In the heat of the day I processed more tomatoes for the freezer. All that remains is in the greenhouse, which will be another haul or two, and that will do it for the year. I’m not sure if I’ll do spaghetti sauce this year, or stick with stocking up on crushed tomatoes and maybe tomato jam. I’ve already preserved some crushed tomatoes and a big batch of salsa, which I hope is a two year supply, but I’m not so sure. Maybe I should make a little more to guarantee that. A lot of tomatoes went to our Harvest Moon Soup, and of course we’ve eaten our weight in them fresh.
With final harvests coming in I should be a proper gardener and record my thoughts on the season, and I will soon, but with only one light frost behind us, it hardly feels time. We are still in the thick of bringing it all in and after that, putting the garden bed.
Chai has replaced coffee in the morning, which is a normal thing for me as seasons change. The scent takes me back thirty years to the herb farm I worked at: milky chai simmering on the wood cookstove in the farmhouse kitchen, bundles of Sweet Annie hanging from old wooden beams, a pot of chai on the stove, and the scent of rosemary and geranium wafting through from the greenhouse. Not the big greenhouse down the hill, but the one attached to the farmhouse, with a door that opened into the kitchen. Isn’t that something. It’s no wonder the proprietress lived to be one hundred.
I can see first light creeping over the eastern ridge, and hear the few remaining birds begin their day. It’s time for me to do the same.