Well, they looked just like tomato plants – and I knew I put some tomato seeds in my garden.

The plants surprised me by being so happy to grow here, leaping up by the proverbial leaps and bounds. I anticipated a great harvest. An abundance of tomatoes and apples too – what a year indeed!

Only why, when I went out later for a closer look (keeping an eye at the same time on my one and a half zucchinis), were all these tomatoes hollow? They look more like the Japanese lantern plant than anything I could imagine eating.

Then, loading up on ripe tomatoes at a local grocers, I saw my “things” in the very next bin. “Tomatillos.” Oh.

A number of years ago I had gotten carried away (as one tends to do when snow’s still there and dreams of a garden seem quite remote). I had ordered all sorts of seeds from an enticing catalogue, tomatillo seeds among them. The catalogue of course is long gone so I have no way of knowing what about this particularly enticed me but the seeds duly arrived.

The planting directions were formidable. I do tend to avoid anything more complicated than “dig hole and insert.” When it got to their needing fish emulsion or manure tea, I tossed the pack in a drawer and forgot about them. Well, wouldn’t you?

When this year’s spring house-cleaning frenzy hit, I opened the drawer.

There were packages of tomato seeds, french lettuce, beans, dill and basil, oregano, lots more lettuce, snapdragons, cauliflowers, parsley and three for cosmos, compliments of an organization I’ve never supported.

I filled little pots with potting soil and planted an entire seed collection in each.

The trouble began once it was warm enough that I could set them out on the deck. Squirrel or inquiring dog, I never did figure that out, but somebody wanted those seeds even more than I. The beans didn’t stand a chance. Worse, the others were turned topsy-turvy on the deck. I scooped up what I could but, in my efforts, lost all track of what had gone in each marked container.

Some actually sprouted and, when late May rolled around, I planted what I expected would be quite a lavish garden, carefully noting what went where.

Somebody up there has a good sense of humor.

The free cosmos (packaged three years earlier) is growing enthusiastically. I harvested 5 or 6 pole beans but something got the rest. Some coxcomb is growing and I’ve found radishes though they tend to be rotting and I discovered I really don’t care much for radishes anyway. I planted tomatoes. Dream on – no sign. My zucchini and a half are now just one. The baby imploded at two inches. There is a long row with great yellow blossoms but I see no sign (yet?) of any vegetable beneath. Those I’d appreciate. Usually I am good at growing lettuce and find great satisfaction in picking my own nightly salad. Not a hint this year. Mostly just those tomatillos.

Whatever they are.

What hath I wrought?

What did we do before the Internet? Yes, I too have an old encyclopedia and a number of dictionaries but I can learn much more – sorry, Library, but I think the Internet even outclasses you.

“The tomatillo, also known as the Mexican husk tomato, is a plant of the nightshade family” – well, I should close the book right there, right? Why fool around with any relative of the deadly nightshade?

Because this has been cultivated in Mexico, where it originated, since the pre-Columbian era. Considered a “staple of Mexican cuisine, they can be eaten raw [oh?] or cooked in a variety of dishes.” They can be roasted, dry roasted, fire roasted in a broiler, on a grill or – I’ve got to see this – with a culinary torch.

One of my daughters sent me pages of recipes, suggesting either the tomatillo-strawberry pie (though they are hardly both in season at the same time) or a soup for which I almost have all the ingredients I’d need – except, honestly, the desire either to cook or to eat. Then again, company’s coming and it might be fun to try a new experiment.

So now – I just wait till they’re ripe: light brown with a husk that isn’t shriveled or dry and, preferably, small.

I have time.

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Susan Crossett has lived outside Cassadaga for more than 20 years. A lifetime of writing led to these columns as well as two novels. Her Reason for Being was published in 2008 with Love in Three Acts appearing last year. Copies are available at the Cassadaga ShurFine and Papaya Arts on the Boardwalk in Dunkirk. Information on all the Musings, the books and the author may be found at Susancrossett.com.