by Kathryn Martin

Created on: June 02, 2008   Last Updated: June 09, 2008

Tomato Troubles

I wish I could tell you how the Early Emily tomato seeds ended up in the gutter above the front porch of our two story white farm house. I really wish I could. No, I was not drinking. And no, I was not trying to plant them there. They were originally supposed to end up in the tiny trench I dug somewhere between the beets and the sugar peas.

Those sugar peas are behind this I tell ya. Lord knows that they possess the magical powers to make plants levitate out of the ground and over to the gutters just because I was late one day with the Miracle Grow Plant Food sticks. Miss one day and the world goes to Hell in a flowery hand basket of columbine blue stars, according to the sugar peas anyway. The corn could care less. And don't even ask the potatoes, they'll just wave their leaves at you and keep quiet. They must have been threatened by the green beans who are in cahoots with the sugar menaces dominating the southern part of my plot of garden.

Yes, folks, I do consult my plants on where they would like to be planted every spring. I just never expected to wake up on a blustery May morning and see a vine hanging down between the weatherworn columns of the porch as though screaming "Hey, look here moron. Look where I ended up."

Which left me with a very important question - just how does one go about transplanting a tomato plant from a gutter back to the garden, especially when you have no clue how it got there to begin with.

So, doing what I do best - getting these great ideas in my head and not actually thinking about how much the insurance premium is going to rise once I end up in the emergency room for a garden related injury, I sauntered on down to the barn, startled the goats, and grabbed the only ladder on the property - one built by grandpa way back in 1942. It was missing a few rungs, but hey, I'm tall enough to step over them.

So began the epic show of my redneck heritage on retrieving this tomato plant. At first, everything went great. The ladder was sturdy like the oak from which it was hewn, the wind a little less homicidal, and the plant within easy reach - until I heard the skittering clip of cloven hooves rounding the corner over the paver stones and the tiny tinkling of aluminum bells.

Sasquatch the goat was loose and leading her girls out to breakfast, courtesy of my garden. So what does one do in this situation? What any other proud redneck would do, start hollering loud enough for the neighbors to cover their children's ears and for

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