My favorite season is winter. I admit it’s a controversial opinion. I thrive in cold weather. I love being outside in the snow. I own snowshoes. I stomp around outside and breathe in the refreshing, cold air while admiring nature as it sleeps, gathering its energy for the show it will put on in springtime.

There is, however, one thing about winter I don’t like: supermarket tomatoes.

Peek through Door number 4 to see how I’m tackling tomato withdrawal head on.

December 4, 2025

I browse the produce at my local supermarket every winter and try to find something that will taste what it looks like. That orange thing is carrot shaped; perhaps it will taste like a carrot? Nope. Tastes like balsa wood. Ooh, they have blueberries! It’s $10 for 5 blueberries in a flat, plastic clamshell box. Hope fades as I wander toward the tomatoes. I pick one up. It feels like a baseball, dense with a leathery texture. I smell it. Fresh tomatoes have a singular aroma. This one smells like the packaging of the extortionist blueberries. Sigh.

And then I remember the hydroponic planters that my sister keeps on her counter. That’s the solution! I call her for help. She recommends micro tomatoes that are bred to grow in containers but cautions me to only plant a few in one planter. She says they’ll take over the container. Against her advice, I decide to plant all six slots with 2 tomato plants, basil, chives, Swiss chard, and green leaf lettuce, too.

At first, the seeds sprouted in their own pods and had plenty of room. In about six weeks, I harvested lettuce, chard, and basil for salad! Heaven! The tomatoes started off more slowly but gained more leaves and the stems became very sturdy. And then they exploded! They shaded the other plants, stunting their growth. Within days, they grew to about half of their mature height. The harvested plants that enjoyed early success were now too small to compete. I should have heeded my wise sister’s warning. Tomato-geddon is underway.

The tomatoes have crowded out the other plants. The poor chives never stood a chance. I removed them and closed their slot. The roots of the tomato plants were wound around the chive pod. They didn’t die of natural causes. It was foul play.

With more room to spread out, the tomatoes shot up again and now they’re flowering. That means tomatoes are imminent. But wait! There aren’t any bees in the house. Another quick call to my sister reveals how to pollinate the plants by hand. Turns out I’m the bee!

It’s equal parts amazing and fun to have tomatoes growing in my dining room while the temperature outside dives below freezing night after night. In years past, I’d reluctantly accept that leathery tomatoes were my fate. With my hydroponic wonder planter, I can now defy winter and snack on cherry tomatoes while it snows. It’s agricultural sorcery!

It reminds me of that scene in Animal House when Bluto addresses the brotherhood of Delta Tau Chi as they face expulsion. He rallies them with a hilarious speech that begins, “What? Over? Did you say ‘over’? Nothing is over until we decide it is!” Well, Bluto, that’s how I feel about tomatoes. Thank you, sir, may I have another?

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