My tomato beds have taken on a subversive tone. Among the aromatic green leaves of the fat grape Juliets and sassy red Celebrities, there is a whisper of rebellion: I have planted not a single Better Boy tomato plant.
Before you gasp and clutch your heart, know this: I have planted Better Boy tomatoes faithfully since my very first vegetable garden, somewhere back in the mid '70s. Better Boys were touted as having superior genetics: a hybrid of the hearty ancestor, Big Boy mixed with some upgraded resistence to tomatoe-y diseases.
There are a slew of tomato ills: wilts (Vertiicillium and Fusarium), blight, nematodes, blossom end rot, septoria, leaf rolle, catfacing, viruses, bugs and worms. Any relief from those attackers is welcome news. When Better Boy flounced into the plant markets, Big Boy got nudged to the back of the seed racks. Up with Better, down with Big!
Funny thing, though. Better Boy is considered a universally "good" tomato. Grow it anywhere- north, south, east, west. It'll put on tomatoes that pucker your mouth and slice just fine for bacon, tomato and lettuce sandwiches. So why did I have so much trouble with them? Every July, I'd fight septoria - an ugly yellow spotted blight that turns the bottom leaves brown and crackly. And even in the springs that I wrangled early-early-early plants into the ground, the Better Boys were always fashionably late, hanging on to their green fruits intermidably before ripening. I finally realized that perhaps Southern gardens required Southern tomatoes. Enter: Park's Whopper.
Park's Seed Company is located just over the border in South Carolina. Close enough to be in the same growing zone (7, for those you who might be interested). About the same number of above 90-degree days, hurricanes and thunderstorms. So I planted myself a couple of Park's Whopper just to see what would happen.
I'll be darned if they didn't grown faster, bear fruit sooner and taste just as good as those "better" Midwestern tomatoes I'd grown up with. I branched out a little more. After sampling the new grape tomatoes, I planted "Juliet," which turned out to be a lot bigger than a grape, but a lot smaller than a Roma, too. Yummy sliced on salads or pizza. Another winner!
But I always had my fall-back bed of Better Boys. At least a dozen plants that would save me, should all these experimental tomatoes fail.
Not this year. I flaunted tradition, walked past the glowing green plants marked "Better Boy" and moved right on to quivering little sprouts named "Yellow Boy" and "Champion." I even planted a few German Johnsons, which my husband loves (as do the bugs).
My fall-back bed? A dozen Park's Whopper plants.
I've crossed some kind of gardening line, I think. There's no going back to Better Boy after I've seen the Southern Light. I may have to relinquish my midwest farmer's daughter title and face facts. I'm a Southern Gardener these days. You'd Better believe it.
