Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, July 25, 1994 TAG: 9407280050
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: By MARTY HAIR KNIGHT-RIDDER NEWSPAPERS
DATELINE: TROY, MICH. LENGTH: Medium
``Wake up, boys, you've got work to do,'' he tells the plants in the morning, giving the tall metal stakes a couple of good wobbles.
There is no rest for Tilley's tomatoes. In about six weeks, he hopes, a few will have ballooned into 2-, 3- or even 4-pounders, contenders for the largest tomato contest at the Michigan State Fair.
One year, Tilley's state fair winner was close to 4 pounds, so big it looked like three softballs stuck together. Last year, he was the first-prize winner for having the largest tomato.
In the past, Tilley kept mum about his growing tactics. After all, why spill the beans about how he nurtures his 50-by-100-foot garden when he is pitted against farmers with far more acreage and sophisticated equipment?
One competitor, astonished to learn that Tilley grew on a mere suburban lot, asked him flat out how he raised such immense tomatoes. Tilley refused to say.
``I figured he'd beat me,'' Tilley remembered matter-of-factly.
Now, at 68, Tilley has agreed to share his growing secrets. He thinks it may help less experienced growers.
Besides, competition no longer worries him.
``They won't do what I do,'' he said.
What he does is unorthodox and will undoubtedly strike some gardeners as hokum and bunk. His philosophy is that the plants' every need is met throughout the season.
To grow his largest tomatoes, he starts with a special seed, originally from a co-worker who got it from his grandmother. Every year, Tilley saves the seed from the biggest tomatoes.
In March, on the first day of spring, he plants the seeds under lights in his basement. In all, he grows 10 varieties.
The plants are nearly a foot high when it's time to plant outdoors. Tilley then turns to the Old Farmer's Almanac. He is guided by the lunar planting table and the lunar phase.
According to advocates of lunar planting, the most fertile time to plant is just before a full moon. This year, Tilley planted his entire garden May 23-24. The full moon was May 24.
Unfortunately, it was followed shortly by an unseasonably cold night. Tilley rose early, using a garden hose to wash frost off the tomatoes before the sun got far up into the sky.
Before planting, he adds liberal amounts of compost to the tilled soil and four match tips per plant; Tilley believes the tomatoes enjoy a taste of sulfur. He adds a few shakes of black pepper, which he says makes the vines darker and helps keep cutworms away. He lays the tomatoes on their sides and buries them, leaving only an inch or so of the tip above ground.
All season, he keeps adding grass clippings around the plants. They furnish nutrients, help retain moisture and reduce the chance of blossom end rot, keep down weeds and protect the lower leaves from getting splashed with soil during downpours.
Once the tomatoes start setting fruit, Tilley chooses five plants for special treatment, picking off many tomatoes so the plant concentrates its energy on the few remaining.
Every 10 days, he pours on a special concoction - a gallon of water, a can of beer, one tablespoon of Epsom salts and one-half tablespoon of ammonia. He believes the plants like the yeast and minerals.
Tilley digs in the clippings as well as leaves collected every fall. In the spring, he tests the soil pH, aiming for about 5 to 5.5 for the tomatoes.
Of Tilley's practices, urban horticulturalist Wendy Cole said there's no proof they are beneficial, although they shouldn't hurt.
``Just because research hasn't been done on a subject doesn't mean it doesn't work,'' pointed out Cole, of the Washtenaw County Michigan State University Extension office.
Raised on a farm in Kentucky, Tilley came to Michigan in 1938 and worked as a die setter before joining the Madison Heights school system as a custodian. He retired in 1987.
This year, with all the rain and heat, he thinks tomatoes will do just fine. But he also has a big head of cabbage to enter at the state fair.
It has already filled the half whiskey barrel where it grows, big as a soccer ball, outside his bedroom window. Other cabbages, planted the same day in his garden out back, are half its size.
Tilley thinks the cabbage near the house profits from the noise from the radio and television, and the ruckus his grandkids make on the tire swing nearby.
To skeptics, he replied, ``You tell me they don't like the noise and goings on. He don't go to sleep. He keeps growing.''
by CNB