a hard freeze is forecast; you’ll want to bring all fruits in in that situation.) Greens often turn intensely bitter once they’ve gone to seed, but can be replanted quickly.

Beans 01 sml

Most of these Peregion beans are destined for the soup pot this winter, but a handful will be saved for next year’s crop.

Some seeds are obvious, because they’re the part of the plant we eat: think beans and peas. To collect these seeds, let the pods dry on the plant until they rattle; then shell, bag and label. Others can be trickier; lettuces often take a while to go to seed, unless the weather is very hot; once they do finally turn, the leaves will be bitter and almost crispy, but you’ll see dozens of tiny puffballs on the top of the plant, and these can easily be collected in a paper bag once they’re thoroughly dry. You’ll want them to almost crumble in your fingers when you try to harvest; if some of the little cottony puffs have already started flying away, you’ll know it’s a good time to harvest the seeds. I think lettuce offers the best return on seeds of any edible annual; each single plant will produce thousands of seeds.

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Don’t try to plant the little packets from your favorite pizza place.

Saving seeds from other edible crops can be a bit trickier. It’s no surprise that tomatoes, the garden’s high-maintenance princess, require more attention. Tomato seeds should be fermented before storage; this extra step actually creates a sort of antibacterial coating around the seed, offering an extra layer of protection. To ferment tomato seeds, simply scrape the seeds and their gel out of the tomato with a spoon; the flesh can still be eaten. Place the seeds in a small, shallow container and cover with just a little water. Let this mixture sit at room temperature for a few days until mold has formed. (Don’t be put off by the fragrance! That’s nature at work.) Once all the liquid has evaporated and the seeds are thoroughly dry, carefully separate the seeds with your fingertips, bag, label and store.

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Save seeds from the vegetables you love! And maybe even the vegetables you don’t love! Just in case there’s a pandemic!

Saving seeds is one thing, but storing them properly is just as important, if not more so. Never blend seeds from different vegetable varieties, unless you’re intentionally looking to create something like a greens mix. Store all seeds properly labeled in individual seed bags or envelopes, and always keep your seed bank in a cool, dark and dry location, away from bugs or insects. The wildfires decimating the West right now have forced a lot of anxious contemplation of what I’d save if we had to evacuate; I’ve realized that my irreplaceable seed bank is one of those items. Seeds matter. Self-sufficiency matters. And the ability to grow our own food – without the pernicious influence of megacorporations – matters the most.

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These arugula seeds have already scattered to the four winds.

Like so many other things in the early days of the pandemic, people panic-bought pretty much all the country’s seeds for their quarantine gardens. I’d love to know how many of these impulse seed purchases actually made it into the ground, and how many remain unopened in a forgotten Amazon shipping box in a dusty closet. Considering how quickly the seed companies’ inventory vanished this spring, seed saving has become more important than ever. If you grow anything at all – even if it’s just a pot of basil on a sunny windowsill – consider letting your plants go to seed so you can collect and save that seed. If 2020 has shown us anything, it’s that nothing about our food system is secure, and seeds are no exception.

This week in flowers: September 7

Slowly but surely, summer is giving way to fall – or winter, really, considering Tuesday night’s forecast. From a high today of just above 90, the thermometer will plummet sixty degrees to a projected hard freeze Tuesday night, and possibly snow, too. This shockingly early first frost (it usually occurs in the first or second week of October) is on-brand for the utter debacle that is 2020, and it will likely kill all of our tomatoes, peppers, squash, cucumbers, flowers and delicate herbs. None of these plants are even close to finished for the season, so our overall yields will be cut in half, at least. It’s a terrible, heartbreaking situation for any farmer, and we’re no exception.

At the moment, though, we still have lots of blooms on the farm, and it’s fascinating to watch the flowering plants shift with the seasons. Here are a few we’ve spotted recently (see blossoms from earlier this season here and here). After Wednesday morning, all of these will have vanished.

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Farm update: August 31

How are you doing out there, friends? Here at Quiet Farm we’re immensely grateful for clearer skies and cooler temperatures. We’re about seventy miles from the largest wildfire in Colorado’s history, and there were days over the past couple of weeks where it felt as though we lived inside of a barbecue grill. Although the air still smells of smoke, and we don’t have our crystalline blue skies back, conditions have definitely improved. We send our heartfelt thanks to all of the fire fighters, police officers, and other emergency services personnel who put their lives on the line every single day. Thank you.

Peaches 01 sml

To be eaten out of hand over the sink.

