The last word on the basement tomato experiment

Last night I dreamed about tomato plants heavy with big, red, juicy fruit, at least a dozen tomatoes per stalk, growing in pots in my very own laundry room. And then I woke up to reality...

Well, we tried. We really did. We grew a few handfuls of tomatoes in our basement this winter... and there are probably a few handfuls left ripening on the vines even now. But overall, I must admit that our "green wall" wasn't really worth the time or electricity required to grow enough tomatoes to garnish a few Christmas salads.

Lee and I had great hopes for our 18 happy little plants at the beginning. They flowered like they meant to produce enough tomatoes to get us through the winter. I pollinated them daily with my little water colour paintbrush, watered from the bottom to try to keep the fungus gnats to a dull roar, and sprayed their leaves with milk solution as often as necessary to try to handle an outbreak of powdery mildew.

But those little plants needed more. It seems they were stressed because they didn't have enough soil to really stretch out their roots, and the soil became nutrient depleted over time. Our grow lights simply weren't strong enough to make up for the lack of true sunlight, the powdery mildew kept spreading, curling and drying previously healthy leaves, and the gnats -- oh, the gnats. We complain about them daily because they've now made homes upstairs in my houseplants, too, and are always flying into our faces.

Five or six salads with lovely red and gold tomatoes and cherry tomatoes have graced our table, and though they do taste like real tomatoes -- as opposed to the cellophane tomatoes from the grocery stores this time of year -- they are nowhere near as sweet, juicy, and delicious as summer-grown tomatoes. 

I guess grow lights, tap water and oscillating fans are no substitute for the sweetness of sun, rainwater and gentle breezes provided by Mother Nature. Which also explains why the flavour of cellophane tomatoes isn't worth their price. They've grown in hothouses, not under Mother Nature's care, and probably lost food value during shipment.

I've also realized that growing tomatoes in my basement is nothing like backyard gardening -- at first, I was enthusiastic, but now I see that I really do need a winter break, a time for catching up on indoor chores, taking a break from dirty broken fingernails, and recovering my enthusiasm for a new season of growth -- outdoors!

I have reconciled myself to the idea that tomato plants are not meant to be grown in pots in basements. I'm also certain that my pioneer grandparents wouldn't have dreamed of a tomato or cucumber in the winter unless it was preserved in jars in a warm August kitchen. 

The fruits and vegetables that we North Americans choose to eat "out of season" are usually shipped huge distances from other parts of the globe this time of year using vast amounts of fossil fuels. Often, the farmers who grow our winter produce are barely paid for it, but by the time it reaches us, our so-called supermarkets get away with charging outrageous prices because we are willing to pay for Chilean Christmas tomatoes... or Venezuelan Valentine's Day strawberries. 

Our seasons -- and our freezers -- have a wisdom all their own. Summer is meant for fresh garden food and for preserving or freezing the abundance we can't eat at the time. Winter is for enjoying those preserves, for quiet evenings, and for dreaming about starting next year's garden. 

So tonight, pasta with pesto, tomato sauce, and last summer's wax beans, all from the freezer. Though I've enjoyed the few tomatoes our basement experiment has yielded, I certainly won't need to repeat it.