Take cuttings early in the morning or in the evening, when the sun isn't at its strongest. Cloudy days work, too. To increase your success rate, propagate early in the growing season:

Click photo for a step-by-step slideshow:

Click photo for a step-by-step demonstration

Here are some perennials that can be propagated successfully with stem cuttings:

Alyssum

Artemisia

Aster

Bee balm (Monarda)

Bellflower (Campanula)

Blanketflower (Gaillardia)

Catmint (Nepeta)

Chrysanthemums

Clematis

Coral bells (Heuchera)

Coreopsis

Dusty miller (Senecio)

Lavender

Montauk daisy

(Nipponanthemum)

Penstemon

Phlox

Sedum

Shasta daisy (Leucanthemum)

Yarrow (Achillea)

Anyway, I'm having a bad week. My dog was (impulsively, I believe) diagnosed with cancer. I took her in for some routine vaccines a couple of days ago, and the vet announced his diagnosis point blank -- in front of my 11-year-old. I was shocked. Confused. And pissed off that he would say that in front of a child. Plus, all he's going on is enlarged lymph nodes. What's worse, my kids are now besides themselves with worry. If handled properly, I wouldn't even have mentioned it to them until I knew for certain.

I'm no doctor, but wouldn't you think he should order some tests before making such a proclamation? He didn't say, "it's suspicious," or "it might be cause for concern, let's investigate." No. He said, "your dog has cancer." I'm not kidding. Maybe she does have cancer, but for God's sake let's rule out an infection first, no?

My mom's not doing well, either. Not as bad as the dog, thank goodness, but I found out yesterday she has to undergo an unpleasant procedure. I'm optimistic she'll be fine in the long run, but for now, I'm concerned.

And people around me seem to be getting dramatic. Is there a full moon rising? I'm not a fan of drama. I don't cause any -- at least not deliberately -- and I don't want any. That's why I choose to be passive, mostly. And I choose my friends accordingly. There's no room for gossip or back-stabbing or manipulation or super-charged egos in my day. I don't have the energy.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a people person, I am. But sometimes I dream about how nice it would be to work with plants all day. You pull a few weeds, give them water, enjoy their colors and scents. Sure, some die, but really it's no tragedy. Just plant some more seeds and you're good to go. Life-threatening illnesses? Pull 'em out of the ground and start over. Drama? It would be a good thing. Coleus in the shade? Dramatic. My new Ligularia dentata -- interspersed between some Ostrich ferns? That's drama.

Better times ahead!

I was wondering if Newsday is going to have another Great Long Island Tomato Challenge this year. If I have a contender, where and when should I bring it? -- Harold Politano, Deer Park

I've gotten nearly a dozen e-mails just like yours, Harold, and I don't even have flowers on my tomato plants yet. So, yes, back by reader demand, the second annual Garden Detective Great Long Island Tomato Challenge will take place at 7 p.m. Aug. 22.

Give your plants lots of TLC over the summer and bring your heaviest fruit to Newsday headquarters (235 Pinelawn Rd. in Melville) for an official weigh-in. I'll be on hand to weigh each tomato personally, a photographer will capture the moment, and light refreshments will be served.

Winner gets a handshake, my admiration and their story and picture in an upcoming issue of Newsday and here on the Garden Detective blog - oh, and the satisfaction of being crowned Tomato King or Queen.

In the meantime, keep your stories, tomato-growing strategies and photos coming to me at jessica.damiano@newsday.com.

We're trying to track their migration. Have you spotted any west of the Suffolk-Nasau border?

Help us chronicle their impact by sharing your photos at newsday.com/deer.

&%$#@ Squirrels!

They do it every year. I don't mind sharing, but they're like toddlers who've just acquired a box of chocolates, biting into one piece, abandoning it and taking another. Take one and finish it. Sheesh.

In the meantime, Matt Ippolito, a reader who was a top contender in last year's "Garden Detective Great Long Island Tomato Challenge," sent me an email:

"Some info to pass along on your tomato seed sprouting question-----------

http://www.ppdl.purdue.edu/PPDL/weeklypics/3-3-03.html

http://www.cookingforengineers.com/article/57/Surprises-In-Snacks"

Apparently, Bernadette isn't the only one to have stumbled across a sprouting tomato. There still doesn't seem to be an adequate explanation for it, just evidence that it sometimes happens. Hmmm.

In the meantime, all my in-ground tomato plants might have suffered a tragic fate, but the four I have growing in Earth Boxes are taking off like crazy.

The box on the right contains contains the Earth Box organic mixture, lime and fertilizer; the one on the left has standard issue stuff. Aside from health benefits, I'm curious to see if there's any difference in the way the plants develop. So far, no.

They're all just about ready for staking now. Problem is, the Earth Box staking system is prohibitively expensive, so I'm going to try to improvise with stakes and string or something. Any ideas?

OK -- so I just heard from Bernadette. Here are the details concerning the freaky tomato:

"It was sitting on my kitchen table in a ceramic bowl for over a month and I have been ignoring it. I decided to feel it last Saturday morning, in the dark. Thinking that I would have to get rid of a rotten tomato. Instead, I felt this firmness and tiny bumps, which scared me some, so I turned the lights on and you know the rest."

So this was a store-bought tomato (obviously, because we won't be seeing any backyard-grown ones for at least another month) and it wasn't like this when she purchased it. Somehow it sprouted at room temperature after sitting around awhile.

Explanations? Anybody?

"What are you going to do with it?" he asked. "Plant the sprouts?"

Great idea! That'll make for a great experiment, especially in light of the recent tomato plant tragedy over here at the Damiano house.

So I spent my evening separating pulp from sprouts, rinsing and planting. (Alright, not my whole evening. I also cooked dinner, helped my daughter with her Latin America project on Costa Rica, watched half of "The Song Remains the Same" and spent 1 1/2 hour in the driveway with John, who was trying to get my car's dead battery started, to no avail.)

Aren't they cute? Notice the little roots on the ends. I wonder if they'll grow...

I'll keep you posted.

One woman once told me about a problem with a tomato plant that didn't produce tomatoes, only yellow flowers, which were diligently removed because they were "ugly." A coworker complained about a grape vine that for years has produced tons of grapes that never, ever ripen. All the usual suspects, sun, etc., apparently aren't the problem. Reporters and editors and photographers and artists approach me at work with their questions. I like to help, especially if I know the answer. But sometimes, I'm just stumped.

When I got into the newsroom this morning, I found a "gift" left on my desk by my friend Bernadette. It was one of the weirdest things I'd come across, even though I can pretty much figure out what's going on. I don't have the back story because I wasn't in the office yesterday when she left it, and she was out today. Check this thing out:

There are tiny pin-prickly things just below this tomato's skin, and running my finger over them reveals there's some pressure in there, like they're just waiting to burst out, Alien style. Some already have emerged, and they look like -- sprouts.

Could the tomato's seeds actually have germinated and sprouted from within the tomato? I brought that baby home with me tonight so I could investigate further.

Then, on the way home, some idiot driving perpendicular to me runs a stop sign, forcing me to slam on my brakes and sending everything on my front passenger seat hurling to the floor. The tomato, which was overly ripe, smashed open, spewing juice on the carpet, my backpack, my canvas lunch tote, cell phone, water bottle and travel mug. So I don't travel light. Don't judge me.

Anyway, when I got home and looked at the smashed specimen, its insides were revealed:

Freaky, right? Here, take a closer look:

So I cut it in half to get an even closer look:

It's clearly a case of the seeds sprouting. This tomato wanted to give birth. I wonder what would have happened if it had remained on the vine.

Anyone have a clue what's going on here?