We went peach picking this past week; these are likely the last of this year’s harvest and ninety pounds are now nestled in boxes in our garage fridge awaiting processing. Colorado is most famous for its Palisade peaches, north of us in Mesa County; unfortunately – as though 2020 weren’t awful enough! – Palisade lost about eighty percent of its peach crop this year to that killing frost we had back in April. Our peach trees here in Delta County didn’t suffer nearly as badly (we did lose all of our cherries), so we’ll have local canned peaches in January that taste like liquid sunshine. (Fun fact: if you’re buying Palisade peaches on the Front Range, you should ask what orchard the fruit actually came from. Most of the peaches sold as “Palisade” this year didn’t come from Colorado, but from California. Also, in a season like this one, many of our Delta County peaches get rebranded as Palisade. Brand names sell, plain and simple.)

Fox 01 sml

Hunting with an audience.

N captured this early morning shot of our resident young fox hunting voles in our pasture. The magpies, never shy about their desire for a free meal, wait patiently in the hope that they too might share in the spoils. It’s tough to balance our ecosystem’s need for apex predators – we definitely want the fox to help control our rodent population, but we’d also like it to stay far away from our chickens. This debate is currently playing out on a much larger scale, as the Colorado ballot this November will ask whether voters want to reintroduce gray wolves, eradicated around 1940, in our part of the state. (Also please observe how beautiful that pasture looks. All credit to N for his mowing and irrigation work this season!)

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‘Marquis’ spring wheat.

We grew wheat! We opted to participate in small-scale wheat trials this year, and while much of our trial crop was demolished by deer, rabbits and squirrels, and plenty more taken out by strong winds, we did harvest a few stalks. The wheat still needs to be separated from the chaff and field notes beg to be written, plus seed must be returned to the seed bank organizing the project. If we actually grew enough to bake a single loaf of bread, I’ll be amazed – but it’s really exciting to grow grains. In decades past, most regions in the U.S. had their own uniquely adapted grain varieties, and of course this also supported the mills and bakeries required to process those grains. Those disappeared in the centralization of agriculture, but local heritage grains are staging a resurgence across the country. We want to be part of that trend, even on a minuscule scale.

Cantaloupe 01 sml

Not bad for an unintentional crop.

We also grew melons! This is amusing because we didn’t plant any melons. We do, however, have a thriving compost pile, and members of the vast curcubit family (squash, cucumbers and melons) are notorious both for cross-pollinating and for volunteering in unexpected places. This miniature cantaloupe (each is about the size of a softball) appeared in the hot pepper bed, where the serranos and cayennes are flourishing. We have five or six mature fruits now, and are excited to harvest one to see what we grew. If it’s delicious, we’ll save the seeds in the hopes we can grow it again, and we’ll have a melon bred just for Quiet Farm!

Tomato Plate 01 sml

Definitely qualifies as a meal.

And finally, our tomatoes are coming on strong. The intense heat wave we’ve just endured definitely hastened the tomato ripening schedule, though we’ve obviously needed to irrigate much more frequently. This time of year we’re likely to have a tomato salad at every meal, if only because the season is so fleeting. No recipe needed: sun-warmed tomatoes, halved or quartered, good olive oil, thinly-sliced red onion, a few grinds of black pepper, basil and a generous sprinkling of crunchy salt. Fresh mozzarella, ricotta or cotija would obviously not go amiss here. Honestly, it’s summer in a bowl and we’ll make the most of it while it lasts.

With that, we’re off to tackle a busy week that will hopefully include a hay delivery, a pre-winter fireplace inspection and more than a few canning projects. Wishing you all safety and health.

Let’s learn about alpacas and llamas!

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It’s a creative remake of The Sound of Music.

Some of you may recall that we expanded the Quiet Farm team a few weeks ago. We now have five alpacas and one llama on our farm, and they currently spend the majority of their time grazing placidly on our pasture. We’re new to livestock, and are doing as much research as possible, and we thought you might be interested in learning more about our new residents, too.

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See you at the old watering hole?

First, what even are these odd creatures, anyway? Llamas (Lama glama) and alpacas (Vicugna pacos) are both members of the camelid family, along with their wild cousins, viçunas and guanacos. (Collectively, this group is known as lamoids.) Camelids actually evolved in North America; some of their ancestors migrated to Africa to become the desert camels we’re familiar with. Other ancestors migrated south to what is now South America and evolved into the llamas and alpacas we associate with indigenous tribes of South America. As bison were essential to the Native Americans, so were llamas and alpacas to the indigenous peoples. These animals provided food, fiber, grease, draft power, fertilizer, fuel, leather and protection.

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How to make kimchi

A couple of years back, we all got really into probiotics. In the simplest terms, probiotics are beneficial microorganisms – bacteria and/or yeasts – in our surrounding environment and within our bodies that help keep us healthy. Since so many of us are regularly on antibiotics, which kill off both good and bad organisms indiscriminately, it makes sense that our bodies would be deficient in helpful bacteria. The rise of serious digestive-related disorders, too, indicated that our microbiome was in serious trouble.

