Hello there little plant
Chef Nathan Lyon Chef | Television Host
Spring. Birth, and rebirth. The first green shoots rising from their winter slumber towards the sky. The birth of Growing A Greener World, too! Just look at it. Super cute television show, huh? I think it has Joe’s eyes.
But, I digress. Spring is the time where we shed those heavy winter clothes, and return them to the attic until late-late fall, many months away. One trip around the sun, and here we are, once again. Hello, months of May and June. You look great. Is that a new haircut? Farmers markets are now revving up to speed once again, with delicious meals at the tips of our fingers, waiting to be created.
Where does it all begin? Well, with Mom, of course. Mother Earth, that is ... in the soil. But how do I, a chef living in Hollywood with no actual soil to speak of, begin a garden, even if I could? Let alone grow this beautiful heirloom tomato plant? Riddle me this, Mom.
My only real “dig your hands in the soil” gardening experience was in my youth: in the modest backyard garden of my grandparents’ Virginia home, four houses down from ours. Growing up, the effort of gardening was never work, just fun: my grand-dad and me, breaking up the hard, clay soil, then folding egg shells and compost back in.
The outcome of our days, life-affirming. The things I learned, life changing. Soil, seeds, water, and sun, plus time, equals amazing food. How cool is that? Gardeners and farmers know this to be true, firsthand. Skip ahead 30 years, and having worked at local farmers markets for over a decade, I’m finally in the fold. With years of hard work behind me, I’ve finally earned my admission to the fraternity of food: the tight circle of farmers, gardeners, foodies, and chefs. I’m in! Sweet.
So what’s up with my photo of a tomato plant, you ask? When, and how exactly did I plant this beautiful heirloom cherry tomato plant, which now grows like a weed outside my front door? The answer: I didn’t. It planted itself.
Late last year, while I was developing recipes for my cookbook (almost finished!), a close farmer buddy saved me a case of corn, a flat of tomatoes, some chard, kale, Italian parsley, beets, cauliflower, zucchini, carrots, cucumbers, beans, basil, broccoli, radishes, eggplant, squash, and celery root. I like to cook up recipes for my book, then walk down the street to feed my friends who work in the stores there, and nothing goes to waste. In return, I get feedback. Not a bad deal, eh? So, during my third and last trip to my car that Sunday, he handed me a small bag of heirloom cherry tomatoes. They were special indeed. Beautiful little gems. So I thanked him, and with treasured bag in hand, I drove home to cook myself silly.
Skip ahead five days: countless dishes cooked, and my living room table finally visible from underneath the cases of fresh produce. What is this? Oh no! A small bag of now liquid, moldy, heirloom tomatoes. What a shame. The bag had slipped behind the wall of fresh food and out of view until my rediscovery. For fear that the bag would rupture and unleash the watery contents, I slid open my front door and gently placed the bag outside.
Slosh! The bag’s contents spilled over the edge of my front patio area, and onto the dirt that sits between the building and the sidewalk: 40 plus years, of dog poop, scraped paint, and other unmentionables that has accumulated over the last four decades. In other words, an area almost completely void of nutrition, which is why I called it ‘dirt’ and not ‘soil.‘ My grandfather once said to me, “You track dirt into the house, but you grow things in soil.” True. But I’ll tell ya’, the 23-inch-wide swath of gray wasteland just outside my door? This stuff is dirt. But Mother Nature always finds a way.
Winter months come and go. The sun dips, the cool weather returns, and out comes the winter produce. But a few months ago I discovered a familiar aroma near my front door. What is that smell? I stopped to look around, and finally, after a few minutes, I found it.
Why, hello there little plant. A tiny clump of leaves quietly and slowly growing in the full shade of my building. No direct sun to be found anywhere. But there it was, growing against all odds. In dirt. I mean, you have to understand, I didn’t plant anything. I didn’t water anything. Nor did I add nourishment of any kind to the aforementioned dirt. And yet there it stood, albeit tiny. An heirloom cherry tomato plant, now, very tall, and loaded with cherry tomatoes, and countless yellow flowers. It’s so beautiful, and I love it. A tomato plant that forged its own existence despite complete neglect on my part.
Mother Nature’s cool like that.
Next stop: building my own raised garden on my back patio. Stay tuned ...