Showing posts with label frost. Show all posts
Showing posts with label frost. Show all posts

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Red October


These gallon ice-cream buckets full of about six pounds of ripe Tommy Toes -- an Ozark heirloom cherry tomato variety -- simply appeared the other day on my porch, courtesy of my neighbor's son Patrick, who kept a garden during this difficult-to-garden summer. Patrick says he didn't even plant them; they were volunteer tomato plants, descending from a plant or two that I shared with him two or three years ago. Tommy Toes -- that's their name -- about one inch in diameter, are wonderfully balanced sweet and acid, and the plants withstand terrific Missouri summer heat and pouring rain, do not crack or get tobacco virus, keep their shape, and pump out fruit like mad all the way into the third week of October, and they'd still be growing except the other night we got very close to frost.

It was in a seed catalog that Demetrius and I found the Tommy Toes and liked that they were bred in our climate. A bonus: Wildlife don't raid and chew on Tommy Toes they way they did our Big Beefsteaks or Mister Stripeys or Mortgage Lifters, the varieties visible on the plate in the photo of me that appears to the left of this blog. What to do with six pounds of cherry tomatoes? I gave one pound away. Four pounds I cooked down into two quart containers of sauce I then froze. Some I roasted with olive oil and ate on pizza and pasta, some went into salads, and a few are still rolling around on the counter, getting snacked on. I threw a few into the meadow, hoping they'll volunteer for me next summer. There's nothing as tasty as a homegrown tomato -- in October.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Jack Frost Lives!

Jack Frost's icy renderings of trees rival those visible through the window in this photo -- taken in the garage, which has single-pane windows. The sun was melting Jack's artwork and I had to shoot quickly! It's been decades since I've thought about Jack Frost. Back in Wisconsin, windows seemed full of his ice paintings, and we sang at least one song about him. But the Disneyfication of life, and a move to Missouri, elevated Frosty the Snowman to first place as the embodiment of winter. But that doesn't mean Jack's out of business. Frosty is winter's peasant; Jack is its poet.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Frosty Morning


I'd dislike January if I didn't get divine gifts for my birthday, like this one: A frosty morning. I got a morning, imagine that. That's more than some have. One birthday I got a yellow-bellied sapsucker. Sometimes it IS all good.