Many of these health issues can be attributed to the fact that the vast majority of food we eat is completely, totally dead. I don’t mean dead in the literal sense, like how we turn a sad CAFO pig into even sadder pork chops, but dead in the sense that all life has been processed out of it. Instead of eating slightly muddy carrots, freshly dug, we eat “carrot chips” and drink “carrot juice,” which have been subjected to high-heat processing and irradiation and a million other complicated techniques, rendering that carrot into what Michael Pollan would call “an edible food-like substance.” It’s no longer actual, nutritious food; we’ve just been told it is.

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The zucchini chronicles

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This is only one day’s harvest!

(…or the courgette chronicles, for our English audience.) By now we’re likely all familiar with the time-honored adage about how rural residents only lock their cars in July and August, because that’s when a fiendish neighbor is most likely to deposit a bag of overgrown and unwanted zucchini on the passenger seat. It’s an apt joke, however; anyone who has grown summer squash knows that it absolutely has a mind of its own. One day, there are tiny flowers on the plant; not even twenty-four hours later, it seems, zucchini the size of baseball bats have taken over the garden. If not carefully monitored, these plants can become unmanageable very quickly.

Squash 01 sml

Please, someone, tell me what’s wrong with this zucchini plant?

I always think of zucchini (like my beloved kale) as a self-esteem boost for the gardener. It grows well in just about any conditions, needs little care and produces voluminously and reliably. Interestingly, this is the first season I’ve struggled with zucchini – of seven plants, four look like the photo above: small and stunted with initially green leaves that turn crisp and brown without growing larger. The plant keeps putting on new leaves, which promptly die; no blossoms or fruit appear. All of the seven plants are from the same seed and in the same bed and none are planted where squash grew last year; I’ve never seen anything like this. Are they diseased? Attacked by a mysterious pest? Why are three plants growing perfectly? If any experienced gardeners want to weigh in on this unexpected quandary, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

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Farm update: August 3

“This pandemic feels like a relay race and if that means that every once in a while, you need to break down and freak out, that’s fine. We can carry the baton for each other while we lose it, gather strength, and then carry on. The world seems out of control, but we can control our kitchens and the good things that come out of them. That’s something.”

-Steve Sando, Rancho Gordo

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A daily harvest last week.

It’s reaching that point in the season when all of our hard work starts to pay off in abundance. Harvests now happen daily, rather than weekly or every few days, and a small bucket is required. Although the stars of summer – tomatoes and peppers – haven’t really come on yet, we’re swimming in greens, carrots, beets, onions, zucchini, fennel, kale and fresh herbs. It’s not going to be a great year for either winter squash or sweet peppers, much to our disappointment, and we fear that the squirrels have pre-harvested many of our potatoes. But we’re looking forward to cucumbers and fresh beans along with a (hopefully strong) tomato crop.

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Meet the team

In an unexpected turn of events, five alpacas and one llama have joined us. We’re excited to present the newest members of the Quiet Farm team!

Alpaca Paris 01 sml

Paris

Alpaca Pahia 01 sml

Paihia

Alpaca Kona 01 sml

Kona

Alpaca Fiji 03 sml

Fiji

Llama Kingston 01 sml

Kingston

Alpaca Adelaide 01 sml

Adelaide

Alpacas 01 sml

Yes, they most definitely should be sheared. But since they’re basically feral, we all need some time to get to know each other before we tackle personal grooming. Never a dull moment here at Quiet Farm.

P.S. They’re named for places N and I have lived – three locations each.

 

Farm update: July 20

“Still, I cook. We need to cook, after all, to nourish ourselves and those around us. We need to cook to feel better, to make others feel better, to get along. I may begin the process in weariness, but as often as not I end it in surprise and triumph, happy at least to have made something delicious, to have shared it with those with whom I shelter.”

-Sam Sifton, The New York Times

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No longer trendy but still delicious.

One of the cruel ironies of being a farmer is that when the vegetables really start rolling in, it’s way too hot to cook. Plus, after twelve hours working in the blazing sun all we want is chilled watermelon and ice-cold beer – not exactly a balanced diet. Enter the quiche! Long a mainstay of stuffy, boring women’s luncheons, quiche is hopelessly out of fashion but so well-suited for hot summer months, especially when fresh eggs, vegetables and herbs are in abundance. I always bake first thing in the morning (the house doesn’t need any help heating up later in the day), and quiche is perfect warm, cold or at room temperature. It has a reputation for being terribly unhealthy, but loaded with broccoli, spinach, peppers and herbs, with just a little egg and sharp, savory cheese to bind it all together, it’s an ideal summer staple. Let’s bring quiche back!

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