One morning last year I was sitting on the front deck having my coffee. Down near the bottom of the hill I saw a mama raccoon crossing the driveway followed by five miniature versions of herself in single file. It was the cutest thing I'd seen in awhile.
Fast forward to this summer.
I was set to have my best crop of tomatoes ever. One bed contained Homestead heirloom plants. Homesteads are determinate, meaning they only grow to a certain height and produce most of their fruit all at once. The next bed south contained beefsteaks and small cherry tomatoes, both indeterminates, producing their fruit over the season, supported by tall tomato cages. A third bed had Romas, determinates, on the south and fat cherry tomatoes, plus one Rutgers, in cages on the north. The Homesteads were sagging beneath the weight of big apple-size sauce tomatoes and had to be tied up to strong stakes. The beefsteaks had fruit in all stages of development and the small cherries had dozens of little green tomatoes. The Romas were starting to set their pear-shaped fruit and the fat cherries were covered with neat clusters of big plum-size fruit, just starting to ripen.
One morning I went out to work in the garden and noticed stems on one beefsteak chewed off. I immediately misdiagnosed the problem as tomato hornworms. After a thorough search turned up none of the big green larva, I mixed up and sprayed a batch of BT (bacillus thuringiensis, a natural microbial solution for hornworms and grubs) on the plants.
The next morning, I realized there were actually tomatoes missing. In the past squirrels had only taken ripe tomatoes. I decided the problem must be raccoons, but I went ahead and picked any ripening fruit, just to be safe. Following advice I found online, I spread wood ashes between the rows and sprayed a mixture of garlic, hot sauce, water and Dawn dish washing liquid on the green tomatoes. Raccoons don't like the feel of ashes on their sensitive feet and they supposedly dislike the smell of garlic. The dish soap helps make the hot sauce cling to the tomatoes.
When I went out the following day, there were even more tomatoes missing.
Out in the tool shed I found a couple of battery powered, motion-activated floodlights. I put in fresh batteries, attached them to fence posts near the tomato plants and sprayed the tomatoes again. The next morning there were no tomatoes to protect. In all, I would estimate that I lost a bushel of green tomatoes. Many of those would have gotten bigger and many of the chewed off stems had blossoms that would have set even more tomatoes.
I got a radio and extension cord ready in case I needed more protection in the future. Raccoons don't like classic rock. After a few weeks the tomato plants began putting on more tomatoes, but spotty. The determinates are pretty much done, but they are putting on a few fruits. The indeterminates are bearing more tomatoes, but not many. The heat keeps them from setting blossoms. As the weather begins to cool, there will be a chance of a second, smaller crop.
One day I discovered that some of my corn plants had been broken down and stripped and one of my immature pumpkins had been chewed on. It was time to go nuclear. I hadn't bought blood meal before, because it was expensive as a soil amendment, given that it only provides nitrogen. A friend of mine manages the garden center at the nearest Walmart store and she advised me that they had inexpensive Jobes organic blood meal in her department. It was less than ten dollars, but it was money I had wanted to spend on another soaker hose.
I opened the bag and spread half of the blood meal around the rows. It is said to be a good repellant for deer, rabbits and all manner of veggie-loving pests. The blood smell was also supposed to repel raccoons. An hour later an unexpected thunderstorm moved in and we got two inches of rain that washed the blood meal into the soil. I'll try again when there is no rain in the forecast if I still have any tomatoes.
Fortunately, I started more tomato plants in the greenhouse for a fall crop, but the big harvest that would have been canned as sauce and diced tomatoes is gone.
All photos are copyright 2017, Stephen P. Scott
Fast forward to this summer.
I was set to have my best crop of tomatoes ever. One bed contained Homestead heirloom plants. Homesteads are determinate, meaning they only grow to a certain height and produce most of their fruit all at once. The next bed south contained beefsteaks and small cherry tomatoes, both indeterminates, producing their fruit over the season, supported by tall tomato cages. A third bed had Romas, determinates, on the south and fat cherry tomatoes, plus one Rutgers, in cages on the north. The Homesteads were sagging beneath the weight of big apple-size sauce tomatoes and had to be tied up to strong stakes. The beefsteaks had fruit in all stages of development and the small cherries had dozens of little green tomatoes. The Romas were starting to set their pear-shaped fruit and the fat cherries were covered with neat clusters of big plum-size fruit, just starting to ripen.
One morning I went out to work in the garden and noticed stems on one beefsteak chewed off. I immediately misdiagnosed the problem as tomato hornworms. After a thorough search turned up none of the big green larva, I mixed up and sprayed a batch of BT (bacillus thuringiensis, a natural microbial solution for hornworms and grubs) on the plants.
The next morning, I realized there were actually tomatoes missing. In the past squirrels had only taken ripe tomatoes. I decided the problem must be raccoons, but I went ahead and picked any ripening fruit, just to be safe. Following advice I found online, I spread wood ashes between the rows and sprayed a mixture of garlic, hot sauce, water and Dawn dish washing liquid on the green tomatoes. Raccoons don't like the feel of ashes on their sensitive feet and they supposedly dislike the smell of garlic. The dish soap helps make the hot sauce cling to the tomatoes.
When I went out the following day, there were even more tomatoes missing.
Out in the tool shed I found a couple of battery powered, motion-activated floodlights. I put in fresh batteries, attached them to fence posts near the tomato plants and sprayed the tomatoes again. The next morning there were no tomatoes to protect. In all, I would estimate that I lost a bushel of green tomatoes. Many of those would have gotten bigger and many of the chewed off stems had blossoms that would have set even more tomatoes.
I got a radio and extension cord ready in case I needed more protection in the future. Raccoons don't like classic rock. After a few weeks the tomato plants began putting on more tomatoes, but spotty. The determinates are pretty much done, but they are putting on a few fruits. The indeterminates are bearing more tomatoes, but not many. The heat keeps them from setting blossoms. As the weather begins to cool, there will be a chance of a second, smaller crop.
One day I discovered that some of my corn plants had been broken down and stripped and one of my immature pumpkins had been chewed on. It was time to go nuclear. I hadn't bought blood meal before, because it was expensive as a soil amendment, given that it only provides nitrogen. A friend of mine manages the garden center at the nearest Walmart store and she advised me that they had inexpensive Jobes organic blood meal in her department. It was less than ten dollars, but it was money I had wanted to spend on another soaker hose.
I opened the bag and spread half of the blood meal around the rows. It is said to be a good repellant for deer, rabbits and all manner of veggie-loving pests. The blood smell was also supposed to repel raccoons. An hour later an unexpected thunderstorm moved in and we got two inches of rain that washed the blood meal into the soil. I'll try again when there is no rain in the forecast if I still have any tomatoes.
Fortunately, I started more tomato plants in the greenhouse for a fall crop, but the big harvest that would have been canned as sauce and diced tomatoes is gone.
Varmint damage on an immature pumpkin.
Tomatoes blossoming in the greenhouse. Tomatoes are self-pollinating, so they don't need bees, but I keep a fan blowing on them and brush against the flowers frequently to encourage the transfer of pollen to the stigma.
Addendum: The blood meal didn't work. It appears that once the raccoons have found your tomatoes and corn, it's hard to drive them away. I'm sure it's easier to just keep them out in the first place. I'm planning next year's tomato beds to be inside a large cage. I've added a large floodlight and a radio tuned to a rock station to my deterrents. We'll see how that goes.
Stephen
Stephen
All photos are copyright 2017, Stephen P. Scott
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