While doing weed inspections last August, I noticed a new plant had popped up between the oregano and the basil. It had a cluster of telltale little yellow, bell-shaped blossoms. Could it be… a tomato plant? No. How could that be? I had to tell my daughter about this.

Me: There’s a tomato plant growing in the garden that I didn’t plant.

She: Are you sure you didn’t forget you planted it?

Me: No! I’m not senile. At least not yet. 

I regret telling her about the time I threw down zinnia seeds in the spring, forgot, and was utterly confounded later in the summer by a profusion of young sprouting plants that I didn’t recognize. So, she could be forgiven for thinking I was losing my mind about a tomato plant that was likely, um, deposited by a critter.

Me: Must have been a squirrel or a bird. Wonder what kind of tomatoes they’ll be? Beefsteak? Cherry? Oooh, San Marzano? What should we call them? Poop-matoes? 

She: Ew.  

The whole thing was mystifying. Squirrels usually will bite into a tomato thinking it’s a nut and spit it out. They’re not the sharpest twigs on the tree. It’s unlikely, therefore, that a squirrel made off with a neighbor’s tomato and buried it in my garden. It’s also unlikely that a squirrel would have eaten said neighbor’s tomato and defecated it out among the perennials. That leaves a bird as the likely culprit, and, er, evacuation as the likely mode of planting. 

Either way, my assistant gardener, whether furry or feathered, could use a subscription to a teeny-tiny edition of Northern Gardener® because the critter is a lousy vegetable grower. (Props for locating the seed near cuisine-appropriate herbs, though.) My surprise tomato was growing right under the drip line of my black walnut tree, which would be deadly for the plant. 

Who doesn’t love a freebie? I potted it up, moved it to a sunny spot far from the walnut and began babying it. 

A couple weeks later, again while doing weed patrol, I spotted another tomato plant in a shady bed beneath a crabapple tree. Really, guys? This late in the season, the plant would need some super-enriched potting mix to help it catch up to its sibling. I put the second pot near the first and watched throughout September as each yellow flower became a small green tomato. They appear to be grape tomatoes, perfect to toss in a pan with olive oil, garlic and capers and drizzle over the homemade pasta I mastered this summer. I’ll never look at weed reconnaissance missions the same again, and you shouldn’t either. Be alert—your neighborhood’s assistant gardeners are busy at work and, if we’re observant, we might find that they’ve left us a sweet, edible gift.

Susan Barbieri is a St. Paul writer and longtime journalist who has worked for a variety of local and national publications, including the St. Paul Pioneer Press, Minneapolis Star Tribune and Minnesota Monthly.

Featured image: Grape tomatoes harvested in fall. All photos courtesy of Susan Barbieri.