I took a class last year on Russian history. One particularly compelling image, ably recreated by one of the most baller professors at school, was of the vast black earth region--Chernozen--of the Russian hinterland. The image of the yeoman farmer, the noble kulak, has not strayed far from my mind since.
Posessing neither the risk aversion nor the attachment to the land of the Russian peasantry, I have nevertheless endeavored to draw life forth from the marginal soil of my front yard. As previously noted, the land I farm is neither rich in humus nor particulary suitable to the intensive farming of which I dream. Perhaps I should give Larry a call, pack my things into a covered wagon, and make my way, like so many dust bowl Okies, to America's own black earth region.
New found responsibility, primarily of the fiscal variety, has forced me to make due with my few square feet. The cherry tomato plant appears somewhat spindly, which I attribute to my own inexperience. Cutting off the suckers earlier would have done much to concentrate the plants energy into its delicate fruit.
The tomato has now been in the ground for a month and a half. The newer additions to this homestead seem to be doing well. Jalapeños are reaching maturity, herbs are emitting their fragrant essential oils, and cucumbers yearn more and more for the salty sweet brine that will soon be their home.
All told, the bounty has been small. A few cherry tomatoes and some hot peppers. Having recently planted kale, broccoli, and lettuce seedlings, I can hope that more flavorful herbage will flow forth and thus inspire additional verbiage.
-mg
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