I love gardening. I love my tomato patch, too, even if this year's weird summer weather prevented most of them from ripening until now. Usually I can count on them to ripen precisely when I am on holiday and not around to deal with them as my Fanny Farmer side would like, but this year the majority of them are still sitting rather greenly (as opposed to glumly) on the vine.
An old friend of my parents gave me his extra seedlings this year, so my garden, cultivated in between renovating our new Old House and assuring my husband that I really WAS painting the downstairs kids' rooms (nothing like a little selective wording), swelled more than it might have otherwise with First Lady's, Sweet Clusters, Yellow Romas, Champions, and lots of cherry tomatoes. I like having the variety and although I always swear to myself that this year I will separate each type and do some test tasting or detailing, I rarely do. This summer, however, I have been listening to the audio version of Julia Child's magnificent autobiography My Life In France, and I really DO plan on doing something exotic, or at least very French (cue sexy accent), wiz some of zeez baybies.
No comments:
Post a Comment