My cat Petrie (wearing his BirdBeSafe collar) lounges in the garden in late July. Behind him are perennial kale in the first box, and my a few tomato plants in the next. He does not remember winter is coming, nor does he care.
In late summer and fall, I turn my excessive tomatoes of all varieties into sauces and salsas. Here we have a vegetable pasta sauce and tomato jam in the making.
This week, I let Patti Mayonnaise inspect one of the last Golden Treasures from last year's garden. She mistakes it as a ball, rejects it as a snack, and walks away disgruntled.
It’s the second week of March in the year 2023, and I have just chopped up the last fresh tomato from my 2022 garden. “But it’s cold,” you marvel (which is impressive for an inanimate notebook). “How ever did you accomplish such a feat, this miracle of nightshades?” Luckily for you, my inquisitive journal, I’ve recorded the whole saga here:
My cat Petrie (wearing his BirdBeSafe collar) lounges in the garden in late July. Behind him are perennial kale in the first box, and my a few tomato plants in the next. He does not remember winter is coming, nor does he care.
In late summer and fall, I turn my excessive tomatoes of all varieties into sauces and salsas. Here we have a vegetable pasta sauce and tomato jam in the making.
This week, I let Patti Mayonnaise inspect one of the last Golden Treasures from last year's garden. She mistakes it as a ball, rejects it as a snack, and walks away disgruntled.
Kate Schell is a designer at Pamplin Media. She lives with her tomato-abhorring husband and their ten thousand pets. Contact her at milkweedandhoney@pamplinmedia.com.
