Saturday, August 5, 2017

“Ripe vegetables were magic to me. Unharvested, the garden bristled with
possibility. I would quicken at the sight of a ripe tomato, sounding its redness
from deep amidst the undifferentiated green. To lift a bean plant’s hood of
heartshaped leaves and discover a clutch of long slender pods handing
underneath could make me catch my breath.”

~ Michael Pollan

I was beyond tired yesterday and ended up going to bed at an obscenely early hour, early even for me. I’m feeling more human this morning.

Despite my weariness yesterday, I managed to do some harvesting and housework, and froze a few more bags of green beans. Last year by now I had a second crop of beans planted; that’s not going to happen this year. They’re still producing but I’m considering buying some at the farmer’s market to supplement. I’d really like to can a few jars of the lemon-garlic green beans I tried last year; adding them to the many bags I’m tucking away in the freezer and we’ll be set for winter. (Shhh . . . don’t say the ‘W’ word.)

Hoping to score some field tomatoes and pickling cukes today and then spend some concentrated time in the kitchen canning tomato soup, dill pickles, and sweet dill pickles.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year–canning time! (Though, really, every month is canning month; it’s just a tad busier in August. I love it.)


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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