Lisa’s Hilarious Tomato Plant

Plants aren’t usually hilarious, but Lisa has a tomato plant which is at least mildly amusing. She was given a heritage tomato following a visit to the doctor and since then it would be fair to say that the tomato has struggled. Badly.

The plant consists of several woody sticks about 90cm high and derives its photosynthetic energy from seven leaves with a total surface area of 2.7 square millimetres. All of the leaves sprout from the same area of the plant and, remarkably, it has managed to produce a grand total of three tomatoes each at least three times the size of a proton.

Lisa dotes on the tomato although evidently her fingers are none too green. Despite my horticultural advice to the contrary, she potted the plant using soil that she dug up from behind our garden shed. I’m reasonably certain that the soil behind the shed has been liberally treated with herbicide since nothing will grow there except mutant slugs. There’s a fair chance our military landlords have employed some surplus supplies of defoliant from some ancient conflict for this purpose. DDT, Agent Orange or an emulsion of mercury and lead perhaps. Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure that eating the tomatoes will result in a pulpy liver, an inflamed spleen, the sprouting of extra digits or something of that nature. That’s alright, I don’t like tomatoes anyway.

The plant is extremely well fed with an assortment of foodstuffs which I’m not entirely convinced plants find nutritious. Crushed egg shells, whole roast chickens, walnut shells, copies of the Rangitikei Mail and coffee grinds representing Columbia’s entire annual output have been added at one time or another. Lisa’s grandmother has also advocated the liberal application of excrement and the generous (and daily) donations of our neighbour’s dog to our front lawn almost made it into the pot; however I was forced to put my foot down. And it wouldn't be the first time I'd used "excrement", "neighbour's dog" and "put my foot down" in the same sentence.

Always conscious of the dangers of dehydration, Lisa also ensures the tomato receives up to 2000 litres of fresh water daily. The plant is rotated at intervals of 27 minutes around the extensive grounds of our property to ensure its leaves are continuously washed in the pleasant breezes of the Manuwatu and bathed in its glorious sunlight.

That any tomatoes have grown at all is a testament to the tenacity of life under the most arduous of circumstances. I can only assume that the plant, realising (as far as a plant can "realise") that its life is ebbing away from it, has made a desperate bid to ensure its DNA’s continuity by devoting its meagre resources to fruiting.

To make matters worse, our neighbours also have a supremely neglected heritage tomato whose bountiful fruit are now rotting on their drive way. Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?

Lisa's tomato plant basking in the glorious Manuwatu sunshine