"Come on! Get it! Good Girl!" Wendy is running around in frantic circles in the backyard chasing the beam from my headlamp. She's still hyped up from our arrival back home after work. It is good exercise for her, but I'm getting dizzy! It's damp and cold out and I'm heading to the garden, wrapped up tight in my hoody, baskets in hand. I was already out here this morning in the dark and now I'm back again ... in the dark. Such is the reality of gardening in North Idaho. The days are short now and we leave for work in the dark and come home in the dark. My quest is another late harvest of tomatoes. The small Principes this time. This morning was Romas and a few of the bigger varieties.
I kneel down in the garden and start plucking the orange fruits to fill the baskets. My hands are cold and wet, but the job is not too bad. Truth is, a shot of whiskey was at hand before I ventured out. Fortification I had told Wendy earlier. Crawling around in the wet and cold is probably nuts, but really for me, I'm just reluctant to let it all go. Soon enough this will all be frozen and covered with snow. I'm just not ready yet.
Wendy's tags are jingling beside me outside the garden as she runs up and down the fence, chasing the head beam as I bob my head around searching for the telltale red hue in the tangle of wet green vines. I move down the row, basket in tow, getting heavier and heavier. I come across a few small zucchini and decide to pick them. Certainly the last of those for the season.
Wendy's tags are jingling beside me outside the garden as she runs up and down the fence, chasing the head beam as I bob my head around searching for the telltale red hue in the tangle of wet green vines. I move down the row, basket in tow, getting heavier and heavier. I come across a few small zucchini and decide to pick them. Certainly the last of those for the season.
Soon, I'm at the last row, tromping blindly through the remains of the basil. It's all gone to seed and my excuse for keeping it was to save some of that for next year. But, I admit to myself now that the real reason is the aroma. My movements through here have released a heady fragrance of tomato vine and basil. It is very pleasant. Rain drops are starting to fall now, lightly showering me and my light obsessed companion. I'm on my second basket and my mind has started wandering to dinner.
"Damn!!" I jerk my hand back in pain. The blackberries, planted on the fence line earlier as support for another of my endeavors, bees, have strayed into the bramble of tomato vines on this end of the garden. Must be a sign to stop.
"Damn!!" I jerk my hand back in pain. The blackberries, planted on the fence line earlier as support for another of my endeavors, bees, have strayed into the bramble of tomato vines on this end of the garden. Must be a sign to stop.
I heft the baskets up and out of the garden. Walking up to the house, I'm sure I've dropped a few small tomatoes, destined, no doubt, to become objects of play for Wendy tomorrow. Shes continues to chase her illuminated phantom ahead of me until we return to the warmth of the house.
Beth and I realized the other day that we hadn't filled our summer quota of BLT's yet, so tonite we make amends for that!
First, some bread. More on the bread in another post soon enough, but for now, it is toasted lightly and rubbed with garlic. A few larger tomatoes are sliced and some bacon fried up.
The bread is drizzled with olive oil. The oil and garlic replace the traditional mayo here as a lighter alternative. I line up the tomatoes and season them with salt and pepper. Then the bacon goes on followed by lettuce.
Technically, I guess we have a TBL here.
Technically, I guess we have a TBL here.
We finish off with some baked potato fries that Beth tended to during my after hours excursion into the garden. A simple meal, but one enjoyed as a last vestige of summer as we listen to the rain drops falling outside.
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