The folly of self-seeded tomatoes

Have you ever done something that you knew was going to turn out bad, but convinced yourself it would be different this time?

Have you –

Reached between the scalding oven shelves to nudge that cupcake over, because this time you’ll be really careful?

Left the washing on the line for ‘just another 5 minutes’ before the impending thunderstorm?

Eaten oysters at the RSL club buffet?

We’ve all been there, and it ain’t pretty! Why am I so slow to learn these lessons?

It’s the same with self-seeded tomatoes. They pop up with so little effort, reaching decent seedling size before I’ve even noticed them growing. It’s so tempting just to pot them up and let them go, which is what I did in May this year, and what Ali did earlier this year too.

I only started planting heirloom varieties early this year, so I’m certain that this plant is the mutant offspring of some variety of supermarket tomato, or else the hybrid tomatoes I grew last year, possibly one that was carried off by the possums. This plant is now producing fruit that has inherited all the bad characteristics of its parent, and none of the good.

It’s rock hard, and it’s really really small.

I always think that I’ll get lucky and end up with some amazing new variety that tastes fabulous and produces abundantly.

I’m never that lucky.

I am seriously never going to bother again.

Oysters on the other hand…

Seafood night at Blacktown Workers is just such excellent value!