Tomatoes on the Roof

I live on Main Street in a small town just a bit south and west of Madison, Wisconsin.  I moved here, on purpose, from my native Southern California in the fall of 2004, and I love it.  I live in my dream house - a Victorian house built by a carriage maker in 1896 - with my wife of nearly 30 years.  

Most of my garden is in my front yard; my tomatoes and basil are on the roof, hence the name of this blog - Tomatoes on the Roof.  

Gardening in my back yard is a perilous undertaking between the rabbits, who are charming but who have a taste for new seedlings; the squirrels, who dig holes in the soil searching for stored walnuts; and the imposing, and very generous, walnut tree in my other neighbor's yard.  This tree provides walnuts for any number of squirrels, but the juglone in the roots and nuts stunts the growth of many plants in a wide area, including most vegetables.

What to do?  With a cavalier disregard for the Midwestern tradition of "lawn in front, veggies in back," we ripped out the front lawn and began planting.  We discovered that raised beds were not only attractive, but the rabbits were disinclined to raid plants in the front yard where people and their dogs frequently walk by.  We surrounded the raised beds with perennial and annual flowers and mulched with dark wood chips so the garden is attractive as well as functional.  The garden has now become a great conversation starter with passers by when we are working in it.  

In the process of creating the front garden - which has evolved over several years - we also discovered that tomatoes take up space.  Lots of space.  If we wanted a garden that looked presentable - we do live on Main Street, after all - we would have to put more "controllable" plants in the raised beds in front and put the tomatoes elsewhere.  Inspired by the rooftop garden at the Rochester Zen Center in New York, I decided to scrounge up large pots and put them on the flat roof of the back porch.  The roof has a southern exposure, perfect for heat-loving tomatoes, and there is a little, hobbit-sized door that leads out to the roof from the storage area behind the upstairs kitchen.  I remembered that a nearby Italian restaurant grows their basil outside on their dining patio, so the choice to pot my basil plants and put them on the roof with the tomatoes was a no-brainer.  Viva Italia!

Life is good here.  The land is generous, and the weather has conviction - when it rains, it really rains; when it's cold, it's spectacularly cold.  This makes for a handy topic of conversation when meeting new neighbors.  "Hot/cold out, isn't it?" is a typical opener, followed by a few minutes of commentary on the details of the weather before launching into other topics of conversation.

In Wisconsin I am not strange or weird or peculiar for my love of dipping candles and spinning fiber, though many city folk are still fascinated by these occupations.  Perhaps this is because many Midwestern cities like Madison are surrounded by farmland, and most people have seen cows or sheep on the hoof, at least occasionally, as opposed to in a plastic package labeled "ground beef" or "lamb shanks."

In Southern California, I often didn't know the names of my neighbors and rarely spoke to them, leaving them to their business.  In my new hometown in Wisconsin, I both know and like my neighbors.  We help each other shovel snow in the winter, mow lawns in summer, exchange recipes, celebrate births and birthdays, and console each other in loss.  

Giving is a way of life here.  My neighbor to one side grew an abundance of rhubarb this year; she reminded me more than once to take as much as I wanted - free of charge.  We will, at some point in the near future, deliver a batch of scones, muffins, or bread to her family.   I met a new neighbor the other day who admired my Siberian iris.  Since I had plenty, I grabbed a pot, dug up a clump, and handed it to her on the spot.  The iris had been a gift to us during the first spring we lived here from a neighbor a few doors down.  That neighbor was a delightful, sassy old woman who was originally from Australia.  My new acquaintance was originally from New Zealand.  It seemed only right that she should have some of that iris in her garden.  What goes around comes around.  That's pretty much the way it is here.

Welcome to my blog.  In the spirit of Midwestern neighborliness, please feel free to comment and exchange ideas, recipes, and helpful hints.   Allow your kinder, gentler self to find a home here, away from the rush and turmoil of life.  Enjoy!