Day Seven, 5/25/2010

This day begins well before my alarm. Tuesday can be that way, often involving a round trip delivery to to a RockyHill-based food service distribution center. This morning, however, dawns with a greater sense of urgency. I have to see the field before I can do anything else.

I drive to Wychwood Farm, on tenterhooks, imagining 100 virgin tomato plants reduced to Bambi toothpicks. When I arrive, it is six a.m. The tractor, the hay wagon, and the bailing machine are in the field next to mine in a wagon train formation. They stand still and silent, dewy and damp. Across the street a smoky haze rises from the field. A lone crow greets me with a defiant caw.

All of the plants survived their first night away from the nursery. Great, but I'll still be nervous until I taste the first tomato. When I return from deliveries, Sam meets me at the field. We transplant more tomatoes, and eventually Sam puts hay down. Hay works well as a mulch, and there is plenty of old hay available.

I notice that the tomato plants are beginning to wilt. Farmer Brown has told me several times

that sensible farmers rarely water crops, that nature is normally capable of doing the watering. But I am getting nervous. There is no water near the field. I decide to buy water at Stop & Shop. Gallon bottles. 89 cents a gallon. Reusable gallon bottles. I buy thirty six gallons of water, and I answer endless questions about the contents of my shopping cart.

Back at the farm, I give each plant a drink, and I transplant the rest of the Brandywine tomatoes. By the time I finish transplanting the last tomato plant, the Romas, the Beefstakes, the Giant Cherry and the Brandywines have come back to life. They seem content in the fading evening light. I used fifteen gallons of water on the plants, and until I can figure out a system, I've decided I'll refill the bottles.