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This spring I had a compost-pile full of tomato seedlings. Apparently the seed has no trouble overwintering. I pulled three or four of the largest plants out and put them in good soil, and still had a number remaining. So I decided not to turn over the compost pile at all this year, and let them grow in situ. They didn’t have the four- or five-week greenhouse head start my other tomatoes had, but they all have fruit, and the fruit is starting to ripen. Today I ate the leftmost tomato of those pictured here, which were harvested from a compost tomato plant.
Imus These stray seedlings represent chance combinations, so you never know what you’re going to get. Last year I had a tomato plant grow up in the middle of my “lawn” – or rather, the meadow in front of my house – it must have come from a tomato fragment I tossed out my front door. It produced little cherry tomatoes, which tasted utterly awful. They were inedible, in fact, and after trying three of them I gave up.
The compost tomatoes above clearly have some “Jersey Red Roma” parentage – one of the tomatoes I grew last year – although unlike other Romas these are juicy, have lots of seeds, and more of a beefsteak flesh. The flavor was good, though the flesh has a bit of that mealy quality you find in Romas. They’re good tomatoes – probably a Roma-beefsteak cross. The foliage of the plant, however, was very droopy and some friends, looking at the plant, despaired that anything good would ever come of so sorry-looking a tomato plant. It lost all its ornamental qualities in the crossing.
I could just save seeds from this plant – which I might do just for kicks – but it won’t necessarily come true from seed. Since there are other tomatoes in my garden, it’s likely that it was pollinated by some other variety. If you want reliable seed, you have to isolate the varieties from each other. Barring some kind of planned intervention, every generation is the chance sport of the last.
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