Sep. 7--It was like finally ending a bad marriage.

I'd known for a long time it was a mistake. But I couldn't let go of the memory of the high hopes I'd started with. I had invested too much time and struggle (not to mention money) to cut my losses and walk away. Other people's were doing fine, so giving up on mine felt like failure. I kept thinking if I just hung on a while longer, I would finally feel the joy of a ripe tomato.

In the end, though, it was just too much. Watering those plants three times a day -- before work, when I got home from work and again at bedtime -- was just ridiculous. I was afraid the tomatoes would fall on somebody's head before they were ripe enough to pick. The only one that did ripen was at best mediocre.

And the yield? Eight hard, small, green tomatoes -- at a cost, in fancy containers and fertilizer, that dwarfed the breathtaking prices for heirloom varieties at the farmers market. So finally, one September day, I snapped. I snapped those tomato stalks right off and dumped them in the compost.

We garden writers like to preach about "right plant, right place." If you understand your conditions and choose plants that are genetically suited to do well there, the scripture says, gardens are much easier and more enjoyable to care for. When I've violated this commandment -- morning glories in the shade, pulmonaria in sun, Russian sage in wet soil -- I've always been sorry.

But as places for tomatoes go, this could hardly have been more wrong: Three stories off the ground, upside down, in a hanging planter that didn't have space for a fraction of the root system of a mature tomato plant, with a "self-watering" reservoir that held onto the water forever, becoming a sky-high breeding ground for mosquitoes and algae.

So why would I grow tomatoes in upside-down planters? Well, I had dwarf cherry tomatoes ('Red Robin') doing quite well in a big self-watering window box with some herbs. Since most of my garden is on the north side of a four-story apartment building, the back porch, outside the kitchen door, is the only place with enough sun for tomatoes -- if I can get the plants above the porch railing so they aren't shaded by the balustrades.

I considered Earth Box self-watering containers but couldn't figure out how to elevate such big, heavy pots that high.

Then I saw these upside-down planters in a catalog, with a supposed self-watering feature. The photo showed thriving tomato plants growing out of the bottom and climbing up the sides to make a big fruit-studded ball. The niftiness factor overcame me.

I plunked down about $25, including shipping and handling, for two.