That story line proves fertile ground for Alexander in "The $64 Tomato," a mirthful 265-page read that plots the distinctive trajectory of a novice gardening enthusiast. Alexander takes readers along with him as his naive soaring enthusiasm and grandiose plans slide down into the weed-tangled, bug-infested, critter populated, back-breaking depths of growing reality. As he plows through myriad travails, he sows thoughtful philosophical musings on why we garden: the physical and mental benefits (and drawbacks), our connections to the land, the disconnection with non-gardening family members, and the unintended ecological consequences of blithe gardening decisions (like introducing roses, which introduce him to a new scourge), “Dad, is that a ladybug? It’s pretty."

“I wandered over. This “ladybug" was four times the size of a ladybug and it was eating the rose."

As any Vermont gardener knows, he was about to do battle with Japanese beetles.

Though it’s a tired if true formula -- the unsuspecting naif taking up a new hobby/sport/place to live and recounting the pitfalls and pratfalls -- Alexander’s wry humor and uncanny ability to get himself in trouble makes this an unexpected page turner. Each chapter -- such as “You may be smarter, but he’s got more time" about squirrels, deer and woodchucks and one nasty possum - leaves you eager to see what is coming next up the not-so-garden path. Avid and experienced gardeners will nod in amused recognition and sympathy at “vermin" like squirrels and “Bambi" and the labor it takes to keep gardens weed free. Alexander ponders on the odd nature of garden enslavement, a willing bondage rewarded by corn and tomatoes that storebought can’t come close to, praising the joys of putting his hands in soil with its “earthy, almost aphrodesiac smell." On the other hand, there’s aching backs and blisters from endless hoeing and “shifting waves of weed attacks" and accidentaly whacking off a corn stalk, a Brandywine tomato, or a drip irrigation hose. “I’ve killed them all," he writes.

But this is not just a gardening book: For amchair gardeners with black thumbs, the book is an amusing cautionary tale that Martha Stewart gardens do not just happen, they are created and maintained by an army of hired hands (or one foolhardy gardener who doesn’t know when to quit). Some of the funniest parts of the book have nothing to do with growing but recount Alexander’s mishaps with seductive landscapers and contrary contractors, who charge him an arm and a leg to not show up, ignore his wishes, and generally muck things up royally. And when they do show up promptly, he takes it as a foreboding sign, such as the handyman who showed up minutes after being called:

“Now? On a Sunday afternoon?"

“He was, I would guess, in his early thirties, with close-cropped hair, sunken cheeks, and the eerie grey eyes of an assassin." The man turns out to be a hard-working semi-sociopath desperate for cash with a temper as hot as a habenero and a disturbing resemblance to Christopher Walken, the actor. You flip the pages woondring if there’ s an upstate massacree looming just ahead.

Alexander, a director of technology at an institute and a writer of commentaries for national newspapers, spent five years putting the book together (or amassing the experiences that fill it, aptly described in the sub-title, “How One Man Nearly Lost His Sanity, Spent a Fortune, and Endured an Existential Crisis in the Quest for the Perfect Garden."

The title of the book, as you might imagine, refers to a whimsical enumeration of what it really cost to produce each prized and amortized heirloom Brandywine tomato one dry drought-stricken year that Alexander plants his elaborate dreams and schemes.

In the end, despite having to curtail his labors because of a herniated disc and Survivor-like string of trials that leaves him ready to vote himself off the island, Alexander soldiers on in the joys of the garden.

That my 13-year-old daughter and I fought over the book once we started it demonstrates its appeal to a wide variety of readers. For a breezy summer read or a break from trying to get in those peppers after all the rain we’ve had, “The $64 Tomato" will leave you laughing and understanding why Adam and Eve might think Eden wasn’t such a great place after all.

— Andrew Nemethy