Tomato Diaries

I write this first entry two weeks after the devastating tomato genocide of spring 2025. 50 tomato seedlings were lost abruptly, taken too soon from this cruel world. And when I say they were lost, I mean that I unintentionally killed all of them at once. I am an accidental mass murderer of tomatoes. The facts are these:
I have a small patio garden and I love growing plants. I (usually) love to research and become more knowledgeable about things. That said, I do not always realize what I do not know. The previous year’s tomato harvest was somewhat successful- not as bountiful as that of 2023, but I still had some good tomatoes and learned how to harvest the seeds. (Basically, you rinse the seeds and ignore them until the slimy stuff ferments and molds off of them, then dry them out.) I saved seeds from my red and yellow cherry tomatoes to plant this year, and also gave a bunch of them to my dad for Christmas.
My dad planted his tomato seeds under grow lights in February and they started sprouting practically immediately. Unfortunately I was sick, and I had only put a couple of seeds in my tiny rainbow and unicorn planters, complete with loose plastic bags to help retain humidity. My parents were supportive in my time of need and brought me some grow light bulbs while I weakly battled Walking Pneumonia. My mom looked at my planting thus far and asked why I was erotically asphyxiating my unicorn. It took some time to convince her that the plastic bag was just for soil moisture and not a cry for help. Sigh. March hit, and I was still sick. But I was also determined. Feeling behind on planting, I skipped any research and sprinkled a bunch of seeds into sprouting trays with soil. I set them near my sliding glass door as a light source. I did not have any lamps for the grow light bulbs. Within these choices lie the major flaws to the growth of my tomatoes:
Overcrowding
Not enough light
1- Each little pod (plot? unit?) of the tray had at least 3 seeds next to each other- most of them had 5. I really underestimated the success rate of these seeds coming to life. I thought maybe half would make it, but lo and behold, all of them made it. Which meant I had over 70 tomato seedlings and they were all fighting over nutrients.
2- The light coming in through the glass door was weak for most of the day in early spring (it still is), and really only gave access to sunlight for a couple of hours. Because of this, my seedlings were growing tall and spindly trying to find more light but never getting enough to become hardier at the stems and roots. Basically, they needed a bunch of bulk days and I was giving them the plant equivalent of a dry salad. As such, like heroin-chic models, they began their slow collapse: tall, beautiful, and full of promise, but unable to hold themselves up. Luckily for them, I was there. Or so I thought.

After doing some limited research, I realized that I needed to thin out the seedlings to reduce competition and provide way more sunlight- like 16 hours if possible. So I ordered a desk lamp for one of the grow bulbs and started carefully plucking seedlings to put in other trays with more space. I plucked about 50 of them- very carefully- and replanted them with some elbow-room. Unfortunately, they had no legs to stand on, and the stress of the move had them drooping and finally finding light. At the end of the tunnel.
The next morning I woke up and went to check on my plants and found that all 50 transplants had departed their earthly vessels. All because I moved them too soon. I had the sweet, slightly acidic blood of tomato babies on my hands, and it did not feel good. I could not make them stand again no matter what I tried (i.e. propping them up with toothpicks), so I gave them a mass burial. Right next to the grave of the lizard Gobi I recently found on my patio, who was a huge little bitch and chose to die over eating and hydrating with the food and water I gave him. (RIP)
I then turned my attention to the remaining survivors. They also looked sad and ready to give up, but I didn’t want their fallen brethren to die completely in vain. The survivors now had their own space to grow, and by God, they were going to thrive.
I ordered another desk lamp, hit them with growth lights from 2 directions and built up soil around each seedling with what remained from the fallen. Each day they got about 12-16 hours of light, some water, and additional soil to help them stay upright. It’s been 2 weeks of this new regimented lifestyle. Are they thriving? That might be a stretch, but they no longer fall over if I touch them, so we’re definitely moving in the right direction.