The near-nightly occurrence. The handmade knife was a surprise (read: off-registry) wedding gift, and I SO love it. It’s by a metalsmith somewhere in the Cascades, in Washington or Oregon. If anyone knows the maker, lemme know: I adore the thing. It is stamped “MH”, and it’s a foot long, with a 4 1/2″ high blade.
Coming to the end of the season, I do feel like I have spent the last four months chopping up tomatoes, and I wouldn’t be exaggerating. Between our own garden’s output (extreme), the school garden’s output (dimmed by late blight but still prolific) and the gleanings from some local farms, the tomatoes were absolutely crazy this year. I believe we made close to 100 quarts of salsa and chopped tomatoes and pasta sauce *just* for the school, and then there’s our own larder that I am too scared to list.
Brandywine tomatoes ripening on the kitchen window
For a woman whose family members won’t even EAT a raw tomato (salsa’s the one exception) it is a bit crazy that I grow as many as I do. Considering the 2008 tally was likewise as big and there were still quarts of juice, sauce, ketchup, barbecue sauce and plain tomatoes downstairs when I began to harvest in 2009, I am beginning to believe I am slightly crazy. Tomatoes *love* the greenhouse conditions, and I *love* growing tomatoes is my only excuse.
I think the blight elsewhere also got me going. Well, I thought, at least they’re working for ME. Some kind of survivalist tendency or something, some ghost of Depressions past.
I am kind of happy to see the tomatoes go, though.
Except there IS this last bit of green harvest that has yet to ripen: