Folk Thursday: Joan Baez

We heard this song today at a memorial service for the late Tomato Man, who slipped away to tend Eden’s vines a couple of weeks ago.

Darrell Merrell, better known as the Tomato Man, made a living — and a name — for himself by selling heirloom tomatoes out of his driveway on West 81st Street. We first met him in the spring of 2005, when we saw a promising-looking hand-lettered sign at 71st and Elwood and followed it to his place in search of plants worthy of my salsa recipe. We pulled into the driveway and found hundreds of gorgeous plants in dozens of fascinating varieties. Under a tent sat a bearded fellow sporting a straw hat, overalls, and an encyclopedic knowledge of my favorite nightshade.

We were instant fans, and our annual pilgrimage to the Tomato Man’s place has been the highlight of every spring since we met him.

A baker’s dozen of the Tomato Man’s beautiful plants are basking in the sunshine behind our garden gate this afternoon as I pour myself a glass of goat milk from his daughter’s farm and raise a toast to the only man I’ve ever known whose affection for homegrown tomatoes exceeds my own.

If there’s a vegetable garden in heaven, God is going to be awfully busy putting up salsa come July….

Emily