Bury Your Tomatoes Deep. Like, Really Deep.
I killed my first three tomato transplants in Redmond before I figured out what was wrong. They’d just sit there, kind of yellow, looking sorry for themselves while my neighbor’s plants were already taking off. Turns out I was planting them the same way I plant everything else. Which is wrong, because tomatoes are not everything else.
Tomatoes can grow roots all along their buried stem. Every little hair on that stem? Potential root. Which means if you bury two-thirds of the plant, you’re not killing it, you’re giving it a massive head start. I know it feels wrong the first time you do it. You just paid $3.49 for that transplant and now you’re shoving most of it underground.
Trust the process. Or don’t trust me, trust the roots.
Why This Actually Matters in the PNW
May in Redmond is a weird month for tomatoes. We get those bright sunny days that make you feel like summer is here, and then three days of 52 degrees and drizzle that remind you it’s not. A bigger, deeper root system means the plant can pull more water and nutrients even when the top few inches of soil are cold and miserable. And our soil is often cold and miserable in May. So there’s that.
Deep roots also mean less drama when we hit that one August dry spell. A tomato planted 4 inches deep is working harder in July than one planted 10 inches deep. The deep one just doesn’t tell you about it.
How to Actually Do It
Strip off all the leaves on the bottom two-thirds of the stem. Every single one. Leave just the top cluster. Those stripped-off leaf spots are exactly where new roots will form once they’re underground, so don’t get sentimental about them.
Then dig a hole deep enough that only the top 4-6 inches of plant stick out above the soil. For a leggy 12-inch transplant, that’s a pretty serious hole. I use a long-handle trowel and just keep going. The first time I did this I second-guessed myself about four times and only went halfway. Rookie mistake. Rookie results.
If your transplant is really leggy, like it got stretched out under weak light indoors, you can plant it at an angle in a shallow trench instead of straight down. Lay most of the stem horizontally a few inches underground and curve the top up above the soil. The roots don’t care which direction they grow. Tomatoes are remarkably chill about spatial orientation.
What I Do With the Hole
Before I drop the plant in, I throw a small handful of bone meal in the bottom of the hole. Phosphorus helps root development, and burying a tablespoon of it right where the new roots are forming costs almost nothing. I bought a 4-pound bag at Bi-Mart for $6.89 last season and I’m still not through it.
Mix it into the bottom of the hole a little so the roots aren’t sitting right on top of a concentrated pile. Then plant, backfill, water in slowly. Done.
The Cage or Stake Goes In Now
Put your support in at planting time. Not in three weeks when the plant is bigger and you’ve forgotten where the roots are. I’ve driven a stake through a root ball before. It’s not something I’m proud of. The plant survived but gave me the kind of look that a plant gives you when it’s disappointed.
I use rebar and old pantyhose strips as ties, because it’s free and it works and this is cheapvegetablegardener.com. A 2-foot piece of rebar costs around $1.89 at the hardware store and lasts approximately forever.
How Deep Is Too Deep
Honestly, the only real mistake is not going deep enough. I’ve never had a tomato fail because I buried too much stem. I’ve definitely had them fail because I didn’t bury enough and they never developed the root system to handle our weird Pacific Northwest summer. Leave at least 4-6 inches of leafy growth above the soil so photosynthesis can happen, and you’re good.
The whole thing takes maybe two extra minutes per plant. And you get a tomato that actually performs instead of just surviving.
You could say it’s a groundbreaking technique. (I’m not sorry.)
Photo by Rajesh Rajput on Unsplash
