Tomatoes: the deathwatch continues!
They're not dead yet, but they've entered the could-go-either-way phase where they're a little sad in the wake of being transplanted. They'll either perk up in a day or two, or they'll shrivel and croak. Which wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, actually, since there would be some advantages to starting from scratch. Here's the tale...
On Wednesday I took on the drip irrigation system, which has been more exciting than I expected. After some futile attempts to coax water out of it, Ted and I discovered that the main valve from the hose-bib was closed. This means it's been running in automatic mode, possibly for months, with no water emerging from the little drippers. Obviously this was no problem for my yet-unplanted tomatoes, but it does explain why none of the other plants in our yard have grown very much, and also why our water bill did not change after we installed the system.
I find it a little hard to believe that our yard hasn't been watered at all since December, when it was first landscaped, since all the plants are at least alive (and somewhat perky thanks to some decent rains in the last month). And it's possible that the valve was open until recently, and that some local hooligans came and shut it. But there's another piece of evidence supporting the no-water theory: I discovered that the irrigation timer was programmed wrong, and that the only areas scheduled to receive water were the two raised beds, which were empty until Tuesday.
Together, I think we have some fairly damning evidence that the rest of the yard has never been watered. And so I am rather impressed by the hardiness of our "drought tolerant" plants!
Anyway, the reason it would be OK if the tomatoes died is that it would be nice to bury the drip lines and the main water router (the Octa-Bubbler!), which I can't really do now that it's surrounded by little plants. Instead the Octa-Bubbler is sticking up about six inches, and the little blue tubes are all streaming out from it into the ground, which looks a little more cyber-tronic than your typical tomato garden... it's kind of like Neo in that Matrix goo-box with hoses coming out from his spine.
Photos to come, I hope. (Tomato garden, not goo-covered Neo.)
On Wednesday I took on the drip irrigation system, which has been more exciting than I expected. After some futile attempts to coax water out of it, Ted and I discovered that the main valve from the hose-bib was closed. This means it's been running in automatic mode, possibly for months, with no water emerging from the little drippers. Obviously this was no problem for my yet-unplanted tomatoes, but it does explain why none of the other plants in our yard have grown very much, and also why our water bill did not change after we installed the system.
I find it a little hard to believe that our yard hasn't been watered at all since December, when it was first landscaped, since all the plants are at least alive (and somewhat perky thanks to some decent rains in the last month). And it's possible that the valve was open until recently, and that some local hooligans came and shut it. But there's another piece of evidence supporting the no-water theory: I discovered that the irrigation timer was programmed wrong, and that the only areas scheduled to receive water were the two raised beds, which were empty until Tuesday.
Together, I think we have some fairly damning evidence that the rest of the yard has never been watered. And so I am rather impressed by the hardiness of our "drought tolerant" plants!
Anyway, the reason it would be OK if the tomatoes died is that it would be nice to bury the drip lines and the main water router (the Octa-Bubbler!), which I can't really do now that it's surrounded by little plants. Instead the Octa-Bubbler is sticking up about six inches, and the little blue tubes are all streaming out from it into the ground, which looks a little more cyber-tronic than your typical tomato garden... it's kind of like Neo in that Matrix goo-box with hoses coming out from his spine.
Photos to come, I hope. (Tomato garden, not goo-covered Neo.)