Po-TAY-Toes was in crisis. She'd been doing her homework diligently, and so far her favorite books had of course been the ones about potatoes. She loved potatoes. She loved all edible plants, really, and loved to find them in the woods, but potatoes were her absolute favorite and she just couldn't get enough of them. There was so much you could do with a potato. You could boil it, mash it, stick it in a stew- grind it down for flour, fry it up for chips. But it was, at the end of the day, just a potato- and that was why she was in crisis.

It had started with the science fair. Taters had known from day one what she'd wanted to do. She'd wanted to make a new cultivar of potato using the cloning techniques she'd practiced in her garden. Pretty much all potatoes were grown by cloning these days, and she was sure she could make a new cultivar using a Yukon Gold and a Russet. Her plan had gone pretty well, and her potatoes were growing nicely. Maybe too nicely. Her mom had seen her work and come out and congratulated her on the planting, and hinted that maybe her cutie mark would show up soon. For potatoes. And somehow this was kind of devastating.

Taters was, after all, of the age where phonies tended to get their cutie marks by figuring out their purpose in life. And for most of the phonies she knew, this tended to be something awesome. What kind of special talent was "potatoes"? Was that even a talent at all? She thought about what her friends and family's cutie marks were. Her older brother Warp Nine's cutie mark represented the power of exploding stars, while her older sister Marvel's was literally an explosion. Sort of. It looked like an explosion and kind of stood for justice and heroics. Her mom's cutie mark was a die wrapped with magic- basically, the benevolent hand of fate intervening. Conversely, her aunt's was a dragon's claw holding a similar die, representative of fate's cruelty. Her cousin Valiant's was a shield with hearts- the protective power of love, maybe? Frag Doll's was an 8-bit butterfly, perhaps symbolizing the ability of the game world to change one's perspective, and Lady Faire's was a crown and roses, symbolizing regality. Sunny Delight's was the sun itself, the very spirit of nourishment, and Midnight Snack's was a hybrid fruit that stood for the nigh-magical combination of science and food. Roc's was him entirely, a golden Roc carrying rolls in a fantastic flight of fancy.

Those were all appropriate cutie marks for a hero. What kind of hero bore the mark of a humble potato on her flank?

And then she began to feel even more terrible as she laid on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Not just because she was upset at her lame passion, but because she felt that her passion was lame. Why should she feel ashamed about potatoes? Potatoes weren't just dumb plants. They were one of the first domesticates, and they were nice! They weren't completely poisonous like most of their family; they were available to eat and to be delicious. Even wild potatoes were usually ok to eat. You just had to think of them like a manticore or Cerberus or something- beneficial, if you know what you're doing. And you could do so much more with them than just eating them. You could distill them into happy juice for grownups, or use the skins to treat burns. You could use the starch in hundreds of ways- and the plants themselves were important research organisms, the fruit flies of botanical research. Historically, pretty much every culture to come in contact with potatoes celebrated them in some way- even in art! And you could even play with potatoes by sticking plastic parts into them. The very first toy advertised on TV was a potato. That had to count for something, right?

Curling up on her bed, she burrowed under a blanket and grabbed a copy of the nearest novel to cheer her up. The Two Towers. Perfect. One of her favorites, and with the best heroes. Taters liked all fantasy stories, but particularly enjoyed unlikely ones. Like hobbits. Flipping it open to a dog-eared page, she began to read.

'To hear you somehow makes me as merry as if the story was already written. But you've left out one of the chief characters: Samwise the stouthearted. "I want to hear more about Sam, dad. Why didn't they put in more of his talk, dad? That's what I like, it makes me laugh. And Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam, would he, dad?"'

'Now, Mr. Frodo,' said Sam, 'you shouldn't make fun. I was serious.'

'So was I,' said Frodo, 'and so I am.We're going on a bit too fast. You and I, Sam, are still stuck in the worst places of the story, and it is all too likely that some will say at this point: "Shut the book now, dad; we don't want to read any more."'

'Maybe,' said Sam, 'but I wouldn't be one to say that.'

She smiled as she read. Potatoes were like hobbits. They might not be the biggest or the flashiest or the prettiest, but when it came down to it, a potato would never do you wrong. Maybe that was like her, too- she certainly wasn't the prettiest or the smartest or the strongest, even in her own family- but she'd always done her best to work hard, to be reliable and dependable, and to be kind. She was Taters the Stouthearted, and she was fine with that. She might not win the science fair with her potatoes, but she was proud of them and she loved them. They were her potatoes and nobody else's, and she'd grown them herself. That was enough to make her happy. Sure, they were simple, but if she could take such joy from something simple, that was good enough for her. Even if her cutie mark wasn't as cool as some of the others', it wasn't a big deal. She'd be happy with it, because it represented her. What kind of special talent was "potatoes"? An awesome one.