So, I checked on the tomatoes today and realized that every tomato in the house was dead ripe. About thirty pounds.
Don’t worry–I picked more–though they’re still in the back of the truck as of this moment.
It’s Tuesday, and although I could do the Elk Point market today, I haven’t really been able to sell tomatoes there besides the boxes of colorful cherry toms and a few big, pretty heirlooms. It’s also crummy weather for good sales at a farmers market.
So, considering that the vines are going downhill fast and there won’t be too many more big harvests this season (if any more), and considering that we thoroughly slammed through the one jar of soup that didn’t seal from the last batch, it’s tomato soup-making time again.
I’ve got the peppers, onions, basil, and celeriac leaves in the pot, simmering down to tenderness. I’ve got the first batch of tomatoes residing in cool water in the sink. I’ve made myself a cup of Russian Caravan tea, and I may make another.
Last night, when H was getting ready to make a small grocery run, I asked him to pick up another case of quart jars. While he was gone, I located another close-to-full case of empty quarts in the basement, and when he came back, he brought with him two more cases instead of one.
It’s cool and overcast, with the threat of rain ever-present on this autumnal equinox. Good smells are starting to waft through the house. Time to start washing tomatoes and putting them through the strainer. This may (really!) be the last time this season.