THE $64 TOMATO
Or How One Man Nearly Lost His Sanity,
Spent a Fortune, and Endured an Existential Crisis
in the Quest for the Perfect Garden



I began doubting my communicative skills when I read The $64 Tomato by William Alexander. A weblog friend recommended the book in a comment a while back, writing that she had thought of the garden calendar when she came across the tomato book.

Book folks may not approve of the editing of the jacket, but I couldn’t resist the temptation because Alexander, as distinct from an equable gardener, is aspiring to be a small-time farmer, whose garden, besides being a time sink, is a complete and very costly pain in the neck.

Changing the prize on the cover of the book, I could easily calculate the exact price of my tomatoes as I buy them at a stand up the main road—three for a dollar. How anybody could come to think of my garden at the sight of a $64 tomato is a mystery to me. I don’t ‘grow’ anything in the garden. Of utility plants, besides the old fruit trees, there are only a few bunches of chive coming back every year, which I keep because I like the flowers. The rest of the many plants in the garden are flowering shrubs and perennials on which I’ve spent about $150 a year ($5–$10 a piece) and only little time.

No pesticides seem to be too poisonous and no machinery too heavy for our battling hobby farmer. He will spend endless amounts of time and money protecting his crops and then spend some more time complaining about the trouble he has preserving and storing the excess produce. Unlike William Alexander, I wouldn’t dream of installing drip irrigation, cover the soil in black plastic or surround it with a six-thousand-volt electric fence. Only in a nightmare would I consider buying instant grass in rolls of sod and even then I wouldn’t roll it out between vegetable beds. Fighting the grass from spreading to his many beds combined with his complete lack of sense of timing when it comes to weeding, is what finally broke his back, I think.


THE 34¢ TOMATO
Calvesgarden Tomato Manifesto



When I took over the garden ten years ago, I left it for a year, just observing and pruning the few plants that were there and scouting the neighbourhood for nice gardens. Then every autumn, I’ve cleared an area and planted about fifty new shrubs, half of which were gifts from neighbours. I prefer native plants with some drought tolerance and a rich bloom, because they need very little tending and look great after a few years. As I have time to potter about in the garden only once or twice a week, putting in a few hours of focused labour each time (if the weather is nice), I never make changes without weighing the added splendour against the work involved. A new bed of plants adds about a day of work through the season, I think, but as I get more experienced, I can add a new bed every year without putting in more time.

It seems to me that silly mistakes and easily avoidable accidents, even utter foolishness, are becoming overly exposed these days. William Alexander actually advices against planting rose bushes because he believes they caused a worm infection in his sod rolls. It’s so sad, I think. I favour inspired garden folks, especially the sensitive and unhurried part of the tribe, well considered in their exploits and gardening with temperance.